_When Preachers Sing_
Even in these days of pulpit exchanges, ministers show their
denominational alliances in their sermons. Not so when it comes to
hymns, which are more catholic and comprehensive than creeds and other
ecclesiastical pronouncements. Indeed, the hymnal of any church contains
the writings of Catholics and of Protestants of every variety, for most
hymns express the deeper aspirations of the soul without any sectarian
accent. They are admitted into these compilations because of their
intrinsic worth as transcripts from Christian experience, dealing with
the essential truths of the Gospel. There is a healthy omission of those
incidentals which interrupt whole-hearted Christian fellowship with all
who believe in the Lord Jesus Christ and accept Him as their central
authority.
If our preaching were as free and fervent as the hymns sung by ministers
and people, and if our practice more closely harmonized with the
sentiments in hymns, the day of Christian union would come more quickly.
Here are some incidents which illustrate the ability of ministers to
make melody in their hearts as unto the Lord.
It is in a crisis that the depths of the heart are exposed as here when
A Minister Requested His Favorite Hymn
Dr. R. W. Dale, of Birmingham, England, preached a beautiful sermon in
memory of his college friend, the Rev. E. S. Glanville, of Warwick. He
told how the dying minister had requested his father and sister to sing
to him his favorite hymn, and they sat in the chamber of death and sang:
"There is a land of pure delight,
Where saints immortal reign;
Infinite day excludes the night,
And pleasures banish pain."
Equally significant was the
Marching Song of Veteran Ministers
When the names of the forty-five retired ministers were called in the
Baltimore Annual Conference of the Methodist Episcopal Church, in 1930,
these men who were facing the sunset period of life stood and sang:
"Come, we that love the Lord,
And let our joys be known;
Join in a song with sweet accord
And thus surround the throne."
"The light that never was on sea or land" crept into their faces as they
recalled the days and the songs of their pilgrimage, and blended their
voices in the triumphant refrain:
"We're marching to Zion,
Beautiful, beautiful Zion;
We're marching upward to Zion,
The beautiful city of God."
Then, to give emphatic expression to their Christian joy, when Dr.
Charles W. Baldwin, a veteran leader, ninety-one years of age, gave the
signal, they exclaimed in unison: "Hallelujah!"
But those who are in active service show their spirit of consecration by
being
Ready for Another Day's Work
The business had been transacted, the committees had reported, and the
resolutions of appreciation had been read. The closing moments of the
Methodist Conference were approaching. Soon the presiding bishop would
read the appointments, and one hundred and eighty ministers would enter
on a new year of ministry. Several of these would be assigned to new
fields.
Many had seen years of service. For some of them this would probably be
the closing year, for it generally happens that during the year some
fall at the post of duty. But among the number there were nine young men
who for the first time would enter on their great adventure of
ministerial service.
The closing hymn selected was one rarely heard at such a moment, yet it
was impressively appealing, and soon all the ministers were blending
their voices in the words of Miss Warner:
"One more day's work for Jesus,
One less of life for me!
But heaven is nearer,
And Christ is dearer
Than yesterday, to me."
In connection with what was said above about young ministers, it was an
impressive occasion
When a Bishop Sang at the Ordination Service
A group of young men were ordained into the ministry of the Methodist
Episcopal Church on a glorious Sunday afternoon in May in the presence
of many hundreds of ministers, relatives and others. The service
apparently was about to end when Bishop Adna W. Leonard knelt inside the
altar by the side of these young preachers. By pre-arrangement with the
organist, the strains of music softly came and then the voice of the
bishop was heard singing the expressively appropriate words:
"It may not be on the mountain's height,
Or over the stormy sea;
It may not be at the battle's front
My Lord will have need of me;
But if by a still small voice He calls
To paths that I do not know,
I'll answer, dear Lord, with my hand in Thine,
I'll go where You want me to go."
The young ministers who had just taken upon themselves the solemn vows
of the ordination service then joined with the soloist in the chorus:
"I'll go where You want me to go, dear Lord,
O'er mountain or plain or sea;
I'll say what You want me to say, dear Lord,
I'll be what You want me to be."
The voice of the bishop was again heard:
"Perhaps today there are loving words
Which Jesus would have me speak;
There may be now in the paths of sin
Some wanderer whom I should seek.
O Saviour, if Thou wilt be my guide,
Tho' dark and rugged the way,
My voice shall echo Thy message sweet,
I'll say what You want me to say."
Then for the second time, the young ministers united their voices with
the one who was leading them in song, as together they rendered the
chorus.
The third stanza followed, by the Bishop:
"There's surely somewhere a lowly place,
In earth's harvest fields so wide,
Where I may labor through earth's short day,
For Jesus the crucified;
So trusting my all to His tender care,
And knowing Thou lovest me,
I'll do Thy will with a heart sincere,
I'll be what You want me to be."[11]
Hundreds of eyes by this time were mist-filled, and it was with
difficulty that many could control their voices when Bishop Leonard
asked the entire company to sing the refrain. Soon, however, about
twelve hundred voices were songfully pledging their loyalty to their
Lord as they sang the words of the chorus.
Few were the words spoken by the leader of the service before another
hymn was rendered:
"I need Thee every hour,
Most gracious Lord;
No tender voice like Thine
Can peace afford."
