Posts Tagged hymnal

Hooray for the Hymnal by David Garrard

Hooray for the Hymnal

Colossians 3:16 says, “Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom, and as you sing psalms, hymns and spiritual songs with gratitude in your hearts to God.”

Several months ago, I began using my old 1956 Baptist Hymnal as part of my devotions. I started at the very beginning and am gradually working my way through. I just read the text — singing along if I know the tune, which I most often do — and let God speak to me through the words.

This has been a wonderful experience. So many of these hymns have texts that are inspired and incredibly insightful. It’s a shame we don’t sing them more.

In the hymnal’s Preface, then SBC Sunday School Board Executive Secretary-Treasurer James L. Sullivan wrote, “In this music we find expressed every feeling and emotion, every truth and doctrine of our Christian faith. As we sing, we not only express what is in our hearts, but we grow in Christian character and are strengthened in our faith.”

That certainly has proved true for me as I have revisited hymns I first heard and sang as a child.

My experience prompted a new feature on my Facebook page which I decided to call “Hooray for the Hymnal!” On occasion (not every day), I highlight a hymn and call attention to part of the text. I might include a comment or two, but for the most part, I just let the hymns speak for themselves.

As many will remember, No. 1 in the Baptist Hymnal is “Holy, Holy, Holy.” It leads off the General Worship section and is specifically tagged as a hymn of adoration and praise. The words were written by Reginald Heber and the tune by John Dykes. I’ve always been partial to verse three:

Holy, holy, holy!  Tho the darkness hide thee,
Tho the eye of sinful man thy glory may not see;
Only thou are holy; there is none beside thee,
Perfect in power, in love and purity.

As one who has more of earthly life behind me than ahead, I resonated with, and was encouraged by, the last verse of No. 29, “Day Is Dying in the West” (words by Mary A. Lathbury, tune by William F. Sherwin):

When forever from our sight
Pass the stars, the day, the night,
Lord of angels, on our eyes
Let eternal morning rise,
And shadows end

Verse two of No. 54, “God of Our Fathers, Whose Almighty Hand” (words by Daniel C. Roberts, tune by George W. Warren) has given me a new way to think about and pray for my country:

Thy love divine hath led us in the past,
In this free land by thee our lot is cast;
Be thou our ruler, guardian, guide and stay,
Thy word our law, thy paths our chosen way.

And I’ve always loved No. 59, “This Is My Father’s World” (words by Maltbie B. Babcock, tune by Franklin Sheppard).  Verse three of this beautiful hymn reminds me that even when it seems the entire world has lost its way, God is still in control:

This is my Father’s world, O let me ne’er forget,
That though the wrong seems oft so strong,
God is the ruler yet.
This is my Father’s world,
The battle is not done;
Jesus who died shall be satisfied,
And earth and heaven be one.

With 553 entries (including the Amens!) I’ve got a long way to go, but the journey already has been rewarding and has brought new insights as well as good memories. And the response has been wonderful. I have received messages from folks who have dug out their own copies, found copies that belonged to parents and even purchased copies on eBay.

So hooray for the hymnal! I invite you to find a copy, join me in this adventure, and allow these great songs of faith to speak to you in the same way they are speaking to me — again.

David Garrard

*David Garrard is a professional magician who lives in Louisville, Ky. He was the longtime minister to children at St. Matthews Baptist Church in Louisville until his recent retirement

 

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Amazing Grace: Settling a troubled soul – AILEEN LAWRIMORE*  

July 4, 2017 – www.Baptistnewsglobal.com

When I stepped onto her hall, I could see her slippered feet just outside the door frame of her room. In her wheelchair, she rocked heel to toe, toe to heel, back and forth and back again.

“Hey, there,” I said, crouching to her height and attempting to push her chair back so I could get into the room. (Imagine a 5’4” duck wearing jeans and a tie-dye T-shirt pushing a wheelchair backwards; you get the picture.) I managed it, then pulled a stool right up next to her chair so I could speak directly in her ear. Nonagenarian ears aren’t especially known for their acuity, you know.

She does not know me; when I began my job at her church, she was already at the point of needing care. I do know her, though — at least vicariously. Her heart is woven into the fabric of our church. I’ve heard stories that told about her love for her church family, her heart for missions, her love of worship. “Such a sweet person,” they all say. “Such a tender soul.”

That day though, she was all out of sorts. She reached for me, her brow furrowed, her gaze unfocused and skittish. In a frantic, high-pitched tone, she began explaining the reasons for her angst. Sadly, her mind had played havoc with her reality again, leaving her agitated by imagined evils. Yet regardless of the validity of her concerns, the fear she was experiencing was undeniable. She begged me to do something to right the wrongs she had described.

“I promise I’ll check on that in just a minute,” I told her, kissing her cheek and stroking her arm. “But before I do that, let’s sing a song, OK?” When she refused, saying we didn’t have enough time and that she was just too upset, I started singing anyway, hoping she would join me.

“Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound ….”

That’s all it took. Recognition dawned and she began singing along, her memory as sharp as ever.

It reminded me of when I sang those words with my own Grandmama. We sang it in church, Grandmama all dressed up in her pink polyester suit, me with my ’80s hair teased to perfection. We sang it years later too, when she lived with my parents, her favorite pink suit now several sizes too large. By then, Grandmama had lost track of the decades, but she knew “I once was lost, but now I’m found.”

I remembered singing it to my tiny daughter when I was a young mother. We’d be awake, just the two of us in the wee hours of the morning, when fear would cease me. How could I possibly be worthy of this gift I hold in my arms? The song sang itself: “Amazing Grace! How sweet the sound! That saves a wretch like me.” It became her lullaby. And mine.

There in the nursing home that day, we sang all the verses, then moved on to Jesus Loves Me and other familiar favorites. Once between hymns, she squeezed my hand and, exuding absolute joy, said, “Oh honey, I love this!”

When it was time for me to go, I promised to come again and to bring a hymnal next time. She smiled, content, and said, “God bless you, honey.”

“We’ve no less days, to sing God’s praise, than when we first begun.”

*Aileen Lawrimore is pastor to children and youth at First Baptist Church of Weaverville, NC. 

 

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