"Sing Them Over Again To Me"

A noted educator reminisces about his life-changing experience with young people learning hymns.

It was about as routine a Friday night service as might be expected, with a few students visiting in the front lobby of the stately old mansion, then known as Philadelphia Academy, located directly across the tracks from the Overbrook suburban train station. But the evening was not altogether routine, perhaps because of the weather, which on this October night featured an unseasonably dense fog and drizzling rain—and because of an episode that occurred out front.

Three academy girls, aspiring to become a campus trio, were sitting on the front steps practicing one of the favorite gospel songs of our student body. All the kids had memorized the words to it in morning worship, so it was quite easy for them to sing in the dark:

“Once I was lost in sin’s degradation,
Jesus came down to bring me salvation,
Lifted me up from sorrow and shame,
Now I belong to Him.

“Joy floods my soul for Jesus has saved me,
Freed me from sin that long had enslaved me,
His precious blood He gave to redeem,
Now I belong to Him.

“Now I belong to Jesus, Jesus belongs to me,
Not for the years of time alone,
But for eternity.”

Out of the fog and the darkness loomed the form of a well-dressed middle-aged gentleman, hat pulled down in front and topcoat collar turned up to protect him from the elements. Briefcase in hand, he was presumably a business executive just off the last commuter train. His sudden appearance startled the girls, whose first impulse was to bolt for the front door. But he stood a respectful ten or twelve feet away on the sidewalk leading up to the school and asked in a friendly tone, “Girls, what kind of an institution is this—a seminary or something? I just heard your lovely music wafting through the fog and wondered. Where did you learn to sing a song like that?”

“We’re students in this Christian school, and we learn these songs every day; this one is sort of our theme song,” came the reply.

There was an awkward silence, which he finally broke: “My young friends, you don’t know how fortunate you are; I sure wish I’d attended a high school like that when I was your age. Thank you, ladies; you’ll never know how much I needed that tonight. I’d give a million dollars right now if I could sing a song like that from my heart, like you do. May you always be able to sing it.” And with that he disappeared into the darkness. They came into the building immediately and recounted the experience to me. They were a bit shaken, and yet inspired, for they took the incident as a harbinger endorsing their fledgling group.

Beginning. That night, reflecting on that episode on my pillow, I thanked God that I could be so fortunate as to be a part of such a noble work with youth. (What a way to spend a life!) I thanked Him especially for the serendipitous launch of the new singing program at our academy which made that witness-through-the-darkness possible. I recalled a jocular exchange with one of our sophomore boys, which got the whole thing going.

“Prof, how can we have worship when we ain’t got no songbooks?”

“Yes, I know, Harry, and we’re going to see what we can do about that, but in the meantime, would you like to give me a re-play on that sentence so it can be grammatically correct? ‘Ain’t’ is not in the vocabulary of any of my Philadelphia Academy students, and besides, you’ve just managed to haul off and hit me with a double negative! Now is that any way to treat your new principal—and especially me, your English teacher?”

Some of the grandest experiences of life have a way of coming to us seemingly quite by accident.

Who would ever have thought that this good-natured repartee would mark one of the richest, most rewarding, and most instructive chapters in my academy teaching and administration?

Accidental? Some of the grandest experiences of life have a way of coming to us seemingly quite by accident—don’t they? Usually not until years afterward, upon reflection, do we realize what was really happening to us at the time, how our benevolent God was leading. Such was the case at our small academy—as the proverb says, poor as Job’s turkey (couldn’t even afford songbooks!), but headed for unspeakable wealth in the things that really matter.

Robert Frost observed, “The measure of a man is determined by how much he can get along without.” And get along without we did! We had only two songbooks for our all our religious meetings—one for the pianist, and one for the song leader. The kids were good-naturedly patient about the problem, figuring we were roughing it until things got better. But after the first six months, they began to take a wholesome pride in our corporate destitution. They didn’t want me to ask the conference for a special subsidy to get some new books and wouldn’t hear of taking hand-me-downs from area churches that were updating. And they saw no light in my tentative suggestion of launching a fund-raising campaign to outfit ourselves with brand new songbooks before school was out.

