Doyle Souser was a dear friend of mine who perished in the tragic Metrolink Train Wreck in Chatsworth, California in September of 2008. His were the very last remains removed from the wreckage. I knew Doyle for nearly twenty-five years. We served together as Elders in Christ's Church, and our families literally grew up together. Doyle's eldest daughter Kelsey is one of my daughter Grace's dearest lifelong friends. Doyle's dear widow, Claudia is similarly one of my wife Theresa's closest confidants.
Ironically, early in the summer before Doyle's tragic death, he and I shared the signal honor of presiding over the funeral of a common dear friend of a quarter century (and our former Pastor), Christopher Hoops.
The afternoon of the accident, Doyle took an earlier train toward home than he would normally have been on. As I reflected on the many ironies of the day, I was struck by the fact that my friend stepped onto a train in Glendale some time in the early afternoon of that Friday, and stepped off in the City of God in Eternity.
Doyle grew up on a farm in Colorado, and was the son and grandson of farmers. He never actually stopped being a "tiller of the soil" although 'tiller' and 'soil' took on more metaphorical meanings in Doyle's later ministry. Today, Doyle’s wife and children carry on the work of his earthly ministry, and remain integrally connected to the Church, to the Gospel, to the ‘soil’, and to each other. Doyle's earthly remains were lovingly interred in the family plot (the Field of His Fathers) in Colorado, where he rests in peace, a man after God's heart, awaiting the Resurrection of the Dead, and life in glory in the New Heavens and the New Earth.
Ironically, early in the summer before Doyle's tragic death, he and I shared the signal honor of presiding over the funeral of a common dear friend of a quarter century (and our former Pastor), Christopher Hoops.
The afternoon of the accident, Doyle took an earlier train toward home than he would normally have been on. As I reflected on the many ironies of the day, I was struck by the fact that my friend stepped onto a train in Glendale some time in the early afternoon of that Friday, and stepped off in the City of God in Eternity.
Doyle grew up on a farm in Colorado, and was the son and grandson of farmers. He never actually stopped being a "tiller of the soil" although 'tiller' and 'soil' took on more metaphorical meanings in Doyle's later ministry. Today, Doyle’s wife and children carry on the work of his earthly ministry, and remain integrally connected to the Church, to the Gospel, to the ‘soil’, and to each other. Doyle's earthly remains were lovingly interred in the family plot (the Field of His Fathers) in Colorado, where he rests in peace, a man after God's heart, awaiting the Resurrection of the Dead, and life in glory in the New Heavens and the New Earth.
IN THE FIELDS OF MY FATHERS
A Requiem in the loving memory of Doyle J. Souser
John Ford
September 12, 2008
In verdant grasses kissed with rain, I oft would run and walk,
My parents always right beside me, strolling as they talked.
A boy that never felt a time without my mother’s love,
Or knew a day my father’s strength didn’t gird me like a glove.
Those days were bright with future’s call, a siren song still distant,
I was safe there yet, a child of hope, so young, and for that instant,
Before I grew and sought my way- my personal path to wander,
‘Twas there I nursed, in homestead reared…
At Play in the Fields of my Fathers.
When as a youth, I gained in strength, and stature near a man,
My kindred led me in the Way, and taught me of God’s plan,
My troth I pledged, my strength to spend, in tilling soil He’d bless,
To bring forth grass to feed the Ox, or grain to reap and thresh.
An image of the Sower’s Tale, inspired me to my life’s call:
Prepared soil brings greater increase, despite the curse of Adam’s fall.
A Farmer was I, to farming I plied me, and learned what I could as I carried that halter,
My sweat and my earnest I tilled in the furrows…
At Work in the Fields of my Fathers.
Sunrise haste, and sunsets flee, time marshaled me within its pale,
Until in manhood’s bloom I’d risen, got parent-blessing, and slipped the veil.
From farm and field I swiftly parted, more miles behind, than facing me.
I found my work, rejoiced my calling: prepare soul-soil for Gospel-seed.
Through years of trials and profound blessing, faithful bride to share my dream,
Quiver filled with namesake blessings, mimic God’s Electing Scheme.
A Farmer was I, and never ceased being, for years I was true to my father’s accord,
Tilling, and plowing, and sowing, and reaping…
At Work in the Fields of my Lord.
Now we have come to our earth’s final parting, gathered am I to my kindred before,
In tears you will gather in love’s lamentation, bittersweet tomes will be told by the score.
