This week marks the final Sunday of Lent and the beginning of a week in which the church contemplates the Passion of Christ. The term “passion” is one we hear tossed about quite frequently – as in, follow your passion or find your passion. It does mean to feel deeply about something, but it actually comes from the Greek word πάσχειν (paschein) which means to suffer.   Appropriate for the symbolism found in the story of Christ’s triumphal entry into Jerusalem, the Last Supper, his agonizing time in the Garden of Gethsemane and his arrest, trial and crucifixion. It’s a story of suffering – a quick fall to the lowest of places.

This hymn is sometimes known as the Passion Hymn. It’s words are based on a medieval poem, usually attributed to Bernard of Clairvaux, in which the various verses address the different parts of Christ’s body hanging on the cross. The text we are familiar with comes from the verse speaking of Christ’s head.

O sacred head, now wounded,
with grief and shame weighed down,
now scornfully surrounded
with thorns, your only crown!
O sacred head, what glory,
what bliss till now was thine!
Yet, though despised and gory,
I joy to call thee mine.

The music was written by Hans Leo Hassler in 1601 and was harmonized by Bach in 1729. It has been used many, many times in musical commemorations of the Passion story as well as simply as a beautiful tune. Bach arranged five stanzas in his St. Matthew Passion, Liszt included an arrangement in his Via Crucis and Paul Simon’s American Tune is based on this hymn.

There is a difficult beauty to this hymn. The tune is of a stunning loveliness and filled with heartbreaking melancholy. The words are hard to read, harder to sing. This is an emotionally charged work that can stir so much feeling. So many questions. I love this hymn and yet am disturbed by it when I allow myself to take in the words. There is suffering, there is pain, there is guilt, there is confusion and a little anger, and there is love. This example of carrying someone else’s burdens so they don’t have to, is powerful. How can we possibly apply this model to our own lives? I’m not sure, but I suspect that it is necessary to try. What a gift to offer. What a gift to receive.

What language shall I borrow
to thank thee, dearest friend,
for this, thy dying sorrow,
thy pity without end?
O make me thine forever,
and should I fainting be,
Lord, let me never, never,
outlive my love to thee.

This week I present a hymn that is actually a Lenten hymn! Although, the history of it didn’t exactly match up with my expectations of a hymn that is quite commonly heard at this time of year. The words were first published around 1811 as a camp song and are sometimes attributed to Methodist minister Alexander Means, but it is unclear if he actually wrote them. The music, however, has a more interesting story. There are many examples in early church music (when it was unusual for people to be able to read – words or music), where it was common to set religious words to a popular tune for ease of learning and appeal.  This is one of those hymns. It is the same tune as the English song The Ballad of Captain Kidd (c.1701), which describes the exploits of pirate William Kidd. It may even predate that, and apparently there were at least a dozen popular songs to this tune at the time. So, a pretty gloomy camp song, with pirate music ends up being a Lenten standard. I guess we never know where things may end up!

I was quite pleased that someone suggested this hymn. I’ve always loved the haunting tune and the way the words repeat in order to get the point across. Sort of adding weight with each repetition, becoming heavier and heavier until we all start to sing, bearing this weight together, by the millions.

What wondrous love is this, O my soul, O my soul!
What wondrous love is this, O my soul!
What wondrous love is this that caused the Lord of bliss
To bear the dreadful curse for my soul, for my soul,
To bear the dreadful curse for my soul.

When I was sinking down, sinking down, sinking down,
When I was sinking down, sinking down,
When I was sinking down beneath God’s righteous frown,
Christ laid aside His crown for my soul, for my soul,
Christ laid aside His crown for my soul.

To God and to the Lamb, I will sing, I will sing;
To God and to the Lamb, I will sing.
To God and to the Lamb Who is the great “I Am”;
While millions join the theme, I will sing, I will sing;
While millions join the theme, I will sing.

Maybe this one is a turning point in my Lenten theme of aloneness.   Maybe as we face our spiritual journeys alone, we have the choice to do so in the company of many. Different voices. Probably different words, ideas, perspectives. But all singing for strength and comfort. Singing in praise. Singing in community.  I take comfort in that. It is what moves me when I sing many of these hymns despite concerns I may have over some of the words; some of the church’s history; some of my own pain as a result of conflict and struggle within the church. There is something to be said for joining our voices. To sing with millions – regardless of who or where they are – is a magnificent example of the ideal of wondrous love. So we sing, campers and pirates alike. And when we do, we are all carried by the strength of a million voices.

I love Spirituals. They are so filled with story and emotion. They have hidden meanings and deep pain, faith and strength. And they are often such beautiful, simple tunes that can evoke so much feeling. I couldn’t find much information on this one, other than many variations of the words, but there is an explanation of it that I found revealing.  It is said to be a reference to what was left to the freed slaves after the American Civil War. In other words, in a state of extreme poverty and an absence of worldly possessions or the means to earn a living, there is a sense that the words “you can have all this world” were a criticism of how these people were treated following this apparent victory. But the claim of “give me Jesus” also implies deep faith in what was a time of increasing religiosity.

