This is my Story…This is my Song Part II…Dignified Praise

It has been said or at least, implied that certain traits and habits in our ancestry skip generations.  Whether it is fact or myth, I think that is the case as I’ve been thinking about this post.  In my physical appearance, I look a lot like my mother and have several of her traits, however, there are several other things about me that I notice are more like my grandmother than my mother.

One such example is this:  my natural inclination toward being openly expressive in worship; both of my grandmothers (my maternal one, that you met in the first post, and my paternal one) were shouters. That is, when the Holy Spirit was moving, those sisters got moving with Him…“they just couldn’t hold their peace”… “couldn’t help themselves…”  They would be jumping with hands and voices raised  OR holy dancing gracefully and soulfully down the aisle.  And those two sisters could go! Often, they set the tone of what we called “the Spirit was high today” OR “we had some Church today.”  That was an almost universal African American understanding of “high church.”   (see note at end of post)

This is My Story…This is MY Song…DIGNIFIED PRAISE

At the opposite end of the spectrum is my mother; without the slightest exaggeration, she was the total opposite!  She was NOT the shouting kind of woman! I think a part of her even saw those expressions of the “Spirit’s movement”  as undignified!  And to be totally honest I must admit, sometimes it does look like dignity-lost.  (Mother would have been totally content in some of the places I have served since her ascent to Glory–quiet and quick!) But because I grew up with not one, but two “Holy Ghost-filled shouting Baptist grandmothers,” I grew up believing that sometimes we just cannot explain how the Spirit of God moves and works.  My seminary education would later try to explain it away as something called syncretism, which, simply put, is to say that human nature tends to fuse indigenous beliefs and practices about God with a differing and totally foreign belief system about the same.  While, at its core I believe there are remnants of who African people were before the Westward diaspora, there is something vastly unique about African American Christian Worship.

My revered friend and colleague, Dr. William “Bobby” McClain, Professor Emeritus at Wesley Theological Seminary and author of “Come Sunday:  The Liturgy of Zion,” says and I quote, “Black worship is not merely a replica of white worship nor the reenactment of African tribal rituals, but a third entity created to offer refulgence to a people weary at heart. Its liturgy and theology are derived from the cultural and religious experience of a people struggling to appropriate the meaning of God and human life in the midst of suffering.  This tradition encouraged celebrating the power to survive and affirming life with all of its contradictory realities.  Spontaneity and improvisations are necessary corollaries in such a tradition.”  (McClain, 1990)

I boast (in the LORD) of two grandmothers of African descent, who somewhere STRONG in their DNA, had the inclination toward African religious beliefs about the spirit world.  They were both offspring of parents or grandparents who were part of “slavery’s invisible church.”   They were themselves part of the foundation of what we now call the African American Church.

My mother, as different from her mother as she seemed to me as a child, most always sat quietly in church; every now and then she might nod or smile or on rare occasion, wipe away a tear.  A choir member, she loved singing in the choir and whenever she led a song it was totally dignified–she did it with all perfect enunciation and musical competence, and absolutely no outward show of emotion or expression.  Strange to me, because I loved the dancing and whooping and shouting…and I wondered, why my mother didn’t.   What I have learned as I witnessed her live life to the fullest is what the prophet Isaiah records in 30:15:  For thus saith the LORD GOD, the Holy One of Israel; In returning and rest shall you be saved; in quietness and in confidence shall be your strength: but you would not.  My mother did.  Even in her dying, it was in quietness and confidence that we witnessed her strength.  She was quiet, dignified, reserved, classy, but a REAL disciple.  Her example prepared me for the places God would send me to serve.

What I am still learning for myself from her favorite hymn’s impact on her life and witness is confidence and firm-ness in that confidence…truly Blessed Assurance…that Jesus is hers…Blessed Assurance…that life with Him on earth is only a foretaste of Glory Divine…Blessed Assurance…that she is indeed an heir of salvation…Blessed Assurance…she is a purchase of God…Blessed Assurance…she is born of His Spirit…Blessed Assurance…she is washed in His blood!  (While I am convinced that my mother had the assurance of all these things , I am likewise convinced that they are true to all who would dare trust God.)

My mother understood with certainty that the Spirit of the Living God “lived, moved and had his being” in her.  Her confidence was not based on any feelings or outward expressions.  Her assurance was founded upon the Word of God and His faithfulness to keep His Word.  She knew that she did not have to be like her mother or either of her sisters or anyone else in her expressions of her love for and fellowship with Christ.  Mother knew that she didn’t have to dance or shout or lose her dignity to be totally authentic in her walk with Christ.  She lived and died “being confident of this very thing, that he who had begun good work in her would perform it until the day of Jesus Christ.”  (Philippians 1:6) Mother lived and died with that blessed assurance…

Blessed Assurance was written in 1873 by Frances J. “Fanny Crosby.”  Here is the story of the penning of that hymn:

