Why Johnny Can’t Sing Hymns

Justin Wainscott has a fascinating, provocative interview at his site with Dr. T. David Gordon, author of Why Johnny Can't Preach: The Media Have Shaped the Messengers. The interview is about Gordon’s sequel, Why Johnny Can't Sing Hymns: How Pop Culture Re-Wrote the Hymnal (to be published by P&R early this summer).

Wainscott’s questions and Gordon’s answers are provocative and helpful. Here is one excerpt from Gordon.

There probably is a relationship between not reading poetry and tolerating contemporary worship music. If one reads poetry, one comes to appreciate language that is well-crafted; in the process, one becomes less accepting of language that is poorly crafted. So, most contemporary worship makes me cringe not only musically but also lyrically (not to mention theologically). The commercial forces in our culture want us to be content with pablum, because it is easier to produce pablum than really good stuff. Those commercial forces have pushed us away from demanding disciplines such as reading verse (where there is almost no room for significant commercial profit); and in the process, we as a culture no longer notice inferior art, because we are surrounded by it.

Check out the interview. This is a book I will be watching for.

Indictment on Evangelical Worship

Justin Wainscott, pastor and poet, has penned a powerful poetic challenge to much of what is typical in evangelical worship today.  If you do not already read his blog, I recommend it to you.

Indictment on Evangelical Worship

M. Justin Wainscott, © 2007

Set the stage and dim the lights,
Create my mood; abuse my rights.
Out-do all you did last week,
And never let the silence speak.
Entertain me, at all costs,
Blur the lines ‘tween true and false.
Smile and tell me all’s okay,
I’ll believe whate’er you say.
Give me mirrors; give me smoke,
Fill me with clichés and jokes.

Like an orphan with no story,
Cut me off from all before me.
Hide the pain and fake the smile,
Lamentation’s out of style.
Give me milk and warm the bottle,
Make sure it’s the latest model.
Numb my mind with borrowed tricks,
Feed my soul with Pixi-stix.
Don’t confront what lurks within,
Or else I’ll never come again.

Love Bade Me Welcome

Here is George Herbert's wonderful poetic portrayal of justification by faith:


LOVE

LOVE bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,
       Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
       From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
       If I lack'd anything.

'A guest,' I answer'd, 'worthy to be here:'
       Love said, 'You shall be he.'
'I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,
       I cannot look on Thee.'
Love took my hand and smiling did reply,
       'Who made the eyes but I?'

'Truth, Lord; but I have marr'd them: let my shame
       Go where it doth deserve.'
'And know you not,' says Love, 'Who bore the blame?' 15
       'My dear, then I will serve.'
'You must sit down,' says Love, 'and taste my meat.'
       So I did sit and eat.



- George Herbert. 1593–1632

Elizabeth Prentiss, Communion Poem

For several years now I have enjoyed Elizabeth Prentiss’s poem collection titled Golden Hours (now nicely reprinted by Solid Ground Christian Books). I came back across this poem this week as I have been contemplating communion.

“In Remembrance of Me”

Dear Jesus, Thou this feast hast spread,
Invited guests are we;
We come as Thou hast bid us come,
Thus to remember Thee.

We come from sinful thought and aim,
More earnestly to flee;
Pardon to seek and grace to find,
As we remember Thee.

We come to thank Thee for Thy love
So rich, so full, so free;
To bless Thee, praise Thee, lose ourselves
As we remember Thee.

We come to lay the burdens down
That press most heavily;
To enter into perfect peace
As we remember Thee.

Our penitence, our love, our hope,
Oh condescend to see,
And let us “bear a song away”
As we remember Thee.

- Elizabeth Prentiss

Christ Victorious

I came back across this poem from Elizabeth Prentiss today. Mrs. Prentiss suffered much and deals with this topic well in her poems. I like the honest assessment of grief and the move to triumph through the gospel.

Christ Victorious

Oh, days of sickness, grief and pain,
What bring ye in your mournful train?
Gray hairs, old age before its time-
The breaking down of manhood’s prime,
The trembling hand, the fainting heart,
Bruises and wounds to throb and smart,
The nerve unstrung, the sleepless brain;
Oh, these come boldly in your train.

