ABIDE WITH ME

Part of a monthly series on well-known hymns.

 “Abide with Me”—that’s the spiritual truth Henry Lyte had to learn through the challenges of his early life. He was born in Scotland 1793 to a devout mother and seafaring father, who soon moved the family to Ireland and then abandoned them.  His mother taught him about the Bible and prayer, but died when he was only nine. Left an orphan without any means of support, he was taken in by his school’s superintendent who raised him like another son, making sure he received a college education. In college in Dublin, Lyte was well-liked, well-known as a poet who received many awards, and had a reputation as a hard worker. It’s no surprise that he coined the phrase, “It’s better to wear out than to rust out.”

At 21 he was ordained to the ministry and took a small parish south of Dublin. He found a close friend in another minister who before long became critically ill. As they spent long hours together, they realized that despite being ministers they didn’t have a growing relationship with Christ. Searching the scriptures, they both came to a deeper faith. Out of this experience came his hymn, “Jesus, My Cross I Have Taken.” One source linked the composition of this hymn to the Wesleyan revival in England. Lyte’s wife, who had attended the Methodist church, told him about a devout woman named Mary Bosenquet, who disappointed her wealthy parents when she became a Christian through the meetings of early Methodists.  Her father disowned her, and after that she lived in poverty, enduring threats and harm from those who opposed Wesley and the Methodists. Lyte’s hymn lyrics speak of her earthly losses to the riches of knowing Christ.

Lyte later moved across the sea to England, working hard in ministry to the detriment of his health as he contracted tuberculosis. Hoping the fresh, salty air of the sea would help him, he moved to a church in Brixham, a seaport in southwest England. There he wrote “Praise My Soul the King of Heaven” for his little congregation to sing. (A century and a half later, on what would be the 150^th anniversary of Lyte’s death, the world heard this hymn played as part of the majestic  1947 wedding ceremony of the future Queen Elizabeth 2 to Prince Philip.)

Brixham was also a royal retreat for King William IV, who during his seven-year reign was known as England’s sailor king. He would die without heirs, and his niece, Victoria, became queen for the next 63 years. At his death he also gifted his estate to Pastor Lyte in return for the pastor’s kindnesses. Talk about a fancy parsonage! But Lyte would live there only ten years as his health worsened with TB.

In the summer of 1847 doctors urged him to get away from the damp winters in Brixham and try to reclaim his health in the warmer climates of Southern France or Italy. On September 4, 1847, only 54 years old, he came to his last Sunday in Brixham, so sick that he struggled to enter the pulpit and preach. “I must put everything in order before I leave,” he told his people, “because I have no idea how long I will be away.”

It was in this time frame of leaving for health that he wrote a poem that begins:

Abide with me; fast falls the eventide.

The darkness deepens, Lord, with me abide.

When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,

Help of the helpless, O abide with me.

His text for this poem was the Gospel account of the resurrected Jesus appearing to two disciples on the way to Emmaus. As night came, the two told this man they didn’t recognize, “Abide with us: for it is toward evening and the day is far spent” (Luke 24:29).

He gave a copy of this hymn poem to his adopted daughter, taking along another copy which he revised during his trip. He posted the revision to his wife. Arriving at the French Riviera on his way to Rome, he checked into a hotel in Nice. He never went further on, and several weeks later, he died. At his bedside was another English clergyman who happened to be staying there the same time.  He reported that Lyte’s final words were “Peace! Joy!” Lyte was buried in Nice.

When news came back to Brixham of their pastor’s death, the fishermen of the village asked his son-in-law, also a minister, to hold a memorial service. On that occasion, Lyte’s hymn, “Abide with Me” was first sung.

The hymn was not widely sung until it came to the attention a decade later of William Monk, who edited the Anglican church hymnal. He wrote a new tune for it that he named “Eventide,” inspired by a beautiful sunset while Monk himself was experiencing a deep personal sorrow.

There are many "You Tube" videos featuring this hymn. This one uses footage from the British coastline, where Lyte had spent many years in ministry:
https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=abide+with+me+youtube+with+lyrics&docid=608020738813854665&mid=81739B50B13D484BA86C81739B50B13D484BA86C&view=detail&FORM=VIRE

EVERY KINDRED

Yes, this hymn has a violin connection in its history. Read to the end.

Most folks have heard of Charles and John Wesley, the preachers and hymnists of the early Methodist movement. But they had an associate whose name is often overlooked, and that is Edward Perronet.  Some have called his hymn, “All Hail the Power of Jesus’ Name,” the “National Anthem of Christendom.”  It was first published in 1779 in a gospel magazine edited by Augustus Toplady, a composer known for his hymn “Rock of Ages.” It would eventually be translated into languages all over the world for the way it communicates the human spiritual need.

So who was this man? Born in England in 1726, Perronet’s family roots included French Huguenots who fled to Switzerland and later England to escape religious persecution in France. His father was a pastor in England’s state church but sympathized with the evangelical movements of the Wesleys and George Whitfield. Son Edward grew up to be an Anglican minister but was critical of things the church believed and did. Once he wrote: “I was born and I am likely to die in the tottering communion of the Church of England, but I despise her nonsense.”

