To the old hymns

I can still remember the taste of hairspray on the tip of my tongue and the feeling of heat coming through the tissue behind my ear guarding the skin from the Conair felt hot roller that was shoved up against the ear because the more rollers, the more curls. The term “Sunday best” was a big deal to my Southern Baptist family, and it’s still ingrained in me a little today. 

A visual of the hot rollers. Of course, I was often distracted from more important tasks by singing from my musical theater books.

I still remember shoving eggs and bacon down my throat because I snuck to the couch to watch Nickelodeon while Mom went back to blow dry her hair. And oh boy, was it a sin to watch iCarly on the sabbath. “Too much making out,” in the words of Mom. “Turn that mess off.” 

I remember running back in after buckling up to grab my Bible because I forgot. There was always one of us. Between the hairspray fogging the clock, the television distracting us kids, and never checking every box – whether it was the Bible, the checkbook to tithe, or Mom’s craft for her Sunday School kids – we were always late for Church. Never by much, but always just a couple minutes off beat.

If there’s one thing about Baptists, well, they’re always late to the back row, and when the clock strikes 12, it’s time for lunch. Guilty as charged. I’ll never forget the sweet man who looked at my sister and me strolling into Sunday School yet again late (it got worse when we started driving ourselves), “you girls will be late to your own funerals.” Yeah, not late to our wedding, late to our funeral. That distinction gives that statement a lot of power. Thankfully, college mostly healed this flaw.

My baptism in 2012. Another thing about Southern Baptist churches: the traditional baptistry.

If you talk to anyone who grew up in the Bible Belt, they probably have the same story. There were about 8-10 families in our church that strolled in right about the same time as us. We weren’t alone in this, fortunately…or unfortunately. 

The chaos of a Sunday morning always felt like a mini twister erupted in town, always. But oh boy, what it had to have been like in my Momma’s shoes. She got up and made us a tasty breakfast, taught Sunday School, and then went to sing in the choir, and sometimes even sang the special. I mean, talk about a superwoman and a wonder we were only a couple minutes late. I, for one, had no excuse but the television or Taylor Swift karaoke again, neither of which were valid.

When it was all settled, though, and we sat in the pew as a family, there was peace. We were together worshipping Jesus, and in such a simple atmosphere. No lights, no fog, rarely even drums. Most of the time, just a piano (we had the most amazing pianist in our Church; I could listen to her all day long), a choir, and the sweet voices around us, even if Dad can’t carry a tune in a bucket, bless his heart. And they were all hymns.

My sister and I always felt honored to sit at the church piano.

Believe me, I have nothing against the lights or the drums or a guitar riff here and there, I actually love when a Church is loud in worship. I am a non-denominational Christian in my young adult life, and for a born and raised Baptist, I sure can lift those hands. But every once in a while, I just like the stillness of a hymn. I like to be brought back down to the heart of it all, what it says.

There’s something about a hymn that’s just so sweet. I mean, one of my favorites even has it in the title, “‘Tis So Sweet to Trust in Jesus,” and I love the line in that one that says, “just to rest upon His promise.” 

Hymns are so gentle; the world is not. The world is rushing, rushing, rushing, always reaching for the next thing, and Jesus says to just rest. Just be like Mary, just be with Him. Dwell in Him, rest upon His promise.

I am a busy body. I love my job, I love working, I love hosting, I love making plans with each individual friend, I love getting caught up in home improvement projects. I love being busy, I really do. Rest is hard for me because I don’t like to let myself slow down, but when all of those things weigh heavy and I get tired, I have no choice but to reach out for rest, and for some reason, the Lord speaks to me through those old Baptist hymns, and that very line, “just to rest upon His promise” is the one that gets stuck in my head the most.

When I need to praise and count my blessings, it’s “His Eye is on The Sparrow.” The lines, “I sing because I’m happy; I sing because I’m free” tell me that He is watching and blessing me and that is all the reason I need to praise.

When I place my thoughts in worldly things and desires, it’s “Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus.” The part that says, “and the things of Earth will grow strangely dim in the light of His glory and grace” remind me that nothing down here matters if my gaze is fixed on Him.

And perhaps my favorite, “This Is the Day That the Lord Has Made.” Oh yeah, that’ll get you out of bed in the morning singing, “we will rejoice and be glad in it!” I have to remind myself that every day is the Lord’s.

It’s those tunes that are just sealed on my heart, and what I love about them is that they so closely reflect the scripture, some of them verbatim. When I sing these, I’m singing God’s word, which is beautiful. I’d like to think some of these are what we’ll sing in heaven, and that’s a sound I can’t wait to hear. It just makes me grin from ear to ear to think about it.

I remember hearing the closest sound to heaven I’ll ever hear in this life. It was a hymn. I was 17, just a baby soprano. It was just a month or two before the entire world shut down for COVID, a wakeup call for so many. I was singing in the all-state chorus, and one of our performance songs that year was “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing.” Humbled to be surrounded by the most talented teenage singers in the state, I got to praise my Lord. Believe me, some of the rehearsals I was tired and hungry, but when we performed the song in its entirety after workshopping it so much, I teared up. I closed my eyes and thought I was surrounded by angels. I think that song has some of the most beautiful references to heaven.

I still think to this day, as large as that chorus was, odds are, there were several nonbelievers in the room, but I can’t help but to think that song and the passion from the believers in the room had to plant a seed that day. If you know that song, you know it will stay stuck in your head for days. But that’s what hymns do. Their simple melody, straightforward message, catchy tempo, just sticks. It only takes a line or two. 

I don’t write this to say we need to go back to the hymns. I love contemporary worship and believe it is often necessary in a Church depending on the congregation. I just write this to say “thank you” to the hymns that raised me and are still raising me. The hymns that made the Sunday rush disappear at the pew, the hymns that lead so many of my prayers to this day, the hymns hidden in my heart for the times I just need to rest in the word. I am far from perfect, a type B creative who loses her train of thought often, and life is full of that everyday chaos, but the word is perfect, spot on. The sweetness I feel when those lyrics slip off of my tongue can only be from the Lord, and for that, I’ll keep singing them in 2025 even if it is outdated.