But days of sickness, grief and pain,
Do these alone make up your train?
Not so! Not so! The ranks between
Submission’s gracious form is seen;
Sweet Patience ventures hand in hand,
While Faith, Christ’s honor to maintain
Rides, dauntless, mid your hostile train.

Come, then, wild troop of griefs and pains
And riot on my Lord’s domains!
Where you lay waste, another Hand
A firmer fabric long has planned;
What you destroy, Faith’s radiant smile
Declares is for a little while;
And Christ Himself shall come to reign
Victorious o’er your helpless train.

- Elizabeth Prentiss, found in Golden Hours

Bunyan Poem on Valor and the Christian Life

John Bunyan is one of many historical examples of a pastor/poet. Pilgrim’s Progress contains a number of poems by Bunyan. Below is on e I have appreciated for some time. In the story it comes from Mr. Valiant-for-Truth. Louis Benson, prominent hymnologist, described this song as “dramatically virile” and stated, “to Bunyan bravery is the root virtue of Christian character and the only possible equipment for the pilgrim life.” Coming from a man who was imprisoned for over 12 years, this is all the more meaningful.

This poem in a slightly modified form was set to music and included in some hymnals as “He Who Would Valiant Be.”

This though is Bunyan’s original:

Who would true valour see,
Let him come hither;
One here will constant be,
Come wind, come weather
There’s no discouragement
Shall make him once relent
His first avowed intent
To be a pilgrim.

Whoso beset him round
With dismal stories
Do but themselves confound;
His strength the more is.
No lion can him fright,
He’ll with a giant fight,
He will have a right
To be a pilgrim.

Hobgoblin nor foul fiend
Can daunt his spirit,
He knows he at the end
Shall life inherit.
Then fancies fly away,
He’ll fear not what men say,
He’ll labor night and day
To be a pilgrim.

In our day, when we suffer less, may we still share this resoluteness and faith.
(Quotes from Louis F. Benson, "The Hymns of John Bunyan," Papers of the Hymn Society, 1930)

The Pastor & Worship

Here is a great quote from Louis F. Benson, The Hymnody of the Christian Church (1927), preface, vi-vii:

“A good Providence has committed to the hands of every pastor, for such use as he can make of them, the three arts that lie nearest the human heart, - speech, poetry and music. The mission of poetry and music no doubt transcends the limits of congregational singing, but nevertheless it proves most spiritually effective in a self-expression by the people themselves in common song. . . .
Hymnody, then, is a spiritual function, and its welfare proceeds from the heart. Nevertheless its congregational expression needs guidance and a thoughtful ordering as much now as at Corinth in the days of St. Paul. Most of all it needs the inspiration which can only be imparted to preoccupied hearts by a pastor who cherishes it as among the best of God’s gifts, and understands it because he has learned the lessons of its chequered history, has measured its resources and traced the different lines of its ministry; and who is resolute to cultivate the spirit of song among his people.”

Note these points:
1) The pastoral value of poetry and music
2) The importance, value and power of congregational singing
3) The need for leadership in guiding the people to properly understand and appreciate the songs so that they might arise freely from the heart. It is true that authentic worship must arise from the heart, but it will not properly flow from “preoccupied hearts” without teaching and nurturing. And that, pastors, is our job.

May we too be “resolute to cultivate the spirit of song” among our people. Appreciation of congregational singing is no mere personal ‘taste.’ It is a spiritual issue, a deep need of our people; and we must lead, teach, and nurture so as to inculcate this value for the good of the souls of our people.

Christ's Atoning Wounds

If you do not already read Justin Wainscott’s blog, Theology in Verse, I encourage you to do so. He often posts theologically rich and powerfully emotive poems, some of his own and some from others. Today he posted the following poem which I particularly appreciated. The meter is 8.6.8.6 I believe, so it could be sung to “O For a Thousand Tongues to Sing,” “There is a Fountain,” or any other tune in that meter.

Christ's Atoning Wounds
M. Justin Wainscott, © 2009

That sacred stream which ever flows,
Flows from the Savior's wounds,
Does in the souls of saints compose
Sweet, Christ-exalting tunes.