The marvel was that I never heard any complaints, even from some of the so-called not-religious clique (which practically dissolved after our experiment of learning gospel songs by heart). The young people never considered the lack of songbooks a hardship. In fact, they soon embraced our “situation” as an institutional moniker, a PA hallmark.

Discussion. How did it all happen? Early in the school year I was discussing with the student-faculty council the centrality of morning worship for our school family. It was very important that we have all the “family” present each day for morning worship so that we could get our spiritual bearings for the day from God’s Word, inviting the Holy Spirit and good angels to sweeten our fellowship with their presence. We needed to make this family worship the very first appointment of the school day, prime family time for all of us, faculty and students together. One of the kids suggested that we call it our “Power Hour.” The name stuck immediately.

The discussion took an interesting turn when one of the student monitors weighed in with, “When do we start? I really dig this ‘family’ idea. You’re Dad, and the faculty are like our big brothers and sisters, and we’re all together, like family, getting our day started with God. It will be especially nice to have all the faculty present to experience this with us!”

Little did I realize that moving the chapel time to early morning every day would launch a major debate in the next faculty meeting. It became a moment of truth for us as a faculty. For whose benefit did the school and the schedule exist—ours, or the students’? As I look back on that historic faculty meeting, I sense now how the Holy Spirit took over that discussion. He knew that making the worship service our very first business was a potent symbol in the sociology of our school, that it was a nonverbal but powerful signal, declaring that as a school family we really did believe Matthew 6:33, “Seek ye first the Kingdom of God, “… and all these [other, necessary] things shall be added unto you.” It meant some radical shifts in faculty schedules, some of them quite painful and inconvenient at first; but God worked it all out, beyond our wildest expectations. Within weeks we blessed the day that we deliberately made worship, prayer and praise the central organizing principle of our school.

No Money. But what about songbooks? The academy had recently purchased this grand old mansion in west Philadelphia, and the three churches that sponsored the school had exhausted themselves just in providing all the other physical imperatives to outfit the school. Perhaps there had been songbooks before, but if so, in the big move to the new quarters they got lost in the shuffle.

And we were fresh out of money to buy new ones.

Optimism. I well remember the naive optimism of Susie, one of the senior girls who piped up, “That’s no real problem; we can just memorize all the words.” It almost staggered me! “And besides,” she went on, “if what we learned in Bible class yesterday is true—and I’m sure it is—someday we’re going to be out in the rocks and mountains, and we’ll only have what’s in our heads. Why don’t we begin storing away these hymns and songs now? Who needs songbooks?”

Believe it or not, the kids bought her suggestion, enthusiastically! I was beginning to think that things were getting out of hand, gone totally unrealistic. But youth are divinely pre-programmed to be mountain movers, and satisfying this innate drive is one of their chief assignments at this time of life. They’re looking for a banner to march under, some consuming cause worthy of their boundless energies and fierce loyalties. It was coming out in this student-faculty discussion, youth’s instinctive yearning for an overwhelming challenge. They’re born for it; they’re bored silly and short-circuited without it.

Youth are looking for a banner to march under, some consuming cause worthy of their bounding energies and fierce loyalties.

God’s Lesson. As I look back on this experience now, I realize that God was teaching me an important lesson as a young principal, that keeping lofty ideals constantly and uncompromisingly before our youth, making these the glue that keeps everything in the school and their lives stuck together, is probably the surest way to release and focus their constructive pent-up energies and unflagging commitment. Our youth are weary of religious shadow boxing and playing church; they want something “real.” To Susie, the time of trouble was just around the corner, and there was little time to spare in getting prepared spiritually for it.

