My earthly father always loved the hymns of the faith, rich as they are both musically and lyrically, saturated in eternal truths that set our compasses aright and turn our hearts back in the right direction. I also love the hymns, learned even before I could read by hearing them sung in my father's strong tenor, and feeling them sung as my cheek rested against his arm as he sang. So it was with so much that I learned of God the Father, and of Jesus my faithful High Priest and Servant-King; the truth about them passed to me through the voice and life of my father, who was a more faithful representative than anyone I have ever known.
Three weeks ago today, this noble man was caught up "in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye", not by the last trumpet, but in a tragic head-on collision from which there was no escape. I feel compelled to tell this story, to share the loss and the pain, and the graces, the lovingkindnesses, the goodness and mercies that have surely followed all of us, and have lined even the path through the valley of the shadow of death.
But in this writing, I first set my compass as I remember, from deep down in the Cleft, the words of a hymn I learned so long ago I had nearly forgotten it:
"When I survey the wondrous cross
On which the Prince of glory died,
My greatest gain I count but loss
And pour contempt on all my pride.
Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast,
Save in the death of Christ my Lord.
All the vain things that charm me most,
I sacrifice them to His blood.
See, from His head, His hands, His feet,
Sorrow and love flow mingled down;
Did e'er such love and sorrow meet,
Or thorns compose so rich a crown?
Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were a present far too small;
Love so amazing so divine
Demands my soul, my life, my all."
(Isaac Watts, 1707)
"Selah". . .
And another by the same writer in 1720, sung often and with strength and gladness by my mother and father together, around the piano, or riding in the car at night, or in the gatherings of the saints. Almost three hundred years from its writing, how much more relevant than ever are the words!
"Am I a soldier of the cross,
A follower of the Lamb?
And shall I fear to own His cause
Or blush to speak His name?
Must I be carried to the skies
On flowery beds of ease
While others fought to win the prize
Or sailed through bloody seas?
Are there no foes for me to face?
Must I not stem the flood?
Is this vile world a friend to grace
To help me on to God?
Sure I must fight if I would reign,
Increase my courage, Lord,
I'll bear the toil, endure the pain
Supported by Thy word.
Thy saints in all this glorious war
Shall conquer tho' they die:
They view the triumph from afar
And seize it with their eye.
When that illustrious day shall rise
And all Thy armies shine
In robes of vict'ry through the skies
The glory shall be Thine."
Here in the Cleft of the Rock, I can see clearly, and I am seizing that far off triumph and anchoring my soul with it. For the One who faced the terror of the cross and transformed it into the "wondrous cross" makes us more than conquerors in all these things, and at this very moment as He stands before the Father on our behalf, His Spirit infuses my weakness with His strength.
What a resting place!
