The Singing Church: The Hymns It Wrote and Sang

by Edmund S. Lorenz

III. THE USE OF HYMNS FOR CREATING RELIGIOUS INTEREST

In selecting hymns for the opening of a religious meeting, the existing nervous and emotional condition of the congregation is an important factor. That condition may be due to an unlimited number of influences. Are they gathering under the open sky, in a tent, in a rough tabernacle, or amid churchly surroundings? What is the character and background of the assembled people? In a distinctly unreligious environment, the crowd will be disorganized, in a nervous flutter, in a secular state of mind, more consciously interested in securing a desirable seat than in the purpose of the meeting. The people need to be psychically organized as a unit, need to have their attention concentrated on the occasion of the meeting, need to be brought into a religious state of mind. There is nothing better than the singing of a hymn to secure these very essential results. The unifying effect of common action, the nervous calming of the music, the religious suggestiveness of the hymn itself, all will co-operate in creating the proper attitude of mind.

What hymn shall we use to secure such a diversified result? Shall it be “My faith looks up to Thee,” or “O Love that wilt not let me go”? They are both superexcellent hymns, but they would be utterly out of place. They belong to the first type, the expression of existent religious feeling; but there is little or no such feeling under the proposed circumstances. The people are not in a state of mind to sing them sincerely and earnestly. It would lead to the all too common hypocrisy of indifference.

Moreover, the tunes to these hymns are not of the organizing or stimulating type, fine as they are. They are tunes of expression of existing feeling, not of exhilaration or inspiration.

For such a miscellaneous crowd as has been described, a much less emotional hymn with a somewhat livelier tune is called for, such as “Blow ye the trumpet, blow,” “Come, we that love the Lord,” or “Onward, Christian soldiers.” In most cases a lively Gospel song, such as “Sunshine in my soul,” “Rescue the perishing,” or even, in extreme cases, “Brighten the corner where you are” is more effective. The problem is not so much that of making a religious impression, as of preparing the people to receive a religious impression. To use tender, deeply emotional, profoundly spiritual hymns for such preliminary treatment is to flout psychology.

If the congregation meets in a church or other distinctly sacred edifice, the religious associations will simplify the problem. In part, at least, the secular attitude will have given place to a hospitality of mind for religious ideas and impressions. Under favorable circumstances the nervous strain will relax and religious susceptibilities will begin to function. These nervous and mental transformations of mood will be deepened by the organ prelude, if that has been wisely selected and effectively played.

In some conservative, devout congregations where solemn earnestness is the prevailing mood, and the bowed head on entering the pew is not a mere convention, the usual Doxology may be used after the call to worship; but usually an introit, such as “The Lord is in His holy temple” or “Oh, come, let us worship,” sung by the choir, will be the wiser preparation for the preacher’s invocation. The “Gloria Patri” should prepare the congregation for some solemn hymn of profound worship, such as “My God, how wonderful Thou art,” or “Lord of all being, throned afar.” By the time this is sung, the members of the congregation should be united in sympathy and responsiveness to the worshipful exercises that follow.

If the service is to be a joyous one, with an aggressive purpose, the hymns should still be strictly worshipful, but more animated. “Come, sound His praise abroad,” “Oh, worship the King, all-glorious above,” or “Kingdoms and thrones to God belong” should be the unifying spiritualizing agency.

But if the social instincts are allowed to find expression as the people gather, and more or less furtive conversation and even gossip are heard, or worse yet, if the Sunday school has overflowed into the auditorium or, for lack of separate room, has occupied it, and the going out of the school and the coming in of the congregation make a confusion that submerges the hallowed associations of the place, a much more difficult problem is faced, and a more conscious effort must be made to prepare the people in mind and heart for the experience of the hour.

The prelude must be calculated to cover disturbing sounds and to call the people to order—an entirely different type of prelude from that used in the previous hypothetical situation. Once quiet and order are secured, the music may begin a quieter, more religious movement. But the high ecstasy of the Long Meter Doxology is out of the question. An earnest Call to Worship by the preacher, and a quiet sentence or introit by the choir, will hush the people’s minds into sympathy with the invocation, that may possibly be somewhat longer and more earnest, which in turn will prepare them for a sincere and thoughtful participation in the “Gloria Patri.” The wise and observant preacher will have been able to anticipate their state of mind and decide whether they are ready to Sing with sincerity “O day of rest and gladness,” “Safely through another week,” or the more elevated “Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty,” or “Before Jehovah’s awful throne.”

By the time this hymn is sung, the fate of the service has practically been settled. The people will have been won and are ready to go on to a deeper interest and to a fuller yielding of themselves to the influence of the service; or they are dull and unresponsive, even somnolent, with an unconscious resentment that they have not been stirred and quickened. The failure of the service is assured, unless a miracle happens.

If the minister is a slave to the conventional order of service, that miracle will not happen. He may be so complacent over the smooth unfolding of the wonted numbers as not to recognize that the interest in the minds of his people has dropped.

In such a situation the best means to redeem it is a hymn with a profound appeal. But it cannot function, if it is used in the ordinary, conventional way. If the minister is alert and senses the stupor that is shadowing the minds of his people, and if the success of his service is more important to him than the mechanical regularity of the usual order of events, he can bring the miracle to pass by the use of the next hymn in an unexpected, thrilling way.

If the scheduled hymn does not lend itself to his purpose, he can exercise the audacity without which no public man can hope to succeed, by changing it to one that will, and by that act will storm the first defense of Morpheus, the god of sleep. Of course, he will always keep in mind practical considerations of teamwork with his musical helpers, taking enough time in introducing the substituted hymn in an interesting way to enable them to find it and decide to what tune it is to be sung. Usually that takes but a moment. Announcing the hymn, he will explain the message of the hymn in doctrine or in feeling, as a preliminary to its intelligent and sympathetic singing; or he may make emotional comment, or relate a fitting anecdote that will grip the feelings, leaving historical data for some other occasion; or he may ask the congregation to join him in silent prayer for divine guidance into the heart of the hymn to be sung; or he may ask his people to read the first verse in concert, in order that they may sing it with more intelligence; or if he has a sympathetic soloist, he can ask him or her to sing a verse, letting the people sing the rest of the hymn.

If the people are submerged in indifference and stupor, he may treat the whole hymn in like fashion, verse by verse, always careful to make his few words count, for prolixity will defeat his purpose. He will be even more careful that there shall be a crescendo movement of increasing impressiveness and deepening feeling.

Such a jolt to the passive attitude of an unresponsive people, genially administered in a confident manner, and with sincere feeling, will waken the most indifferent congregation and avert the impending defeat. It will make the frequent use of such unusual methods unnecessary by creating a latent expectation of the unexpected.

Fortunate is the minister who has a native sensitiveness to the tides of feeling that ebb and flow in his congregation, to whom the faces and attitudes of his people are an open book. Most ministers must develop such a power by keen and persistent observation and by intelligent experimentation. This psychical en rapport is very important to the minister. As well might an organist play without hearing his instrument as for a minister to be ignorant of the states of feeling of his congregation. He is a blind man trying to paint a picture.

Some ministers think themselves lacking in magnetism, in sensitiveness to outside influences, and make no effort to develop their latent powers. This inferiority complex is wrong; the very sense of limitation is a proof that the capacity for it exists. It is too essential to the largest success that a man should not use every possible effort and method to develop it.