November 22, 2020 Thanksgiving Worship Service
BETHEL COLLEGE MENNONITE CHURCH
THANKSGIVING WORSHIP
November 22, 2020
Prelude—Verlene Garber
Welcome and Lighting the Christ Candle—Nathan Koontz
Call to worship and Prayer
Hymn of praise—Praise to God, immortal praise—Hymnal A Worship Book #91
(see words printed below)
Children’s conversation—Bethany Schrag and company
Scripture—Ephesians 1:15-23—Tim Schrag
Meditation—I never cease to give thanks. . . .—Dawn Yoder Harms
Offering our Gratitude
Hymn of response—Lord, should rising whirlwinds—Hymnal A Worship Book #92
Prayers of God’s people— Renee Reimer
Sending hymn—Now thank we all our God—Hymnal A Worship Book #86
Benediction
Postlude—Verlene Garber
Musicians: Renee Reimer, Ben Lichti, Bethany Schrag, Tim Schrag, Suzy Burch, Verlene Garber
Pastors: Renee Reimer, Dawn Yoder Harms, and Nathan Koontz
Worship Visuals: Carol Buller
Audio and Visual: Francis Toews
Praise to God, immortal praise—Hymnal a Worship Book #91 (Text: Anna L. Barbauld)
1. Praise to God, immortal praise,
for the love that crowns our days.
Bounteous Source of every joy,
let thy praise our tongues employ.
2 For the blessings of the field,
for the stores the gardens yield,
for the joy which harvests bring,
grateful praises now we sing.
3. Clouds that drop refreshing dews,
suns that genial heat diffuse,
flocks that whiten all the plain,
yellow sheaves of ripened grain,
4. all that spring with bounteous hand
scatters o’er the smiling land,
all that lib’ral autumn pours
from her overflowing stores;
5. these, great God, to thee we owe,
source whence all our blessings flow;
and for these our souls shall raise
grateful vows and solemn praise.
Lord, should rising whirlwinds—Hymnal a Worship Book #92 (Text: Anna L. Barbauld)
6. Lord, should rising whirlwinds
tear from its stem the ripening ear,
should the fig-tree’s blasted shoot
drop her green untimely fruit;
7. should the vine put forth no more,
nor the olive yield her store,
though the sick’ning flocks should fall,
and the herds desert the stall;
8. should thine altered hand restrain
th’ early and the latter rain,
blast each op’ning bud of joy,
and the rising year destroy;
9. yet to thee my soul should raise
grateful vows and solemn praise,
and, when ev’ry blessing’s flown,
love thee for thyself alone!