The discussion tumbled over itself as the kids happily began laying plans, and I sensed that I was in too deep now to lag behind them or drag my feet, so I let things roll on, figuring I might corral the matter at a more convenient stage later on. At the close, one of the boys brought me face to face with present reality.

“Prof, you’re the head of this house, and you’ll be leading out in Power Hour; you can teach us all these hymns. We promise to learn.”

With my low voice and lack of giftedness at song leading, I demurred. But they wouldn’t let me out of it, and the next week, I was up front with the lone hymnal in hand, drilling the words into the kids, verse-by-verse. Neither I nor the faculty nor the students themselves realized that we had kicked a stone, quite impulsively, which would trigger a heavenly avalanche on our little academy! We’d never be the same again.

At the piano was Lois Mae, who could play just about anything by ear and really could lead a congregation from the keyboard. I believe that was providential too. What I lacked in vocal melody lead, she made up with her carry-along accompaniment. From Christianity’s most time-honored and majestic paeans of praise to the simple modern fireside choruses, she was master of them all. She could re-key any piece and pitch it so that my bass voice could handle it, yet keep it nicely in the range of the girls.

Irreligious? We discovered, too, that many of those boys who were backing out of song service were not irreligious, as we had thought; they were just shy and self-conscious because their voices were changing and they were afraid of being embarrassed. I later learned from one of these lads that it put him at ease to have a male figure leading out in the music, who frequently flubbed a note or two, who was natural and unapologetic—something he said he readily identified with. Another plus: our little chapel was very “live” acoustically, almost like singing in the shower! Our 75 voices sounded like a mass choir in St. Paul’s Cathedral, and the kids loved it!

Our approach was generally relaxed and informal, family-ish, by intent. We encouraged youthful fellowship, tolerated a bit of good-natured banter and laughter, but we certainly had times of sober, reverent reflection and silent prayer too, learning to savor the Lord. Special prayer requests and learning to “bear one another’s burdens” soon became a standard part of the morning service. The “Power Hour” steering committee deliberately planned for lots of variety and change of pace. Monotony and predictability are lethal with kids; that’s one of the first lessons you learn working with that age level.

The student-faculty council selected the new song for each week, making selection of repertoire a generational partnership, a mutual exchange of indulgence. Result: both generations learned to appreciate and enjoy the other’s sacred music. Of course, there were some ground rules in the council about what was acceptable and what was not. These discussions were in themselves an educational experience for the youngsters. And the faculty had to rely on persuasion rather than coercion or adult authority to carry their points. That made for a healthy faculty-student relationship. Nominations from either side were seriously and courteously examined. There was a deliberate effort to balance the great hymns of the church with the modern youth gospel songs. (By common consent, certain junior camp ditties like “Do Lord” and pre-school finger play rounds were ruled out-of-bounds. Even the kids recognized that these tended to trivialize true worship and constituted, as it were, “strange fire on the altar.”)

Selections were favored which focused on the Lord—praise and prayer songs which could easily transfer over into one’s own devotional life.

God-Focus. Selections were favored which focused on the Lord—praise and prayer songs which could easily transfer over into one’s own devotional life, rather than songs which merely highlighted youthful togetherness and groupiness. We all sensed together that this morning “Power Hour” was an educational exercise in sacred musical taste, as well as a whetting of the spiritual palate of the younger generation in the peculiar pleasures of personal communion with one’s Maker.

How did we proceed with learning the various hymns and songs? Well, it usually began each week by announcing the song the student-faculty council had selected. Lois Mae would play it on the piano so we could get the feel of the tune. I would follow by reading off one verse of the lyric from the songbook in my hand (the only other one around!). We would repeat the line or verse together, maybe twice if needed, depending on how well it was coming. Then we’d take one verse for the day. Pure drill. But we endeavored to make it fun, and it turned out to be just that, far exceeding our expectations and assuaging our qualms. Then we’d sing the verse of the day, plus previous ones learned—sometimes jubilantly, sometimes in a quiet meditational mode, but always worshipfully, as befitted the selection on which we were working.