Not surprisingly, sometime after that he broke away from the church and got deeply involved with the Wesleys and their endeavors. This took courage as the Wesleys were not popular, suffering even violence from those who disagreed with them. In his diary, John Wesley noted this of one preaching time:

From Rockdale we went to Bolton, and soon found that the Rockdale lions were lambs in comparison with those of Bolton. Edward Perronet was thrown down and rolled in mud and mire.  Stones were hurled and windows broken.

Perronet was 18 years younger than John Wesley and had always refused to preach in the elder evangelist’s presence. That posed a problem one day when Wesley announced to the congregation that Perronet would preach at the next service. When that time came, Perronet mounted the pulpit, said he hadn’t consented to preach, but would deliver the greatest sermon ever preached. With that, he opened his Bible and read Jesus’ “Sermon on the Mount.” Then he sat down without comment.

Eventually Perronet and the Wesleys parted ways, a big issue being their disagreement over whether evangelists could administer the sacraments. Perronet went on to become the pastor of an independent church in Canterbury, and that is where he wrote this hymn

Perronet would write many hymns and sacred poems, but they were published anonymously, and this is the only one to survive.  It has been matched to several hymn tunes, one composed by an English layman and another a Massachusetts carpenter, self-taught musician and respected singing-school teacher.

Perronet’s last words at his death in 1792 were reported to be these:
Glory to God in the height of His divinity!
Glory to God in the depth of His humanity!
Glory to God in His all-sufficiency!
Into His hands I commend my Spirit.

Over the years, some amazing stories were told in connection with this hymn. One concerned a pioneer missionary to India who one day encountered a band of tribesman closing in on him with spears. He had a violin in his baggage and took it out, then began playing and singing this hymn. When he came to the third stanza that begins, “Let every kindred, every tribe,” he saw them lower their spears. Many were also crying. The missionary spent the next two years ministering God’s love and redemption to this tribe.

Ready to sing? Try these inspiring YouTube videos.

An a capella arrangement with words and scenic backgrounds:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UyPT3lVSpmo



A more contemporary arrangement with the Maranatha! Singers:

https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=%22All+Hail+the+Power+of+Jesus+Name%22+You+tube&docid=608030870662021285&mid=50B7EFF3CC54ECC1AC7B50B7EFF3CC54ECC1AC7B&view=detail&FORM=VIRE

Castaways

We had chopped down a messy evergreen adjacent to the house that was a fire hazard because of dry needles trapped inside. Afterwards, it seemed we’d never quit filling garbage bags of the debris. On our trash pickup day, as I came out to help the truck driver cast the bags into his dump bin, I thought of several ways garbage bags can symbolize aspects of the spiritual life.

Salvation. Some people say they can’t come to God because they have too much “garbage” in their lives. They think they need to clean up their acts before they make the decision to be a Christian. Yet, as one person quipped, “You don’t clean up the house before the cleaning lady comes.” Jesus died for sinners, not perfect people: “While we were yet sinners [surrounded by sin-garbage], Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8, comment added).

John Bunyan’s classic allegory Pilgrim’s Progress pictured that as the main character, Christian, carries a heavy back pack representing the burden of the knowledge of his sin. He comes to a place with a cross and empty tomb. There, the straps that bound his burden to him are broken, and the burden rolls into the empty sepulcher. But Christian isn’t suddenly catapulted to the Celestial City upon being relieved of his sin burden. He’s free of its penalizing weight, but he has a long way to go before reaching his destination. All sorts of tests come his way as his character is prepared for the beauty and holiness of that city where God lives.

Spiritual growth. Years ago I wrote a children’s story titled, “The Great Garbage Bag Lesson.” The fiction concerned two grade-school kids, who knew only kid-gossip about the other, being assigned partners for a science project on recycling. They decided to give each classmate a bag to collect personal throwaway garbage for a week. In the process of learning about recyclable waste, the two learned how their misconceptions about the other person being “unfriendly” were all wrong. The story inferred how pride, fear, anxiety, and other relationship-killers are spiritual “garbage” that keep us from enjoying the full life that God has planned for us.

The apostle Peter put it this way: “Cast all your anxiety on Him, because He cares for you” (1 Peter 5:7). The word for “cast” in the original Greek is epirrhipto and it literally means “to hurl upon.” Its only other use in the New Testament is in Luke 19:35, in describing the disciples hurling garments on a donkey for Jesus to sit on as He entered Jerusalem. Peter’s saying we can hurl onto Jesus our black bags of fears and anxieties. He’s strong enough to take care of them.

Selfish refusal. In my town there’s now a homeless woman in a long black hooded coat, who keeps a handkerchief pressed to her nose. As she wanders from place to place, she carries four plastic grocery sacks stuffed with more sacks. One day, concerned about her, I approached her with a clear zipped bag of purchased, wrapped snack items. “I thought you might be hungry,” I said as I got within about ten feet. She glared and waved me away. “All these are packaged,” I added, hoping to allay her fears poison or germs. She kept shooing me, insisting she didn’t want them and claiming she was okay.

Obviously, she isn’t okay. I’m not going to get into a discussion of mental illness here. But other days, as I have watched her trudge down the street, I have thought about how God must feel when we refuse His help and clasp ever tighter to our bags of problems. How much more would He’d rather hear this, as Charles Wesley expressed it his hymn “And Can It Be?”: “My chains fell off”—and I’d paraphrase, I gave up my black bags—“my heart was free, I rose, went forth, and followed Thee!”