Give me Jesus,
Give me Jesus,
You can have all this world,
Give me Jesus.

I’ve chosen to place this one in Lent because it continues with the theme of facing our spiritual journey alone. We must all come to terms with how to do that and how, specifically, we face the ultimate personal experience of death. Not something we like to talk about, but something we all carry in common.

Oh, when I am alone,
Oh, when I am alone,
Oh, when I am alone,
Give me Jesus.

Oh, when I come to die,
Oh, when I come to die,
Oh, when I come to die,
Give me Jesus.

It really is a testament to someone’s faith or spiritual strength to sing words like these. To be so confident in the source of strength even in the darkest, loneliest moments, is very moving. It is inspiring. I suspect it is rare. I think we spend our lives searching for that personal confidence and strength – hoping to have it when our time arrives. I’m pretty sure I’ve been hearing this since my Sunday School days, but I think the secret to this kind of deep faith and spiritual strength lies in what we do every day. The strength that carries us through challenges is built by choice and over time. Perhaps looking for it every morning allows us to be comforted by it in the evening, and to be carried by it through the night. What a thing to learn from those freed slaves. What a legacy for us to honour.

In the morning when I rise,
In the morning when I rise,
In the morning when I rise,
Give me Jesus.

We have arrived at one of our most treasured hymns. I think it may be the one on my list that was most often suggested. One friend shared, “This hymn is my mom in all circumstances.” What a statement. What an image of a strong and caring woman for a daughter to look up to.  What expressions of love – by both demonstrator and observer of this kind of strength.

When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

And on it goes, repeating the phrase “it is well with my soul” until we start to feel that this seemingly impossible spiritual state is, in fact, possible.

This is a hymn born out of tragedy. The story is quite famous. After suffering financial ruin following the Chicago Fire of 1871, Horatio G. Spafford sent his family to Europe while he cleaned up the mess. The ship they were travelling on was involved in a collision and all four of his daughters died. It was when he passed near the spot of their death, that he wrote these words.   The tune, written later by Philip P. Bliss, is named Ville du Havre, after the ill fated ship.

Once again I am amazed at what emerges from tragedy. How some special souls in our world seem to be able to express, through the deepest pain, something that serves to inspire and uplift us – over time and through generations. The ability to both share and rise above our pain brought me a number of stories about singing this hymn at funerals. It moves us, makes us weep, helps us grieve, and gives us comfort. What struck me, however, was that it is often those who are dying that give us these words of comfort by requesting they be sung. This is a song that allows those left behind to feel assurance. These are words that, when given, allow us to send our loved ones to their eternal rest. That is an enormous gift.

And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight,
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,
Even so, it is well with my soul.

I get choked up every time I sing “the trump shall resound” because it is a magnificent image.   It implies a welcome of great proportions. It’s the kind of welcome I think we would all like. It’s certainly what we wish for those who go before us. Whether sung at a funeral or not, this hymn brings us to a place of contemplating our soul’s wellness. A place where we can choose to lovingly express and share the deepest strength of our being.  Perhaps that lies in faith; perhaps in choices, integrity, values, relationships, inspiration, beauty or simply contemplation. I wish that, like my friend’s mother, these words described me in all circumstances, maybe one day they will. But even more, I hope I can find the part of me that will give these words to those I love when the time comes that they need them. Those who have done so are beyond inspiring.

It is well, with my soul,
It is well, with my soul,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

O Lord my God, When I in awesome wonder,
Consider all the worlds Thy Hands have made;
I see the stars, I hear the rolling thunder,
Thy power throughout the universe displayed.

When through the woods, and forest glades I wander,
And hear the birds sing sweetly in the trees.
When I look down, from lofty mountain grandeur
And see the brook, and feel the gentle breeze.

Powerful imagery. The singing of this hymn always brings to mind a vision of the natural world in all its majesty; all its beauty; all its peacefulness. Such diversity. I love that. Partly because I am a believer in the value of beauty and savouring our experiences of it. Taking things in and allowing them to inspire. Easy to do when we’re in a spectacular natural environment – or a grand cathedral, at a concert or in an art gallery. Not always so easy as we carry out the day to day requirements of our lives.

There are two stories about the words to this hymn. One about the original Swedish version, written by Carl G. Boberg in 1885. The other about the English translator, Stuart K. Hine in the early 1920s. They have more than a few similarities in that they both tell of experiences involving storms and the calm following that inspired the authors to write their texts. It is unclear whether either version is true. Did the same things happen to both?   Or maybe it’s just a common story to find the Divine in the beauty of nature as it is experienced in a variety of ways. Choosing to be awed by the power and magnitude of the earth, of creation and its greatness as we walk through it. Recognizing how small we and our daily tasks are in comparison to the universe and all contained therein.