And so the week progressed, with the effect building as we approached its end: one verse per day, three-to-four-verse songs Monday through Thursday, and then Friday for the finale. That’s when the kids liked to prove that we really had learned all the verses of that song by heart. How we strutted our stuff on Fridays! How proud and rewarded they felt at the end of the week. I don’t recall once having to throw anyone a dark look or having to hold a tight rein on discipline; we were enjoying “celebration,” it seems to me now, long before the 1990s would make it a great innovation and Adventist buzzword!

Occasionally I would pull impromptu trios and quartets out of the audience and let them demonstrate the piece before we would attempt to sing it congregationally. And we planted the faculty strategically around the room to help carry the tunes and identify with the students as fellow-learners. I had not entered this experiment with instructional objectives, but as we went along it became apparent that we were really modeling, instructing the youngsters on how to have a rich and rewarding devotional life on their own, using sacred music in a more deliberate way (along with Scripture), learning how to talk and sing to God. Frequently the brief homily of the day expanded the theme of the song or the particular verse we were learning that day. It’s so easy to sing congregational songs mechanically, without realizing that these are often personal addresses to God.

Personalizing. So we tried to help the students personalize the song they were singing—make it their very own musical conversation with their Maker. We savored the lyrics as great literature too, and reflected on the deep spiritual truths therein. That in itself became a musical literature class, an experience in the arts! I especially remember the open discussion times too, when we would “freewheel” it by letting the students say how the lyric affected them. Spontaneous testimony usually followed. For the closing, there was often a verse of Scripture used, with or without commentary, as time permitted, and a closing prayer, often by a volunteer or two from the student body.

And of course, Friday night vesper service was review time, not only of the week, but of the whole acquired repertoire of the school year to date! Folk came in from all around eastern Pennsylvania for Friday night and Sabbath evening sundown vespers—said they wouldn’t miss one for all the world. And they meant it, because the song service (without songbooks, mind you!)... Often our little chapel was jam-packed a half hour before announced meeting time. Our springtime visitors could hardly believe their ears; here was a group of teenagers singing their hearts out for 45 minutes straight, comfortably replaying off the scroll of their minds anywhere from 30 to 40 familiar (and not-so-familiar) hymns and songs that they had been learning all year, and never having to consult a songbook!

Awed Response. The response was usually one of awe and inspiration. Many visitors went home with a new spiritual hobby: learning hymns and gospel songs by heart. In fact, it has become a life-long religious hobby for me now. How grateful I am for what those kids taught me! It has so enriched my own devotional life. My latest addition is #532 in the new hymnal, “Day by day and with each passing moment, Strength I find to meet my trials here.” Talk about a spiritual jumpstart for the day!

How grateful I am for what those kids taught me! It has so enriched my own devotional life.

When I think of the “heavy” we started off with, I marvel that the kids hung in there with me on “Dear Lord and Father of Mankind.” But they did, and loved every line of it. Get out your hymnal and read that high-density poetry by John Greenleaf Whittier and composed by F. C. Maker. It is not only great literature, it’s magnificent, irresistible music too. I can still sing all five verses by heart and find that musical prayer more packed with meaning with each recital and singing. What a sound track for the day’s routine duties! It sure beats anything Hollywood or the pop song merchants can serve up. So many kids remarked about it just that way. The new habit literally put a new song in their hearts, to be reviewed and relished all day long.

Think of it, a student body learning by heart about forty sacred songs in a school year, just by completing one each week—and having so much fun and getting a spiritual lift doing it! Take it from me, this practice will transform a school—any school! This corporate hobby harnesses a supernatural element. “The value of song as a means of education should never be lost sight of. Let there be singing in the home, of songs that are sweet and pure, and there will be fewer words of censure and more of cheerfulness and hope and joy. Let there be singing in the school; and the pupils will be drawn closer to God, to their teachers, and to one another” (Child Guidance, p. 523).