These lines voiced a prayer for divine strength, guidance and blessing.
With the young ministers now standing at the altar, young people were
asked to consecrate their lives to the service of Christ. From all parts
of that historic church young men and young women moved forward until
sixty of them had publicly registered their decision. Some of them for
the first time took their stand for Christ, others expressed a desire to
become ministers, missionaries, workers in their home churches.
The effects of this service will remain for many years. For there went
forth from that church in the central part of the Empire State of New
York a great company of hearts touched by the Spirit of God and resolved
to render faithful devotion to Christ's cause.
The consciousness of the divine providence was emphasized in the
confession:
"Thou My Daily Task Shall Give"
When sixty ministers, heads of various Summer Schools of Ministerial
Training in the Methodist Episcopal Church, met in Evanston, Illinois,
to review the work of the previous year and to plan for the future, the
leader of the devotions one morning called attention to a hymn of great
personal value. Then, on that January day, it was sung with deep feeling
as the ministers were just entering on their task for another year. This
hymn was written by a layman, Josiah Conder, who "passed a busy life as
bookseller, editor and author." It is well worth committing to memory;
at least, such was the conviction of that group of ministers who sang:
"Day by day the manna fell:
O to learn this lesson well!
Still by constant mercy fed,
Give me, Lord, my daily bread.
'Day by day,' the promise reads,
Daily strength for daily needs:
Cast foreboding fears away;
Take the manna of today.
Lord! my times are in Thy hand:
All my sanguine hopes have planned,
To Thy wisdom I resign,
And would make Thy purpose mine.
Thou my daily task shalt give:
Day by day to Thee I live;
So shall added years fulfill,
Not my own, my Father's will."
The assurance of divine guidance was expressed in the declaration:
"All My Help From Thee I Bring"
"When ... storms of unpopularity and tempests of financial disaster
threaten the tiny bark upon life's troubled seas," wrote Sir Henry Lunn,
"my friend and colleague, Hugh Price Hughes, whose ministry in some
small degree I shared, asked me to believe with confidence that there
was One 'in the heavens to give attention to our personal concerns,' and
taught me to say with a new emphasis, 'Thou, O Christ, art all I want,'
'Other refuge have I none,
Hangs my helpless soul on Thee,
. . . . . . . . .
All my trust on Thee is stayed,
All my help from Thee I bring.'
"And now that the limit of three score years and ten is passed and
life's journey must be drawing to a close, I say triumphantly: 'Here I
raise my Ebenezer. Hitherto the Lord hath helped me and hither by His
grace I have come.'"
Episcopal dignity was enriched on a recent occasion when, according to
_Zion's Herald_,
Bishops Sang Their Special Hymn
When the bishops of the Methodist Episcopal Church held their
semi-annual meeting in San Francisco, in November, 1929, they were given
a reception and a banquet. Eight hundred persons assembled to do them
honor, including officials of the city and the state. The bishops
contributed a vocal number to the evening's entertainment. Bishop
Francis J. McConnell, with his richly melodious voice, led his
colleagues in the episcopal hymn, 'Beloved, now are we the sons of God,
and it doth not yet appear what we shall be.' Those present insisted on
an encore, but as the episcopal repertoire is limited to a single
number, the bishops could only modestly bow their acknowledgments to the
sustained applause.
But these bishops are not really confined to just one hymn, for they
also sang on another occasion
"Land Me Safe on Canaan's Side"
The most remarkable feature of the singing of the Board of Bishops of
the Methodist Episcopal Church, wrote Bishop Francis J. McConnell, when
reporting one of their meetings in Boston in May, 1930, consisted in
their skill in fitting almost any song to the "only tune which I have
heard them sing with any conspicuous success." Reference was then made
to a dramatic moment "when that one tune was sung with marvelous power."
Bishop Earl Cranston, at the age of eighty-nine, "had just made a
farewell speech in which he had said that he did not see how he could
again attend the Bishops' Meeting. At the conclusion of the address the
bishops sang, adapting their favorite tune, the stanza: 'When I tread
the verge of Jordan.'"
One can easily imagine that scene, and how deeply affected the others
were after listening to the words of the veteran leader. It is difficult
to conceive anything which would have been more appropriate for such a
time than the words in which the company blended their voices:
"When I tread the verge of Jordan,
Bid my anxious fears subside;
Bear me through the swelling current,
Land me safe on Canaan's side:
Songs of praises
I will ever give to Thee."
This confidence of immortality is also shared by others as seen on a
memorable occasion when
Ministers Sang Their Hope
Many ministers had assembled to pay their last tribute to a comrade who
had fallen while in the ranks of service. Words of commendation were
spoken concerning the fidelity and devotion of the one whom God had
called in the prime of life. Prayers were offered. Soon the body,
accompanied by the bereaved relatives, would start for the little
cemetery in the boyhood home. But before leaving the church where the
services were conducted, the ministers stepped forward, surrounded the
casket, and united their voices in singing:
"There's a land that is fairer than day,
And by faith we can see it afar;
For the Father waits over the way,
To prepare us a dwelling-place there."
The refrain voiced the assurance of immortality cherished and preached
by that company of pastors:
"In the sweet by-and-by,
We shall meet on that beautiful shore."