BLESSED ASSURANCE: “One of Fanny’s dearest friends was Phoebe Knapp. While Fanny lived in the Manhattan slums and worked in rescue missions, Phoebe lived in the Knapp Mansion, a palatial residence in Brooklyn, where she entertained lavishly. She was an extravagant dresser with a wardrobe full of elaborate gowns and diamond tiaras. Her music room contained one of the finest collections of instruments in the country, and Fanny was a frequent houseguest. One day in 1873, while Fanny was staying at the Knapp Mansion, Phoebe said she had a tune she wanted to play. Going to the music room, she sat at the piano and played a new composition of her own while the blind hymnist listened. Fanny immediately clapped her hands and exclaimed, ‘‘Why, that says, ‘Blessed Assurance!’ ’’ She quickly composed the words, and a great hymn was born. Many years later, D. L. Moody was preaching in New York at the 23rd Street Dutch Reformed Church. The Moody/Sankey meetings had popularized Fanny Crosby’s hymns around the world and had made the blind poetess a household name. But whenever she attended a Moody/Sankey meeting, she refused to be recognized, disavowing acclaim. This day the church was so crowded she could find nowhere to sit. Moody’s son, Will, seeing her, offered to find her a seat. To her bewilderment, he led her onto the platform just as the crowd was singing ‘‘Blessed Assurance.’’ Moody, Sr., jumped to his feet, raised his hand, and interrupted the singing. ‘‘Praise the Lord!’’ he shouted. ‘‘Here comes the authoress!’’ Fanny took her seat amid thunderous ovation, humbly thanking God for making her a blessing to so many.”  (Morgan, Robert J., Then Sings My Soul:  150 of the Worlds Greatest Hymns Stories, 2003)

HOW I HAVE BEEN SHAPED BY THIS SONG:

BLESSED ASSURANCE: It is ironic, I believe, that as I share with you my mother’s favorite hymn, I am bombarded by memories of how much I have detested having to play it.  Not because I don’t love the lyrics; quite the contrary, but I detested the musical score; of all the hymns I had to play as a young pianist, it is the one in which I felt totally incompetent trying to play.  My piano teacher insisted that we learn what was written on the page and I could do that well.  But at church improvisation, to some degree, was the norm for the singing congregation.  I could not transpose very well and I could not improvise anything in the key of D–the key signature for Blessed Assurance in every hymnal I have ever seen.  To be totally candid, I still am not thrilled playing it for congregational singing because every congregation knows it and likes to sing it in the key of D.  I have run across a few excellent, improvising soloists who prefer it in a different key, but I have not had the pleasure of ever playing it for a congregation in any key but D.

Of all the things–my mother’s favorite hymn has always caused me sweaty palms, (BTW, I don’t think I ever disclosed that to her, even when she had me play it for her at home).  Every time the hymn, Blessed Assurance, came up and I was at the keyboard, I was stripped of my self-confidence…I always felt like “I can’t play this song.”

But do you hear the real irony there?  The dynamics of playing Blessed Assurance have caused me great angst and frustration over the years while I have often turned to the lyrics for consolation.  Could it be for me, and maybe for you, a reminder that God has given His blessed assurance to those who follow Him in EVERY circumstance of life, no matter how trivial the circumstance might be? You see, regardless to how nervous it made me, I have managed to play it hundreds of times over the years, all three verses and the chorus at least four times--all because of the grace of His blessed assurance.  

What “key” is causing you angst today?  Your “key” may not be a literal keyboard note–it might be a real life situation that seeks to strip you of your confidence–not only in yourself–but, most importantly, in the One whom you have trusted to always “work all things together for your good, because you love Him and are called by Him.”  Hear me clearly, I have been talking about musical notes and compositions and musical scores, but I, too, have had my share of real life situations…situations unrelieved by neither a shout nor a whoop; it was in quietness and in confidence that I found strength for the journey!  Those moments of stillness and calm in the Presence of the One who can always be trusted…the only One in whom I have placed ALL my confidence.  I have gotten through some painful, deep terrains of life just like I have gotten through playing that wonderfully awesome hymn, Blessed Assurance, so many times–by the grace of His blessed assurance!  (and, my friend, you can, too!)

My mother spent a lot of time in the kitchen and throughout the house creating a home for us, but the most consistent image of her in my mind is on her knees by the side of her bed…every night…not for a few minutes, but for long periods of time…in quietness and in confidence!  These are a few of the valuable lessons I learned watching and reflecting on the life and witness of my dignified mother!

Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine!
Oh, what a foretaste of glory divine!
Heir of salvation, purchase of God,
Born of His Spirit, washed in His blood.

Perfect submission, perfect delight,
Visions of rapture now burst on my sight;
Angels, descending, bring from above
Echoes of mercy, whispers of love.

Perfect submission, all is at rest,
I in my Savior am happy and blest,
Watching and waiting, looking above,
Filled with His goodness, lost in His love.

Refrain:
This is my story, this is my song,
Praising my Savior all the day long;
This is my story, this is my song,
Praising my Savior all the day long.  (Public Domain)

Note:  In my experience with the African American church, high church is when the Spirit is moving and people are expressing their response to His movement in an overt and often loud and genuflecting manner.  On the other hand, churches deriving from the Roman Catholic and Anglican Churches tend to call high church those moments when the classical music is flowing, the lecture is quick and the liturgy is perfect English literature.