Ken’s e-Pistle

April 3, 2024

“You picked the wrong hymn, again,” I was told.  Ah well, such is the life of a Parson. I remember being told that the Presbyterian Hymnal (The real one, maroon, indeterminate copyright date, had the Responsive Readings in the back.  You had better know the one.  There will be a test before you can enter the Pearly Gates.) has thirty-five hymns.  The rest are filler, fit only to be sung by high-brow Episcopalians, if not out-and-out Catholics.

This critique was in response to the first hymn on Easter Sunday in which the words of a familiar text were set to an also familiar but different tune.  Alas, it was an effort on my part to help us consider the words afresh.  Mea culpa, mea culpa, I have once again learned my lesson.  Truth be told, I have to learn it over and over again.

On many occasions, usually at social gatherings, a group of us will gather around a convenient upright piano of doubtful pedigree and tuning, and sing some of the old favorites.  You know, “In the Garden,” “There is a Fountain Filled with Blood,” “Drop-Kick Me, Jesus, Through the Goal-Posts of Life.”  The latter may, by tradition, be sung only during the Football Season.

It is all in good fun. They harken back to a different day which is dear in our collective conscience. I’m not exactly sure why, but there you have it.  Typically, they have catchy tunes and lousy theology.

Churches are interesting institutions.  Folk having advanced degrees in their fields of endeavor are satisfied with a 6th grade Christian education.  Sometimes those same people have extensive listening and or performing experience with classical music but really like to sing late 19th and early 20th Century hymns, reflecting a theology long since surpassed and broadened.

So, there we have it.  I try to select hymns which show thematic integrity to the tone of the service of worship.  I also try to include hymns which you know and love.  It is a fine balance and sometimes I will get it wrong.

Still, I try to remain true to one mantra: “If we don’t believe it, we probably shouldn’t sing it in the worship of Almighty God.”  Sorry, Miss Crosby. Let’s keep the garden encounters in the back yard.  And whenever we sing, “Blessed Assurance, Jesus is Mine,” let’s pause and think about who belongs to whom.

I bid you peace!