The Hymn of the Eucharist

Matt. 26: 30.

“And when they had sung an hymn, they went out into the Mount of Olives.”

In some respects this is one of the most remarkable statements in the life of our Saviour. We have seen him in various conditions and circumstances, in prayer, in teaching, in frequent suffering and once in joy, hut never before in the exercise of vocal praise. Yet there can be no doubt that he took his jDart with devout Israelites in the songs of the temple-service, and we may readily imagine that as well in the social group of disciples, as in the more sacred devotions of the private hour, his yure and lofty affections found vent in holy psalmody, of which this is, the apy)ropiiate and sometimes the only adequate utterance. In following the series of events in our Lord’s earthly history, we have followed him to the very eve of his great suffering. We have sat with him at his sacramental table, and listened to those simple, touching and profound discourses, which he spake in that hour of wistful expectation. But now the little assembly is broken up. The traitor has departed on his walk of avarice and hate. The emblems of the cross and passion have been exchanged and received. They descend from that upper chamber, and as the shadows of evening gather about them, bend their ste|)s to the Eastern ravine, through which the Kedron pours its scanty rill, and ujDward on the first ascending slope of the Mount of Oli^es. There, a little above the lowest part, was the Garden of Gethsemane, affording among its olive shades a retirement suited for meditation and [)rayer, to which Jesus had often been accustomed to resort. But the ascent hither is not silent. The voice of harmony breaks upon the stillness of this memorable night. They sang a hymn. It is not unlikely that they sang it as they walked.

Such use of relioious sons: was not uncommou among the Pie brews, in going up to their solemn feasts; it has been adopted in later days, in the processional services of funerals and other solemn rites. At such an hour they doubtless sang from memory, and therefore something with which they were familiar. In sacred song, the least of all attendant charms is that of novelty. The words and tones which have received the additional loveliness of a thousand repeated associations, surpass all others in their power. Who knows, but that the hymn which they sang was one in which they had joined again and again with their Lord and Master? It is to be presumed that they all sang. Such was the custom of the Jewish Church. It is not hinted that Peter or James or John performed this service vicariously, as proxies for the rest. Which of the eleven, would willingly have been dumb, at such a moment, if only he comprehended the significancy of the hour? The voice which would have been out of tune, was absent, muttering, it may be, ftilsehood and perfidy in the ear of priests and pharisees. They sang a hyrnu. The disciples sang. Could we fully reproduce the strain, we should find in it probably nothing that meets the requisition of artistic taste. But it was assuredly elevated by the .high solemnity of the scene, and broken into tremulous notes by the gush of pensive emotion.

Jesus sanq. This is a point not to be forgotten. Though not expressly said, it is distinctly implied. That sacred voice, which spake as never man spake, now poured forth the sentiments of an unblemished devotion, in the hour of all others the most pregnant and affecting. If feeling be the soul of song, there must have been conveyed into those notes a world of mysterious meaning. Is it wrong to wish that we could have listened to that voice? Yet we mioht have listened and been no better. How often had Judas heard the words of blessing from those lips — yet presently he is coming to profane them by his hellish kiss! Let us not push our inquiries into that which is not for edification, as being unrevealed. The fact that Jesus sang, is basis enough for certain reflections, which we desire shortly to build upon it.