I don’t think this means what we do each day is unimportant. Quite the opposite. The birds singing sweetly in the trees are small and yet bring so much to the whole picture. As does the gentle breeze and the rolling thunder. The whole is made up of so many parts. So much that is beautiful is like this. It contains what we fear, what we value, what we contribute, our mistakes and what we create.   I find that reassuring. It makes everything I see and experience so much more valuable.   It makes looking at the world through my single lens alone kind of empty, and trying to see it with broader eyes so rewarding. It ensures that I look for the real beauty in our world and it makes my soul want to sing.

Then sings my soul, My Saviour God, to Thee,
How great Thou art, How great Thou art!

We come to the rock star of our hymns this week. A tune that has been recorded by a dizzying array of artists fairly consistently since 1941.   Everyone from Mahalia Jackson, Louis Armstrong, Patsy Cline, Ella Fitzgerald, Elvis Presley, Merle Haggard, Harry Connick Jr., Joan Baez, Bob Dylan, Van Morrison, Lawrence Welk, The Fray and Eric Clapton have recorded and performed it – and many more! What is it about this one that has made it so popular?

An old gospel song, it is said to have its roots in the southern African-American church and in the field singing of slaves. Although possibly originating prior to the American Civil War, the version we’re probably most familiar with is the one from the 1940s when it was first recorded. There is no known author of the text, although a few people have added and adjusted the lyrics over the years.

This is a very personal prayer. A song filled with the desire to be carried by something beyond our own strength. Filled with an acknowledgement of our weakness, our burdens, and our need for support.

I am weak, but Thou art strong,
Jesus, keep me from all wrong,
I’ll be satisfied as long As I walk,
let me walk close to Thee.

Through this world of toil and snares,
If I falter, Lord, who cares?
Who with me my burden shares?
None but Thee, dear Lord, none but Thee.

When my feeble life is o’er,
Time for me will be no more,
Guide me gently, safely o’er
To Thy kingdom’s shore, to Thy shore.

Maybe that’s why it has been so popular. I suppose we all struggle with the inability to manage everything. We all live in a world filled with toil and snares – things that derail our plans and best intentions. We all have moments that feel like our lives are feeble. These insecurities and challenges are common and even the most successful of us face them.   The specifics of whom we look to as a supportive walking partner may vary, but we’re all looking. My wish is that you find that partner – be they earthly or spiritual. Walk closely together.  Guide and be guided gently and safely to the shore on the other side.

Just a closer walk with thee,
grant it, Jesus, is my plea,
daily walking close to thee:
Let it be, dear Lord, let it be.

I’m learning that, for those of us who grew up in the church, there are all sorts of stories that emerge when we think of these hymns. They mean something different to each of us, but it seems that the experience of remembering these tunes or words is something we share. Interesting. I keep coming back to the idea that music can serve as a means of unifying us despite our differences, and this sharing of memories, both precious and amusing, is sort of encouraging to me.

Why amusing? Well, this week’s hymn was given to me by an aunt who shared another childhood memory. I found it quite funny, but maybe one has to have the benefit of being in the same situation to fully appreciate it! She wrote, ” I can still hear the older ladies in my childhood church singing at the tops of their voices to hit the high notes. The range did not discourage them from singing as loud as they could!” Funny because I have certainly been in the situation of hearing people belt out a high note out of sheer enthusiasm – and with little concern for whether the note could actually be reached. There is a temptation to cringe. But, there is also a big part of me that admires those who sing with complete abandon because they believe in the words or simply love singing.

The text of this hymn was written by Gerhard Tersteegen in the early 1700s. He was raised in the Reformed Church in Germany, but left the church to pursue his own spirituality as a mystic and leader of a small group of “awakened souls” that were devoted to meditation and translation of the works of earlier mystics and quietists. The words of the first verse bring to mind the transcendent experience of singing with abandon. Of being committed to one’s truth regardless of the conventions or trends surrounding us – kind of how Tersteegen lived his spiritual life.

O pow’r of love, all else transcending,
In Jesus present evermore,
I worship Thee, in homage bending,
Thy name to honor and adore.
Yea, let my soul, in deep devotion,
Bathe in love’s mighty boundless ocean.

Bathe in love’s mighty, boundless ocean. Wow. To find my soul in that space sort of diminishes any requirement to worry about hitting a high note. Although, it also kind of requires me to seek out the best high note possible. A powerful image inspiring both courageous confidence and the pursuit of excellence. Singing at the top of our voices, whether an older lady or not, is an honour and a gift. It sort of means we’ve really committed to whatever it is that grounds us; settled in to wherever we find love’s boundless ocean. So, regardless of what form your voice takes, sing.