In the Presbyterian church I grew up in, we sang from the red Trinity hymnal, although occasionally things would get a little rowdy and we would break out the light blue Living Praise. Our music team consisted of a pianist and an octogenarian flautist, who could often be heard between lines because he wasn’t quite on the same tempo, if even the same song. When a hymn number was called, I’d flick to the page to investigate how many verses there were. Five verses or more and my spirits would sink only to rise again if the song leader isolated verses 1, 3 and 5. My sisters and I learned to take a line each and harmonise. We loved the minor keys (“O the Deep, Deep Love of Jesus”), we smirked at the floral numbers (“I trace the rainbow through the rain”[1]), we sighed through the dirges (“deathbeds are coming, coming for you and for me”[2]).
When our dad died at fifty, we sang the harmonies we had learned to one of his favourites, “When Peace, Like a River”, at his funeral held in the church he had faithfully pastored. Friends came over afterwards and we sat around the kitchen table singing the hymns he loved with tears in our eyes.
While in my early childhood I may have found hymns long and sometimes strange (“foul I to the fountain fly”[3]), I now have a profound appreciation for them. Singing them has been a blessing to me throughout my life. I am sometimes so moved by them that I’m unable to continue singing, even when the tune is soppy and the musical execution weak. It is more than mere nostalgia; this can’t just be attributed to the ageing process (like a new appreciation for fruit cake and elasticated pants). It is a deeper understanding of and gratitude for the gospel story we sing about—the story of our redemption, of the beauty and goodness of our Creator and his world, of the kindness and faithfulness of our Saviour. It is singing with a greater sense of what it means to age and decay, to struggle with sin, to feel weary and to long for a better world.
Important Truths
A few months ago I was flicking through a biography of the Methodist brothers John and Charles Wesley and learned that Charles penned an astonishing number of hymns and religious poems—over 9,000. Together they published a series of church hymnals. In the preface of one of their hymnals John describes it as “large enough to contain all the important truths of our most holy religion… to illustrate them all, and to prove them both by Scripture and reason.” I love that their intent was to construct hymns that would express deep theological truths, soaked in Scripture, and unite the hearts and minds of those who sang them. When I open a hymnbook I see songs dealing with conversion, Christian maturity, death, and our future hope of glory; many of them revelling in the cross and the empty tomb.
Singing these important truths has helped them stick through all seasons of life. The message of the gospel can be articulated in innumerable ways and hymns have given me poetic expressions for lament or adoration or appreciation for the beauty of the world God has made. To give a few examples:
- “Holy, Holy, Holy!” lifts my heart in worship to a God who is perfect in power, in love and purity. “Casting down their golden crowns around a glassy sea” speaks of the heavenly scene in Revelation 4, where the elders throw down their crowns in recognition that our worth is laid at God’s feet.
- “Jesus Shall Reign Where’er the Sun” exhorts me to join every living creature in rising to praise Jesus and to “dwell on his love with sweetest song”.
- The reverent beauty of “O, Sacred Head”, prompts me to consider the price that was paid for my sin. “What language shall I borrow, to thank thee dearest friend?”
- “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing” encourages me to sing songs “of loudest praise” to the God who “sought me when a stranger” and “interposed his precious blood”.
- “Guide Me O Thou Great Jehovah” reminds me to persevere in faith as God “leads me all the journey through”, holding me in his “powerful hands”.
To One Another
Although I’ve been known to sing them in the shower and hum them on my walk around the block, I’ve found hymns are best sung in company, with those who affirm the gospel story. Paul instructed the Ephesians to speak “to one another with psalms, hymns and spiritual songs” (Eph 5:19). This doesn’t just mean in church on a Sunday. Paul and Silas sang hymns in prison at midnight; I can sing them with my children in the car or in a crowded convention centre with thousands of women or in my home with friends to encourage a missionary on furlough.
A few years ago, my mum lay in a hospital bed while my sisters and I sang hymns to her with lumps in our throats, sobered by how many mention death (“we wither, we perish but naught changes thee”[4]). On her last day we gathered around her bed and sang songs of faith and hope of life beyond the grave. It was heart-wrenching, but we felt God’s presence in a very real way—in the room with us as mum went to be with him.
Singing hymns throughout my life has reminded me of biblical truths and helped them sink deep. It has lifted my heart in worship to God. It has connected me to a long line of brothers and sisters who wrote and sang these same theological truths together centuries before me. One day we’ll sing together in a vast and beautiful choir, as we bow the knee before the object of our worship. Oh, what a day of rejoicing that will be!
[1] George Matheson, “O Love that Will Not Let Me Go” (1882).
[2] Will L. Thompson, “Softly and Tenderly Jesus Is Calling” (1880).
[3] August Toplady, “Rock of Ages” (1776).
[4] Walter Chalmers Smith, “Immortal, invisible, God only wise” (1867).