So let the saints in chorus flood
This place with songs of praise;
And sing of Christ's redeeming blood,
And marvel at his grace.

The precious wounds of Christ above -
His hands, his feet, his side -
Stand as a witness to his love
For us, his ransomed bride.

Those wounds which paid our sinful debt
Remove all grounds for pride;
For God's requirements all were met
When Christ our Savior died.

So let us boast in him alone,
And in the wounds he bears;
Since he who sits on heaven's throne
Those sacred scars still wears.

And when before that throne we stand,
And on our Savior gaze;
We'll truly come to understand,
His wounds deserve our praise.

Summer Reading, A T Robertson

In light of recent posts here on reading and particularly on reading history and fiction, I thought this comment from A. T. Robertson was pertinent. Robertson was a giant in the land as a scholar and a preacher. This quote comes from an interview with Frank Leavell in “The Baptist Student” in 1932.

“ ‘For diversion I read History, Poetry, and Biography. When sick, or on vacation, I read novels. I love them – revel in a good novel. That does not mean this modern stuff. It is mighty easy for me to get a dose of this modern sex stuff! I read Dickens, Thackerary, Scott, or George Eliot. She is rather melancholy, George Eliot, but I like here despite that.’”

This is a good encouragement to us today to take in history, poetry, biography and fiction.

The Pulpit, Cowper

Ray Ortlund posted today this excerpt from William Cowper’s lengthy poem, “The Task.” It is a wonderful, power description of the role of preaching. It is thrilling, convicting and humbling.

The pulpit, therefore, (and I name it filled
with solemn awe, that bids me well beware
with what intent I touch that holy thing;)
the pulpit (when the satirist has at last,
strutting and vaporing in an empty school,
spent all his force, and made no proselyte;)
I say the pulpit (in the sober use
of its legitimate, peculiar powers)
must stand acknowledged, while the world shall stand,
the most important and effectual guard,
support, and ornament of virtue's cause.
There stands the messenger of truth. There stands
the legate of the skies; his theme divine,
his office sacred, his credentials clear.
By him, the violated law speaks out
its thunders, and by him, in strains as sweet
as angels use, the gospel whispers peace.
He 'stablishes the strong, restores the weak,
reclaims the wanderer, binds the broken heart,
and, armed himself in panoply complete
of heavenly temper, furnishes with arms
bright as his own, and trains, by every rule
of holy discipline, to glorious war,
the sacramental host of God's elect.

- William Cowper, 1731-1800.

I am like James and John

Here is a perceptive, challenging poem for those of us who are in any sort of leadership.

I am like James and John
Lord, I size up other people
in terms of what they can do for me;
how they can further my program,
feed my ego,
satisfy my needs,
give me strategic advantage.
I exploit people,
ostensibly for your sake,
but really for my own sake.
Lord, I turn to you
to get the inside track
and obtain special favors,
your direction for my schemes,
your power for my projects,
your sanction for my ambitions,
your blank checks for whatever I want.
I am like James and John.

- Robert Raines, cited in Kent & Barbara Hughes, Liberating Ministry from the Success Syndrome

A Lord's Day Poem

I recently returned to this hymn and discovered (thanks to cyberhymnal!) that it has more verses than I knew. This is a great poem from 9 centuries ago. It is a wonderful aid in meditation and prompts me to wonder, appreciation and worship, stirring and training my affections. This makes it particularly helpful for Saturday night for me, in preparation for the morning. May it be a blessing to you as well.

Jesus, the very thought of Thee
With sweetness fills the breast;
But sweeter far Thy face to see,
And in Thy presence rest.

Nor voice can sing, nor heart can frame,
Nor can the memory find
A sweeter sound than Thy blest Name,
O Savior of mankind!

O hope of every contrite heart,
O joy of all the meek,
To those who fall, how kind Thou art!
How good to those who seek!

But what to those who find? Ah, this
Nor tongue nor pen can show;
The love of Jesus, what it is,
None but His loved ones know.

Jesus, our only joy be Thou,
As Thou our prize will be;
Jesus be Thou our glory now,
And through eternity.

