Morning Thanks--Music of the soul

Go on and listen in. It'll cost you only five minutes. 

I wouldn't number myself among those who consider "How Great Thou Art" an all-time favorite. I'd prefer David or Asaph or Moses, or whoever else penned the greats. Sometimes I think we'd be better served if we'd do nothing but sing psalms and save the ditties for the kiddies. 

I know, I know--I sound like Oscar the Grouch. But when this clip turned up early Sunday morning on my Facebook page, it just about brought me to tears, not because it's so perfectly rendered, but because the foremost context for that old hymn these days, for me at least, is the Home where my father-in-law dwells, not always comfortably either. Lately, at Sunday chapel, he falls asleep when the sermon starts, but when the singing goes, he'll sing another three verses of "How Great Thou Art," his lips moving to lyrics he can no longer read. At that moment, something in that old hymn reaches a depth of soul little else does or can. At that moment the old hymn is fully as wonderful as any Bev Shea or those two up top ever crooned, no matter how massive the crowd. 

Our church likes its worship "blended." We don't limit musical selection to Fanny Crosby or Charles Wesley, or even the poet/King David. We wander through the years, always picking up a few things from the now.

But, for me at least, nothing touches the eternal like the oldies. When we sing together, in harmonies--even in harmonies that aren't harmonies at all--when we chant through old hymns and psalms, I can't help but believe it's not just me making music, not just the old folks at the Home. Somewhere right beside me and them, their own long-departed loved ones show up in the shadows to join in on "How Great." Suddenly, we're not alone because there's this cloud of witnesses singing too.

Last week Sunday morning in our church it was just one old hymn, an old Isaac Watts favorite, that drew a crowd: "When I Survey the Wondrous Cross." A few bars in and just like that, for me at least, there's Mom and Dad and a whole loft of dedicated choristers.  

It's hard not to stop singing at times like that, hard not to just stand there and listen. You don't make music just then. It doesn't have to be on your lips to be playing in your soul. 

I never sang in a group like this one, never heard this particular rendition. Still, somehow, when they let go on "When I Survey," I'm there, and so are my folks and even my Dad-in-law. All of our souls are singing.