Spiritual Breakfast. One little freshman girl said to me after “Power Hour” one morning, “Thanks, Prof, this is spiritual breakfast for me for the day; how badly I limp along on the days I miss it.” Who can calculate the eternal impact of such happy-time memorization on each student? For the rest of their lives they will be powerfully blessed by this joyous devotional-life regime—thoughtfully singing (or even just reciting) inspired prayer songs!

Make me a captive, Lord,
and then I shall be free;
Force me to render up my sword,
and I shall conqueror be.
I sink in life’s alarms
when by myself I stand;
Imprison me within Thine arms,
and strong shall be my hand.

Paeans of Praise. And there were other majestic paeans of praise and commitment, too, that the kids really got into, like “Live Out Thy Life Within Me,” “There’s a Wideness in God’s Mercy,” “Amazing Grace,” “Bless This House,” “We Gather Together,” and the like. We even learned old-timers like “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God.” Hymns like that one, especially, made them appreciate the reality of their personal conflict with the forces of darkness and the superior, supernatural keeping power of God (the battle is real and so is the victory!). Would you believe it? These heavies became standby favorites with a group of very normal teenagers.

Some verses of some songs, like the second verse of “Beneath the Cross of Jesus,” invoked special relish and adoration with the kids. Another example is “When Peace Like a River.” They just doted on each phrase of that one, it seemed, especially at the conclusion of revival services closing with testimonies and devotion. They would sing out their confession for the universe to hear: “It is well, it is well, with my soul.” I was amazed at how personally they came to appropriate the messages of the songs. But I shouldn’t have been amazed. After all, that’s what the whole thing was all about, and what Christian education should be about. Learning to praise God, and express heartfelt gratitude to Him is truly one of the “distinctives” of any Adventist school that is properly organized around its mandated objectives.

Don’t tell me that teenagers can only relate to the superficial, sentimental, or bounce-and-sway stuff; I have learned differently! I have listened to them handle “I Sing The Mighty Power of God.” I have watched their faces, and seen them savor the songs as one would savor an exotic dish—making each line intensely personal as they sang it to their God.

Who ever thought that “I Am So Glad that Jesus Loves Me” is for kindergarten? Review that lyric, to be sung with zest, and you’ll find it has a special charm and exuberance about it for adults! The second and third verses of that song of true “celebration” really turned the kids on, and the angels too, I suspect.

Repertoire. Space here doesn’t permit a complete roster of the hymns and songs that those young people mastered and relished that year (and similarly in another school later), but here is a sample list:

• I Need Thee Every Hour

• Fill My Cup, Lord

• Yield Not to Temptation

• I’d Rather Have Jesus

• Dare to Be a Daniel

• What a Friend We Have in Jesus

• How Great Thou Art

• Sweet Hour of Prayer

• My Heavenly Father Watches Over Me

• I Have a Friend So Precious

• A Wonderful Savior is Jesus My Lord

• Break Thou the Bread of Life

• Something Beautiful, Something Good

• Spirit of the Living God

• There’s Power in the Blood

• Pass Me Not, O Gentle Savior

• Take Time to Be Holy

• He Leadeth Me

• Oh Jesus, I Have Promised

• Holy, Holy, Holy

• This Is My Father’s World

• Redeemed, How I Love to Proclaim It

The students learned these and several dozen more just like them. How the Holy Spirit indited the message of some of these songs and led the kids to adopt them as their very own! I think the Spirit even sharpened their memorization skills—a real mind-expanding experience, with a supernatural dimension!

How the Holy Spirit indited the message of some of these songs, and the kids adopted them as their very own!

Some came to regard this special form of “celebration” to be Christian education in verity. Faculty and students together at school began to comprehend that hymns and gospel songs enjoy a special kind of inspired quality, not at scriptural level, of course, but certainly more than just good poetry or melody. And we found ourselves becoming personally grateful to the poets and musicians who so enriched our lives, particularly our own private devotional lives.

