I recently read a chapter that left an imprint on me both academically and personally, and I knew it was happening in real-time. It brought together numerous threads in a clear way that helped make sense of various discussions in my research field. But, more importantly, it left me in a spirit of worship as the words that echoed in my mind were not those of the author, but of others you might be familiar with:
Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine!
O what a foretaste of glory divine!
And
What a Friend we have in Jesus,
All our sins and griefs to bear!
And
Come, Thou long-expected Jesus,
Born to set Thy people free,
From our fears and sins release us,
Let us find our rest in Thee
The chapter was written by historian Mark Noll in Where Shall My Wond’ring Soul Begin? The Landscape of Evangelical Piety and Thought (with the title drawn from a Charles Wesley hymn). As you might have guessed, Noll’s chapter examines the hymns of evangelicalism and the important role they’ve played in articulating the movement’s strengths throughout the centuries.
For those familiar with the challenge of defining evangelicalism, you’ll know that it’s a crowded conversation with various definitions proposed and examined and tossed around. And it’s necessary to do so, as demonstrated in Thomas S. Kidd’s recent Who Is an Evangelical? The name has accumulated unhelpful connotations and it’s important for both those inside and outside the movement to appreciate what is theologically distinctive about these gospel-people.
But Noll does something that I hadn’t come across—he argues that to understand evangelicalism in its purest form, don’t look first at what they say or even what they do. Look at what they sing. Noll writes, “Evangelicalism at its best is the religion displayed in the classic evangelical hymns.” [1] He thinks modern evangelicalism traces back not to the preaching and revivals of Jonathan Edwards or George Whitefield, but to the beloved hymns of Charles Wesley. After all, most of us have more Wesley stored in our hearts through his songs than Whitefield or Edwards through their sermons.
The hymns that evangelicals have sung—songs originating with Charles Wesley, John Newton, William Cowper, Fanny Crosby, African American spirituals, Horatius Bonar, Ira Sankey, and more—come from different eras, classes, and socio-economic conditions. But these hymns, diverse as they are, still share significant commonalities. Noll sees three threads running through classic evangelical hymnody: The scandal of the cross, the ecumenism of the gospel, and a social vision. In short, these hymns reserve their only offense for the cross, not politics or theological minutia. Four words define their message: Jesus Christ Saves Sinners. [2] They emphasize unity, a unity which Jesus himself commands. Finally, they call for a social compassion that is concerned not only with one’s eternal soul but also with their present suffering.
Academically, it’s a fascinating argument. But that wasn’t my ultimate take-away. Instead, I couldn’t help but soak in the words of the hymns Noll cites. I read them out loud and then sung the ones I knew. Having not gathered with my local church in some time because of COVID-19, singing hymns alone in my office that I’m used to hearing echo from our sanctuary hit harder than I anticipated. But I also felt united to countless saints who have known, treasured, and sang these words before me and from all-around, from Texas to Taipei.
I’ve been reading various hymns from church history and singing them with my wife and daughters at bedtime. Some are slow, some twangy. Some are old, some new (thanks, CityAlight!). Our current playlist is All Creatures of Our God and King, Victory in Jesus, Great is Thy Faithfulness, and a then quick deviation from classic hymnody to Phil Wickham’s Living Hope which, if you didn’t know, according to my four-year-old is actually called “New Hallelujah,” which distinguishes it from “Old Hallelujah,” the first song listed in this playlist. It’s a lot to keep up with at 8:30 PM. Worth it, too.
How might you tap into this reservoir of lyrical theology, encouragement, and hope? You might read a classic hymn once a week or sing one on Sunday as a family. You might memorize a verse or stanza that your heart needs. I’m working on this one from Augustus Toplady’s “Rock of Ages”:
Not the labours of my hands
Can fulfill Thy law’s demands;
Could my zeal no respite know,
Could my tears forever flow,
All for sin could not atone:
Thou must save and Thou alone.
With the restrictions that most of the world is under, we’re not singing these hymns in the way we’re used to. But maybe that gives us a chance to examine and utilize them in ways we’re not used to, as well. To ponder them and to sing them in settings where they’re not often heard—dinner tables, neighborhoods, or with little ones at bedtime. Find ways to read and sing them, for we sing when the world sees no reason to. We are, after all, “a singing people.” [3]
In these days when discouragement is rampant and unity seems lost, studying and singing these classic hymns is one way to set our eyes on the hope that endures and to
Join in the everlasting song,
And crown Him Lord of all.
[1] Mark Noll, “Evangelicalism at Its Best,” in Where Shall My Wond’ring Soul Begin? The Landscape of Evangelical Piety and Thought, edited by Mark A. Noll and Ronald F. Thiemann (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000), 1.
[2] Noll, “Evangelicalism at Its Best,” 15.
[3] Thomas S. Kidd, Who Is an Evangelical? The History of a Movement in Crisis (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2019), 60.