O Jesus, King most wonderful
Thou Conqueror renowned,
Thou sweetness most ineffable
In Whom all joys are found!

When once Thou visitest the heart,
Then truth begins to shine,
Then earthly vanities depart,
Then kindles love divine.

O Jesus, light of all below,
Thou fount of living fire,
Surpassing all the joys we know,
And all we can desire.

Jesus, may all confess Thy Name,
Thy wondrous love adore,
And, seeking Thee, themselves inflame
To seek Thee more and more.

Thee, Jesus, may our voices bless,
Thee may we love alone,
And ever in our lives express
The image of Thine own.

O Jesus, Thou the beauty art
Of angel worlds above;
Thy Name is music to the heart,
Inflaming it with love.

Celestial Sweetness unalloyed,
Who eat Thee hunger still;
Who drink of Thee still feel a void
Which only Thou canst fill.

O most sweet Jesus, hear the sighs
Which unto Thee we send;
To Thee our inmost spirit cries;
To Thee our prayers ascend.

Abide with us, and let Thy light
Shine, Lord, on every heart;
Dispel the darkness of our night;
And joy to all impart.

Jesus, our love and joy to Thee,
The virgin’s holy Son,
All might and praise and glory be,
While endless ages run.

Words: Ber­nard of Clair­vaux, 12th Cen­tu­ry (Je­su dul­cis me­mor­ia); trans­lat­ed from La­tin to Eng­lish by Ed­ward Cas­wall, Lyra Ca­thol­i­ca, 1849.

If Thou But Suffer God to Guide Thee

I came across this hymn this week (found it here), and it has ministered to me much. It seems to me that I grew up hearing far more “life is getting better & better” songs and not enough “persevering” kind of songs. These honest hymns that point us to rest in the sovereignty and goodness of God are so helpful. I am really blessed by the fact that our church uses many songs like this. The sentiment is similar to the poem, “Do The Next Thing,” which I mentioned previously.

If Thou But Suffer God to Guide Thee

If thou but suffer God to guide thee,
And hope in him through all thy ways,
He'll give thee strength, whate'er betide thee,
And bear thee through the evil days;
Who trusts in God's unchanging love
Builds on the rock that nought can move.

What can these anxious cares avail thee,
These never-ceasing moans and sighs?
What can it help if thou bewail thee
O'er each dark moment as it flies?
Our cross and trials do but press
The heavier for our bitterness.

Only be still and wait his leisure
In cheerful hope, with heart content
To take whate'er thy Father's pleasure
And all-discerning love have sent;
Nor doubt our inmost wants are known
To him who chose us for his own.

Sing, pray and keep his ways unswerving;
So do thine own part faithfully,
And trust his Word - though undeserving,
Thou yet shalt find it true for thee;
God never yet forsook at need
The soul that trusted him indeed.

Georg Neumark, 1621-1681
(you can hear the tune here)

Christmas Poem, Robert Southwell

As Christmas draws near, I wanted to share a favorite Christmas poem. This is actually only a portion of the poem, but it is the most relevant and best part. I appreciate how the poet moves appropriately from the “baby” imagery to the purpose of the incarnation- “to rifle Satan’s fold” (“The Son of God appeared for this purpose, to destroy the works of the devil,” 1 John 3:8).

New Heaven, New War

This little Babe so few days old,
Is come to rifle Satan's fold;
All hell doth at his presence quake,
Though he himself for cold do shake;
For in this weak, unarmed wise,
The gates of hell he will surprise.

With tears he fights and wins the field,
His naked breast stands for a shield;
His battering shot are babish cries,
His arrows made of weeping eyes,
His martial ensigns cold and need,
And feeble flesh his warrior's steed.

His camp is pitched in a stall,
His bulwark but a broken wall;
The crib his trench, hay stalks his stakes,
Of shepherds he his muster makes;
And thus as sure his foe to wound,
The Angels' trumps alarum sound.

My soul with Christ join thou in fight,
Stick to the tents that he hath dight;
Within his crib is surest ward,
This little Babe will be thy guard;
If thou wilt foil thy foes with joy,
Then flit not from the heavenly boy.

