Praising in the Storm

Two and a half weeks ago, the Engineer spent four days and three nights in the hospital.  Starting on Monday, and ending on Thursday.  It took a couple of days to figure out what was wrong with him.

It started off with a fear of meningitis.  Then, tuberculosis.  The first was quickly ruled out (praise God!).  The second took a little longer...

Wonderful friends took the girls Monday evening (and then again all day Tuesday).  Monday night, I picked up my precious three girlies and was driving home.  I found myself singing.  Softly, almost without thought.

The Cowgirl asked me what I was singing.  So I sang louder.  I sang hymns.  The hymns that contain so very much rich theology.  The hymns that have helped inform my faith.  Hymns by men and women that have loved the Lord, clung to Him through adversity, the likes of which I may never face.  Hymns that stuck in my ears and in my heart.

I found myself, not just clinging to God, but praising Him.  Praising Him for who He is, for how He has gone before.  Through these timeless words penned centuries ago.  Words and melodies that link me to believers long dead, believers that have walked this path before me.  Not just to the hymn-writers, but to the centuries of hymn-singers, as well.  Fellow worshipers who have gone to these same hymns countless times, through adversity, and pain, and plenty, and mountaintops.

And this is why I mourn the loss of hymns in the church.  That link to the past, that theology learned through the music of the saints long past.  The idea that "if others can do this, so can I" that comes almost unconsciously.

Modern music is missing that -- that link to the saints.  It's not long-lasting.  No one in a hundred years will be singing the "praise music" we sing today.  I fear the push to make us "relevant" has made us merely worldly.  Instead of being truly different, truly timeless, we have settled for "cool" and "hip," both concepts that are bound, by definition, to time.

When nothing is different from what folks can find in the gym, or the country club, or even the casino, why would they choose the church? 

When my children go through hard times, will they sing the songs they hear now, ones long out of fashion by then?  Will they go to songs that are in vogue at that time?  Or will the long for something more -- something deeper, something that speaks of saints before clinging to God and the cross?  Will they long for a link to men and women with stories of perseverance through the unthinkable, of a God bigger than all of this life?  And more importantly, will they find that link?  Will it still be there?