For you it is hard to see God’s greatest blessings, often are joined to life’s greatest distress.
For I have gained heaven, and now stand in Glory, with One who was Slain my whole life I professed.
The sting of my passing can’t vie with its glories, our parting is short, and one day you’ll see,
That the glories of heaven eclipse all your trials, right now you are sad, but please, don’t cry for me.
Just carry my vessel with earthly affection, to that verdant home field where now tarry the others,
As seeds await Spring, so I too resurrection, A Farmer am I …
At rest in the Fields of my Fathers.
One day we’ll all see Him not through a glass dimly, enthroned before mankind, on His Judgment Seat,
Full measure of wrath poured on the forsaken, unspeakable joy to His Elect will He mete.
On that day my Dear Ones, we’ll be reunited, with glorified bodies and oneness of mind,
With purest affection and filled with true knowledge, washed and bejeweled, His reveal-ed Bride.
We’ll thrill to His calling, in anthems we’ll chorus, with heavenly hosts we’ll extol His name,
No more will we sorrow at death’s earthly parting, no more will we strive after earth’s passing fame,
Too busy with gladness, too filled up with bliss, we’ll join long lost friends, and in one grand accord,
Under New Heavens, in New Earth, a Farmer, a Teacher, their Seed…
At Play in the Fields of our Lord!
A Requiem in the loving memory of Doyle J. Souser
John Ford
September 12, 2008
In verdant grasses kissed with rain, I oft would run and walk,
My parents always right beside me, strolling as they talked.
A boy that never felt a time without my mother’s love,
Or knew a day my father’s strength didn’t gird me like a glove.
Those days were bright with future’s call, a siren song still distant,
I was safe there yet, a child of hope, so young, and for that instant,
Before I grew and sought my way- my personal path to wander,
‘Twas there I nursed, in homestead reared…
At Play in the Fields of my Fathers.
When as a youth, I gained in strength, and stature near a man,
My kindred led me in the Way, and taught me of God’s plan,
My troth I pledged, my strength to spend, in tilling soil He’d bless,
To bring forth grass to feed the Ox, or grain to reap and thresh.
An image of the Sower’s Tale, inspired me to my life’s call:
Prepared soil brings greater increase, despite the curse of Adam’s fall.
A Farmer was I, to farming I plied me, and learned what I could as I carried that halter,
My sweat and my earnest I tilled in the furrows…
At Work in the Fields of my Fathers.
Sunrise haste, and sunsets flee, time marshaled me within its pale,
Until in manhood’s bloom I’d risen, got parent-blessing, and slipped the veil.
From farm and field I swiftly parted, more miles behind, than facing me.
I found my work, rejoiced my calling: prepare soul-soil for Gospel-seed.
Through years of trials and profound blessing, faithful bride to share my dream,
Quiver filled with namesake blessings, mimic God’s Electing Scheme.
A Farmer was I, and never ceased being, for years I was true to my father’s accord,
Tilling, and plowing, and sowing, and reaping…
At Work in the Fields of my Lord.
Now we have come to our earth’s final parting, gathered am I to my kindred before,
In tears you will gather in love’s lamentation, bittersweet tomes will be told by the score.
For you it is hard to see God’s greatest blessings, often are joined to life’s greatest distress.
For I have gained heaven, and now stand in Glory, with One who was Slain my whole life I professed.
The sting of my passing can’t vie with its glories, our parting is short, and one day you’ll see,
That the glories of heaven eclipse all your trials, right now you are sad, but please, don’t cry for me.
Just carry my vessel with earthly affection, to that verdant home field where now tarry the others,
As seeds await Spring, so I too resurrection, A Farmer am I …
At rest in the Fields of my Fathers.
One day we’ll all see Him not through a glass dimly, enthroned before mankind, on His Judgment Seat,
Full measure of wrath poured on the forsaken, unspeakable joy to His Elect will He mete.
On that day my Dear Ones, we’ll be reunited, with glorified bodies and oneness of mind,
With purest affection and filled with true knowledge, washed and bejeweled, His reveal-ed Bride.
We’ll thrill to His calling, in anthems we’ll chorus, with heavenly hosts we’ll extol His name,
No more will we sorrow at death’s earthly parting, no more will we strive after earth’s passing fame,
Too busy with gladness, too filled up with bliss, we’ll join long lost friends, and in one grand accord,
Under New Heavens, in New Earth, a Farmer, a Teacher, their Seed…
At Play in the Fields of our Lord!