Archive for hymns

Covenant Prayer

The Covenant Prayer of John Wesley

I am no longer my own, but thine.
Put me to what thou wilt, rank me with whom thou wilt.
Put me to doing, put me to suffering.
Let me be employed for thee or laid aside for thee,
exalted for thee or brought low for thee.
Let me be full, let me be empty.
Let me have all things, let me have nothing.
I freely and heartily yield all things to thy pleasure and disposal.
And now, O glorious and blessed God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit,
thou art mine, and I am thine.
So be it.
And the covenant which I have made on earth,
let it be ratified in heaven.
Amen.

 

The Covenant Prayer was adapted by John Wesley for use in services for the Renewal of the Believer’s Covenant with God.  While early Covenant Renewal services could be held in any season, now they are often celebrated at the beginning of the new year.

I find these words both beautiful and terrifying.  If you take them seriously, they represent an amazing surrender of will which most of us find difficult to imagine, let alone desire.  If God takes them seriously, then by speaking them we do something huge and irrevocable, and we must do it “freely and heartily.”

Yet the words of the Covenant Prayer are not words of defeat or despair; they are not words of subjugation. They are words of Love. The prayer that begins, “I am no longer my own, but thine” moves from the offering of self, whatever the requirements, to include this startling claim on God, “Thou art mine and I am thine.”  The prayer articulates a covenant–a binding of ourselves to God and God to us.  How dare we give ourselves away?  How dare we make such a claim?

Cross and Flame

 

Where are you from?

Psalm 87

…the LORD loves the gates of Zion more than all the dwelling places of Jacob. Glorious things are spoken of you, O city of God….The LORD records as he registers the peoples, “This one was born there.” 

 

If you grew up in the Church like I did, it’s difficult to read this psalm without hearing Haydn’s tune to “Glorious Things of Thee are Spoken” playing in the background.  In fact, sometimes the hymn plays so loudly in my head that it’s difficult to actually read the words–it all gets tangled up with John Newton’s poetry. This morning, however, I was able to quiet the music long enough to hear the refrain “This one was born there,” which appears three times in a brief seven verses.

“Where are you from?” I expect we’ve all been asked this at one time or another.  It’s a line we use to start a conversation, to get to know someone, and to try to establish some kind of connection.  It can be a way to identify something intriguing you’ve noticed–a curious accent, an ethnicity you can’t quite place, a distinction that you need to locate geographically. “Where are you from?”

“Oh, you must be from Texas!” While our place of origin may be a point of pride for us, it’s not always so for others. Think about the story of shibboleth, and Nathanael’s mocking, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?”  In this psalm, however, it seems like everyone would want to be from Zion.

Zion is complicated in the Bible. It’s Jerusalem, it’s Solomon’s Temple, it’s the holy habitation, it’s the world to come. Zion, like Hollywood or Beijing, is a place that stands for an idea–in this case, an idea that as complicated as very the notion that there is a place where God dwells. Zion is the city of God and everything that can mean.

Amid all the complication, what we do know is that God loves Zion, and that love makes Zion glorious. Everyone who was born there shares in her glory. People from other places sit up and take note: “This one and that one were born in her.”  And they’re not the only ones.  The psalmist includes the curious and lovely image of the Lord writing in the heavenly census, “This one was born there.”

Like Joseph and Mary in the days of Caesar Augustus, God’s people know their house and lineage; and when the decree goes out, we will return to our city of origin, to Zion. For next to our names, there is a note: “This one was born there”  This is where we belong.  This is our beginning and our end. This is home.

 

“Glorious Things of Thee are Spoken” words: John Newton; tune: Kevin Twit

 

 

Lustily and with a good courage

Church music. Is there any other aspect of our worship with so much power to lift us to the company of heaven, or plunge us into the depths of petty squabbling?  We Christians are as passionate about music as we are about politics. Oh, the organist! Oh, the hymns! Oh, my tone-deaf neighbor!

I suspect that one reason for this passion is that we crave the blessings of good music: the experience of beauty, a sense of something greater than ourselves, a feeling of community, and  the opportunity for praise.  Our hunger is great, and we want worship to feed us with wonderful  music every time we make the effort and get ourselves to church.

The problem, of course, is that a worship service is not just about being fed. We come to praise, to give thanks, to learn, and I would argue, to create an experience in which our neighbor can do the same.  It’s not a show to watch. It’s not something the people “up front” do for us.  When we join in prayers, when we sing the hymns–even the ones we don’t know or don’t like–we make worship happen.  We do it for God and for ourselves and for others. And when we do it for others, our singing can be an act of hospitality.

The Wesley brothers knew a thing or two about the power of hymns. You can find John Wesley’s “Directions for Singing” in the preface to the Methodist Hymnal.  His instructions are plain, stern, and full of hope. He had such faith in what we could do if we sang with heart, soul, mind, and strength.  It makes me smile.  It makes me want to sing.

 

Directions for Singing

I. Learn these tunes before you learn any others; afterwards learn as many as you please.

II. Sing them exactly as they are printed here, without altering or mending them at all; and if you have learned to sing them otherwise, unlearn it as soon as you can.