By Robert Southwell

A Hymn for Thanksgiving

As we begin our Thanksgiving, let me share this hymn. It is good for us to give thanks to God for all things, but we must take care that we not sound as if we are really worshipping the idol Materialism. In other words, while we thank God for things, we have much to thank God for if we lose all we can see or touch. This Watts hymn moves me and reminds me to cry out in deep thanksgiving to God for saving my soul. Verses three and four especially drive this point home. As I gather with my family and friends today, I want to thank God for salvation and then, as in this hymn, let my thanksgiving overflow in prayer for the salvation of the nations.

How Sweet and Awesome is this Place
By Isaac Watts (you can hear the tune here)

How sweet and awesome is this place
With Christ within the doors,
While everlasting love displays
The choicest of her stores!

Here every bowel of our God
With soft compassion rolls;
Here peace and pardon bought with blood
Is food for dying souls.

While all our hearts and all our songs
Join to admire the feast,
Each of us cry, with thankful tongues,
“Lord, why was I a guest?

“Why was I made to hear
Thy voice,And enter while there’s room,
When thousands make a wretched choice,
And rather starve than come?”

’Twas the same love that spread the feast
That sweetly drew us in;
Else we had still refused to taste,
And perished in our sin.

Pity the nations, O our God!
Constrain the earth to come;
Send Thy victorious Word abroad,
And bring the strangers home.

We long to see Thy churches full,
That all the chosen race
May with one voice, and heart and soul,
Sing Thy redeeming grace.

For All The Saints

Last year I posted two items concerning Reformation Day and our need for a new Reformation. This year let me look more towards the idea of All Saints Day. I am not big on an official liturgical calendar, but it is right for us to pause to consider the great cloud of witnesses that have gone before us. We impoverish ourselves when we act as if ours is the first (or even second or third) generation to seek to follow Christ and think through what it means to be His people. Below is a hymn that I love- I use that word advisedly. I did not grow up singing this hymn- but I wish I had. I remember where I first heard it and how it moved me. Since I have found all the verses from Cyberhymnal. I am almost always moved to tears when contemplating this hymn. I offer it for your contemplation. You can listen to the original tune here (some have produced new tunes for the hymn, but I do not think they are an improvement on this one).

We are not alone in this. Our brothers and sisters have gone before, and noticing their faith and endurance and God’s provision to them will aid us on our way. We are not alone. We are a part of the great fellowship of all the saints! And one day we will celebrate together in the presence of the Savior of us all. Let us give thanks for the example of those who have gone before us (Heb 13:7).

For All the Saints

For all the saints, who from their labors rest,
Who Thee by faith before the world confessed,
Thy Name, O Jesus, be forever blessed.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

Thou wast their Rock, their Fortress and their Might;
Thou, Lord, their Captain in the well fought fight;
Thou, in the darkness drear, their one true Light.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

For the Apostles’ glorious company,
Who bearing forth the Cross o’er land and sea,
Shook all the mighty world, we sing to Thee:
Alleluia, Alleluia!

For the Evangelists, by whose blest word,
Like fourfold streams, the garden of the Lord,
Is fair and fruitful, be Thy Name adored.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

For Martyrs, who with rapture kindled eye,
Saw the bright crown descending from the sky,
And seeing, grasped it, Thee we glorify.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

O blest communion, fellowship divine!
We feebly struggle, they in glory shine;
All are one in Thee, for all are Thine.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

O may Thy soldiers, faithful, true and bold,
Fight as the saints who nobly fought of old,
And win with them the victor’s crown of gold.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

And when the strife is fierce, the warfare long,
Steals on the ear the distant triumph song,
And hearts are brave, again, and arms are strong.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

The golden evening brightens in the west;
Soon, soon to faithful warriors comes their rest;
Sweet is the calm of paradise the blessed.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

But lo! there breaks a yet more glorious day;
The saints triumphant rise in bright array;
The King of glory passes on His way.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

From earth’s wide bounds, from ocean’s farthest coast,
Through gates of pearl streams in the countless host,
And singing to Father, Son and Holy Ghost:
Alleluia, Alleluia!
Words: William W. How, in Hymns for Saint’s Days, and Other Hymns, by Earl Nel­son, 1864.