|
Once
upon a time….or in the early 1860’s for those who prize
precision….there was a British clergyman with a hyphenated
last name (Baring-Gould) and a somewhat unusual first name
(Sabine). That’s right, Rev. Sabine Baring-Gould. And one of
the things that was said of him was that he actually performed
his own wedding ceremony. It must have been a tad amusing to
hear him ask himself: “Wilt thou, Sabine, take this woman
(Grace) to be thy lawful wedded wife?” But it must have been
a real hoot to hear him reply to himself: “I will.”
Which,
of course, meant that when the bride kissed the groom, she was
also kissing the minister. Whereupon, I am certain that he
took the fee for performing the ceremony out of his left
pocket, and deposited it in his right.
While
serving as curate of St. John’s Church, Horbury Bridge,
Yorkshire, he planned a special sermon on missions one Sunday
evening. And failing to find a suitable hymn with which to
conclude the service, he wrote one entitled “An Evening Hymn
for Missions,” the first stanza of which contained these
sublimely beautiful lines:
Now the day is over,
Night is drawing nigh,
Shadows of the evening
Steal across the sky.
The
tune, he remembered from a bicycle trip he had taken through
Germany, several summers previous.
Over
the course of his ministry, Rev. Baring-Gould was to write
many things, including biographies of saints and (get this)
books about ghosts, alleged to be haunting nearby British
castles.
Which
brings me (or rather, him) to Pentecost in the year 1865. In
England, Pentecost (which is celebrated on the Sunday nearest
the 50th day after Easter) was known as Whitsunday….a
linguistic aberration of White Sunday (given that while we
wear red on that day, the Brits wear white). The day following
Whitsunday was known as Whitmonday, and was a legal, as well
as an ecclesiastical, holiday. Since children did not go to
school on Whitmonday, the good reverend thought: “Let’s
have an outing for the parish children, including a hike to a
nearby village (the better to join forces with the children of
that parish for an afternoon of songs and games).” But
worried that his children might spread out and get lost on the
trail, he hit upon the idea of having them march rather than
stroll. Alas, none of his Sunday school teachers knew a good
marching hymn. Yet knowing his skill with texts and tunes,
they said: “Why don’t you write one?” So he did,
completing the lyrics in a single evening. In fact, he wrote
the hymn in such haste that he never did like some of its
rhymes. But others did. And still do. Including me. And many
of you. We sang his words, mere moments ago. For you know them
as the hymn “Onward, Christian Soldiers.”
Although
he lived to the age of 90 and wrote over 85 books before his
death in 1924, the only reasons we have to remember Rev.
Sabine Baring-Gould are a pair of hymns….one, a quiet
missionary hymn of the evening….the other, a rousing
marching hymn of the morning. Incidentally, the tune to which
we now sing “Onward, Christian Soldiers” is not the one
his Sunday school kids would have learned on their Whitmonday
march from village to village. They would have sung it to a
tune by Haydn, while we sing it to a tune by Sullivan (as in
Gilbert and Sullivan). So now you know.
Never
in the good reverend’s mind was there any thought of armies
or wars in conjunction with the hymn. Rather, it was written
for children. And, for many years, “Onward, Christian
Soldiers” was sung in but two places….children’s
assemblies and outdoor communion services.
Twenty
years ago, as denomination after denomination set out to purge
and revise their hymnals, there arose a great brouhaha over
the militaristic imagery of this hymn. Frequent were the
suggestions that it no longer belonged in a proper Christian
hymnal. “Take it out,” the purists said. “Kill it,”
the pacifists said. “At the very least, rewrite it,” which
several did. In fact, if you get bored with the sermon and
start browsing through the hymnal, turn to number 555 where
you will find the hymn “Forward Through the Ages,” which
is simply “Onward, Christian Soldiers” with new verbiage.
The controversy raged for months. But just when it seemed as
if Rev. Sabine Baring-Gould’s hymn was doomed, the cards and
letters started to come. First by trickle. Eventually by
avalanche. They came from people, not who remembered the
glories of war, but who remembered the glories of childhood.
And “Onward, Christian Soldiers” was saved. Which is fine
by me, given that I like the hymn almost as much as I hate
war.
I
like it for a lot of reasons (offered in no particular order).
-
I like it
because it has enthusiasm and adrenaline.
-
I like it
because it has action and motion.
-
I like it
because it takes sin seriously….takes sinners
seriously….and takes the desire to fight sin seriously.
-
I like it
because it recognizes there are things that are
oppositional to the gospel, and that laying down in the
face of them makes a mockery of the gospel.
-
I like it
because it recognizes the solidarity we have with those
who preceded us….the “saints who have trod,” I
mean….and that in accessing the strength of present-day
Christianity, we must never discount (as Colin Morris
reminds us) those reinforcements camped over yonder hill.
-
I like it
because (as the letter of I Timothy suggests) there are
“good fights,” and that those who fight them
(hopefully, in good ways) are those who will know the
sweetest sense of closure when their trophies at last they
lay down. After all, didn’t Paul say (on the eve of
dying): “I have finished the course, kept the faith, and
fought the good fight.”