Soundproof Earmuffs. One of our boys worked at a construction site during the next summer to earn school money. I got to chat with him a bit at campmeeting. Here’s how he looked back on his school year:

“You know, Prof, I have to admit I don’t remember too much from the Bible class, the weeks of prayer, the Sabbath sermons, or even your talks [ouch!]; but those songs we learned each morning in ‘Power Hour’—now that’s another thing! This construction job I’m working on this summer so I can come back to school is a real cesspool. You probably know what it’s like—the dirty jokes, the coarseness and profanity, all sorts of dirty talk and violence, catcalls and lewd remarks when a girl walks by.

“I don’t know what I’d do if it weren’t for those wonderful songs we learned at the academy. It’s almost like I’ve got soundproof earmuffs on, and I’m shut in with God while I’m carryin’ hod; I just rehearse ‘em all day long, and that vileness doesn’t stain me. And I go home at night like I spent the day in a prayer meeting. We are going to do it again this year, aren’t we?”

I gave him only my promise, but I never forgot his testimony. He later moved to another school and took the experiment with him there—with the same results. You can see why I look back on that ground-breaking student-faculty council discussion and decision and regard it as far from coincidental.

Bus Drivers. The influence went beyond ourselves. The Philadelphia Transit Authority, which provided the buses that carried our students to each of the three sponsoring Adventist churches on a rotation basis, informed us that its drivers were putting in reservations weeks ahead for the privilege of driving our kids to church on Saturday mornings! The supervisors couldn’t get over it, since that kind of assignment was usually the very last thing their drivers wanted to get hung with, considering the way typical high-schoolers usually behaved on the buses. It was the singing, of course—forty-five minutes of it, non-stop. The whole repertoire, learned at school, punctuated by a lot of laughter, youthful zest and fellowship. As one of the girls put it: “Going to church was never so much fun before!”

End-Time Use. Susie, who got us started memorizing these songs, was right—there is indeed a last-day application of this unusual hobby, for we are told (Education, p. 166) that “amidst the deepening shadows of earth’s last great crisis,” the saints of God are going to be singing, lifting their voices heavenward, and I doubt whether there will be any songbooks stashed away in those caves and mountains for ready reference; those beautiful songs of prayer and praise will have been stored away in the minds of God’s people, quickly available for personal playback.

In my mind’s eye, I can see them at work, radiantly coaching the new converts.

Could it be that in those last trying hours, some of the saints will lead out in memorization sessions during the long wait? Maybe some of my former students will serve as dedicated drillmasters to many of the “11th hour” entrants to the Remnant who will be hungry for what they have. In my mind’s eye, I can see them at work, radiantly coaching the new converts.

When it happens in actuality, I’ll probably say “déjà vu,” quickly followed by “Thank you, Lord, for permitting me to have a small part of that divine serendipity, helping to bring Colossians 3:16 to life for a special group of teenagers: ‘Let the peace of Christ dwell in you richly in all wisdom; teaching and admonishing one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing with grace in your hearts to the Lord’” (KJV).

Buildings, however beautiful and commodious, are merely props and scaffolding to the educational process. What’s happening to people there—that’s the true measure of a school. Accreditation checklists so often fail to capture that critical essence, spiritual esprit de corps. My internship in academy leadership engraved this essential concept indelibly into my young administrative mind, that a school is essentially a hospitable shelter for the human spirit, which nothing nurtures more magnificently in a Christian school than spontaneous praise to God, especially through elevating (not cheap) sacred music. A powerful supernatural dynamic!

When we find ourselves talking about “getting back to the basics,” here’s one that’s truly basic to Christian education, one that deserves to be dusted off and given a real chance to do its divinely-ordained work—the serious study of sacred music as a devotional tool. I see it as core curriculum, an educational experience of which no student should be deprived.