Put Down That Hymnal

Were you to visit my church, you could find me sitting in the first pew on the right-hand side of the sanctuary, tall and gray-haired, probably wearing red.  And I would be singing without a hymnal.  This is one of the things newcomers say they've noticed when they meet me.  They ask if I know all the hymns by heart.

I don't.  And my practice of singing without the hymnal isn't about being noticed.  But it is intentional.

Some years ago, I noticed a young woman in my church who seemed to have all the hymns memorized.  She sang with both hymnal and eyes closed.  When I asked her about this, she said that she did know many of them.  She also said that keeping the hymn book closed forced her to really think about what she was singing.

So often when singing in worship, I can zone out, tossing familiar words off my tongue, effortlessly joining in on an often-sung tune.  But the words are far from my heart.  My thoughts wander to what is at home in the refrigerator for lunch, or to whether or not my son finished his homework, or to what someone else in the congregation is wearing.

Singing without the hymnal forces me to consider what I'm singing and to Whom I am singing.  More often than not, I know more words than I think I do.  I can usually find a familiar phrase while singing along with the congregation, listening to the rhyme scheme, recalling the number of times I've sung the lines before.  Think of how easy, how natural it seems to join your voice with others' when Christmas carols are played and sung throughout December.  You probably know more words by heart than you think you do.  Try it next December.  Try putting down your hymnal.  Then keep doing it.

The more I sing without the words in front of me, the more deeply they etch themselves into my brain, my heart, and my soul.  I think of Paul and Silas praying and singing hymns at midnight while in prison.  No hymnal.  No words printed in the bulletin.  No overhead projector.  Just words they knew by heart, offered in petition and praise.

When the enemy comes to me at midnight, (or, in the case of this middle-aged woman, more often at 3 a.m.) tempting me to fear and doubt, the words of praise penned by godly hymnwriters of the past come to me, forming the basis for my prayers today.  They became my petitions at my father's bedside as he was slipping away into eternity and my heart was too heavy to form words of my own.  I offer them to my heavenly Father when words fail me in seeking to walk with Him.

Joining the community at Holy Experience, walking with Him today.