-
And I like it
because, as a hymn, it knows the true identity of our
Commander in Chief (“With the cross of Jesus going on
before”).
I
suppose I also like it because of its suggestion that a
servant church need not necessarily be a wussy church….which
(I suppose) grows out of my hope that a servant preacher need
not necessarily be a wussy preacher. There are distinctions
worth contending for….people worth advocating for….a
kingdom worth campaigning for. And we do not come to such
battles without wonderful weapons in our arsenal (starting
with truth….that two-edged sword….which can help both us
and the world come clean, depending on which way we point it).
Alas,
some would say that the words “mighty army” constitute a
cruel parody of today’s churches. Indeed, fire up any search
engine on the world wide web and you will come across this
biting satire of Sabine Baring-Gould’s hymn (from which I
quote verse three):
Like a mighty tortoise,
Moves the church of God.
Brothers we are treading,
Where we’ve often trod.
We are much divided,
Many bodies, we,
Having different doctrines,
Not much charity.
Chorus:
Backward, Christian soldiers,
Fleeing from the fight,
With the cross of Jesus,
Nearly out of sight.
Ouch,
that stings. But I can shake it off, not solely because of
what I know about “church,” but because of what I know
about “armies.” When an army drills, it looks magnificent.
When an army stands inspection, it looks magnificent. When an
army parades, postures or poses, it looks magnificent. But
when an army does what armies are trained to do, things can
get messy. Armies advance. But armies also retreat. They take
prisoners and hold hills, even as they are sometimes taken
prisoner and yield hills. What’s more, armies suffer
casualties (with some of the most courageous work involving
the retrieving of the wounded). To be sure, there are those in
the army who perform heroically, even sacrificially. But there
are others who perform cowardly, given that there has never
been an army without its share of slackers and shirkers. Does
that sound like any institution you know? Still, there are
good armies with good discipline (usually having to do with
good leadership). Hopefully, that also sounds like an
institution you know. And then there’s this. Both armies and
churches have a manual. So let me tell you a “manual”
story.
It
involves the Quakers (which has nothing to do with the people
who make oats in Chicago or furniture in Ohio). Rather, when
you think “Quakers,” I want you to think of the Religious
Society of Friends….who are known not only for their
principled opposition to aggression, but for their daring
deeds of reconciliation and wound-binding in the face of great
danger (under the auspices of the American Friends Service
Committee).
Which
brings me to Henry Cadbury of Harvard. Some know him as
Luke’s primary translator. Others know him as one of the
finest New Testament scholars of the twentieth century. What
most people don’t know is that Henry Cadbury was a Quaker (a
member of the Society of Friends). Which explains why he laid
down his scholarly work at Harvard to roll bandages for the
wounded of World War II. Accused by his professorial
colleagues of abandoning his translating, he refused to quit
his bandage rolling, saying to his critics: “I am translating
the New Testament.”
Wow!
If that won’t preach, ain’t nothin’ gonna preach. For if
that isn’t high on the list of things we are called to do,
what is? So let me put it to you. How are you translating the
New Testament?
I
think many of you are doing it in more ways than you know. Not
that you’ve maxed out your potential. Far from it. There’s
always room to improve. For unless God grades on a very soft
curve, every last one of us is going to go home with a report
card that reads: “Needs to improve.” But take heart.
Improvement is happening. God knows it’s happening. What’s
more, it’s making a difference.
As
a case in point, I give you the lady from Gladstone. Not
because I know her. I don’t. But because I love her story.
Gladstone is in the Upper Peninsula, where (if newspapers can
be believed) half the population is presently dwelling in a
deer camp. They must kill a lot of deer in Gladstone. Because
once a year, this lady from the Gladstone United Methodist
Church brings a whole lot of venison down to the Cass Corridor
for the feeding programs of Cass Church which serve several
thousands of Detroit’s hungry, weekly. The other thing that
people of the Gladstone church send down is winter coats.
After all, who would have more winter coats than people who
live in the Upper Peninsula?
So
this lady from Gladstone wraps the coats around the venison,
the better to provide insulation. And since she can’t get
her hands on a refrigerated truck, she drives 406 miles from
Gladstone to Detroit with her air conditioning running full
blast (wearing a snowmobile suit to keep her from freezing).
One
day that lady’s going to die….of pneumonia, no doubt. And
somewhere, two or three miles inside heaven’s gate, Jesus is
going to meet up with her and say: “Alice, it’s great to
see you again. I’ll never forget that venison you used to
bring me, just like clockwork, every December.” To which
Alice will say: “Oh my Lordy, you must have me confused with
some other Alice. Jesus, I never brought you any venison.”
Which
is when she’ll remember Matthew 25:40 (“Inasmuch
as….”, go ahead say it with me), not because she is good
at memorization, but because she is wonderful at translation.
Like
I said, I don’t know her. But we serve together in the army.
|