III. Sing all. See that you join with the congregation as frequently as you can. Let not a single degree of weakness or weariness hinder you. If it is a cross to you, take it up, and you will find it a blessing.

IV. Sing lustily and with a good courage. Beware of singing as if you were half dead, or half asleep; but lift up your voice with strength. Be no more afraid of your voice now, nor more ashamed of its being heard, then when you sung the songs of Satan.

V. Sing modestly. Do not bawl, so as to be heard above or distinct from the rest of the congregation, that you may not destroy the harmony; but strive to unite your voices together, so as to make one clear melodious sound.

VI. Sing in time. Whatever time is sung be sure to keep with it. Do not run before nor stay behind it; but attend close to the leading voices, and move therewith as exactly as you can; and take care not to sing too slow. This drawling way naturally steals on all who are lazy; and it is high time to drive it out from us, and sing all our tunes just as quick as we did at first.

VII. Above all sing spiritually. Have an eye to God in every word you sing. Aim at pleasing him more than yourself, or any other creature. In order to do this attend strictly to the sense of what you sing, and see that your heart is not carried away with the sound, but offered to God continually; so shall your singing be such as the Lord will approve here, and reward you when he cometh in the clouds of heaven.

 

from John Wesley’s preface to Sacred Melody or a choice collection of psalm and hymn tunes, with a short introduction (1761)

O Sing to Me of Heaven

Today is Reformation Sunday and if you found yourself in a Lutheran church (or some of the other Reformed church congregations) you’re likely to have sung “A Mighty Fortress is Our God.” The Reformation, of course, was one of the Church’s Great Disagreements that yielded both good things and bad, and eventually resulted in a whole slew of denominations.

Among the many groups born from theological disagreement are the Primitive Baptists.  Also known as Hard Shell, or Anti-Mission Baptists, these American Christians split off from other Baptists in the 1800s due to a controversy over missions and the understanding of grace and atonement.

Because they believe the New Testament only commands us to sing, Primitive Baptists do not usually play musical instruments as part of worship.  All singing is a cappella.  The hymn “O Sing to Me of Heaven” is sung here by a congregation from southwestern Virginia, and is another example of lining out.  It’s an ecstatic song about dying and the joys of heaven. When I listen to it, the plainness of the voices, the interplay between the leader and the congregation, and the over-the-top imagery unexpectedly combine to convey strangeness and power.  It’s an other-worldly sound.

 

O Sing to me of Heaven –  words: Mary Dana Schindler

O Sing to me of Heaven.
When I am called to die.
Sweet songs of holy ecstasy.
To waft my soul on high.

CHORUS:
There’ll be no sorrow there.
There’ll be no sorrow there.
In Heaven above where all is love.
There’ll be no sorrow there.

When cold and sluggish drops.
Roll off my dying brow.
Break forth in songs of joyfulness.
Let Heaven begin below.

When the last moments come.
O, soothe my dying face.
To catch the bright seraphic gleam.
Which o’er my features play.

Then to my raptured ear.
Let one sweet song be given;
Let music charm me last on earth,
And greet me first in Heaven.

Then round my senseless clay.
Assemble those I love,
And sing of Heaven, delightful Heaven,
My glorious home above.

With sweet accord

Isaac Watts (1674-1748)
from: Project Gutenberg eText 18444

 

I’m constantly being surprised by the unlikely, peregrine paths of grace.

There was a time when English church singing was limited to settings of Biblical poetry and especially the Psalms. Isaac Watts (1674-1748), a prolific and popular writer of over 500 hymns, helped to change that.  His works (which include “Joy to the World” and “When I Survey the Wondrous Cross”) are now sung worldwide by Presbyterians, Baptists, Methodists, Lutherans, Pentecostals, and Episcopalians.

 

 

Here’s a well-known Watts hymn, “We’re Marching to Zion” (sometimes titled “Come Ye That Love the Lord”) from The Redemption Hymnal.

 

 

Most of us are familiar with this type of congregational singing. Another form of hymn singing is “lining out,” a form of call and response where the leader first sings a line which is then repeated by the congregation. Lining out was especially useful in churches with few hymnals and many people who could not read.  In African-American musical tradition, lining out is also known as “Dr. Watts hymn singing” though not all of the texts sung were written by Watts. This words to this hymn, “I Love the Lord, He Heard My Cry,” first appeared in Watts’ The Psalms of David

 

And if being a hymnist was not enough, Watts was also a logician.  His logic textbook Logic, or The Right Use of Reason in the Enquiry After Truth With a Variety of Rules to Guard Against Error in the Affairs of Religion and Human Life, as well as in the Sciences, went through 20 editions over the course of a hundred years. His writings for children were so well known that one of his poems was parodied by Lewis Carroll (himself a logician). But of all these many accomplishments, Isaac Watts is best remembered as the “Father of English Hymnody” who enriched Christians’ experience of worship in ways he could surely never have imagined.