More profitable is it to inquire what was the subject of their song. ‘They sang a hymn.’ Our modern acceptation of the term is somewhat restricted. It was not so in ancient times. Any religious composition adapted to singing was called a hymn. Some have endeavoured to limit it to a special class of Hebrew odes; but without sufficient reason. The presumption is strong, that they sang one of the inspired Psalms. These were employed in the glorious worship of the temple. For this very purpose the heavenly inspiration came upon Moses, David, Asaph, and other rapt seers and poets. To this day the Psalter stands as the great treasury of praise and j)rayer, the authentic liturgy of the Church, which can never grow obsolete; which presents every varying mood of holy experience; and by its divine flexibility and expansion is equally suited to every revolving period of the body of Christ. It almost seems as if by a wise provision, the later psalms, which are triumphal and jubilant, as if for a palm-bearing multitude and an accompaniment of harp and cymbal, shoukl stand last in the collection; as too much beyond our common experience to be in unison with the frames of a striving and militant church, and so awaiting a day when the latter glory shall be fitly celebrated by anthems of loftiest joy and exultation. But the psalms are not all rajDturous. The chords are sometimes touched to the softest notes of penitence and sorrow. And hence in their wonderful modulations from confession to y)raise, they suit themselves to all conditions of believers and the church. By the Israelitish worshipper, they were sung without metre and without rhyme; just as they stand in our Hebrew Bibles. In this way were they used by early Christian assemblies. And there is no reason why our admirable prose version should not be so used now, except our fond attachment to the tradition of a metrical paraphrase. There can be conceived no mode of singing God’s praise, more simple, grave, im]3ressive and truly Protestant, than the chanting of the very words of ScrijDture by all the voices of a congregation. Such — almost beyond a doubt — was the sacramental hymn aftei this first communion. The Psalms are full of passages which relate to Messiah, and to this particular stage in his humiliation. It is most natural to think that some one of these was adopted by our blessed Master, at this moment of tenderness. There are numerous psalms, to which we can affix no clear, consistent meaning, until we regard the sacred poet as speaking in the name of Messiah; and it is remarkable how many such passages have reference to his death, and even to its lesser circumstances. Conjecture is not wrong, if we do not erect its results into divine certainties. May not the hymn have been the xxiid Psalm? beoinnino with words which thrill the soul: “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me!” What a touchins: antici|)ation of the cross, in v. 8th, “He trusted in the Lord that he would deliver him; — let him deliver him, seeing he delighted in him.” Or the 18th, “They part my garments among them, and cast lots upon my vesture.” — Or who shall say that it was not the Ixixth psalm? From such lips, what a pathos in the lamenting notes: “The zeal of thine house hath eaten me up; and the rc.proaches of them tha reproached thee are fallen upon me. Eeproacli hath broken my heart, and I am full of heaviness; and I looked for some to take pity, but there was none; and for comforters, but I found none; they gave me also gall for my meat; and in my thirst they gave me vinegar to drink.” Or peradventure, by that Kedron, he may have sung in words of the cxth Psalm, “The Lord hath sworn, and will not repent. Thou art a priest forever, after the order of Melchisedek. He shall drink of the brook in the way; therefore shall he lift up the head.” But whatever may have been the burden of that parting song, we know that they “sang a hymn” before they went into the Mount of Olives.

1. In these words there is a fearful import. They went out into the mount — they went to Gethsemane — they went to the scene of agony. The passion of our Lord, in both its principal parts, took place beyond the walls of the Holy City, as if to add new ignominy to the humiliation of his sin bearing. “For the bodies of those beasts, whose blood is brought into the sanctuary by the High Priest for sin, are burned without the camp;” the ty2)ical vicariousnoss of the suffeiing havmg tainted, as it were, the sacrifice with imputed guilt. “Wherefore,” adds the Ayostle to the Hebrews, “Jesus also, that he might sanctify the people with his own blood, suffered without the gate.” To suffer thus, he was now going. There was a full foresight of all that was to come upon him. From the beginning his eye had steadily contemplated it, and he had repeatedly foretold it to his disci2:)les. He had j)ower over his life, it was not taken from him nJuctantly or unawares. He advanced with sublime composure to the altar, and was not dragged thither as a shrinking or resisting victim. “He is brought as a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before her shearers is dumb, so he opened not his mouth.” This was therefore a moment of deep sorrow. “Sorrow hath filled your hearts:” he just now said to his disciples; but what must have filled his own? The skirt of that dense cloud, into which he was entering, must have cast over hiin some of its awful obscuration. For it was but a few moments, before he was prostrate on the earth, his soul exceeding sorrowful, even unto death. For this he was now going to the Mount of Olives; to agony as yet unknown in the universe, and never to be repeated. And yet, thu9 going, tJiey sang a hymn.

2. Is it not a fair conclusion, that sacred song adapts itself to seasons of the deepest grief? It is true the Apostle James says, “Is any afflicted, let him pray — is any merry let him sing psalms.” But the voice of melody is not confined to the expression of joy, but by its admirable versatility is peculiarly fitted to convey sadness and despondency. Music and poetry agree in this. When the inspiration of soul is present, the attempt to pour out our sorrows in verse and subdued song, is not affectation, but nature. The history of all poetic compositions shows us this. None are more memorable than such as in hours of grief have been pressed out of hearts swelling over with emotion. So it is also in the inspired psalms. Even when the captives hanged their harps upon the willows, and replied, ‘How shall we tiinc: the Lord’s sono in a stran<je land;’ they nevertheless did sing, and the utterance of their experience in exile is left to us, in that beautiful elegy, ‘By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down.’ They wept, when they remembered Zion, but as they wept, they sang. Religious sorrow occupies many of the Psalms of David; especially in their beginnings; for it is instructive to mark, how almost always the key changes, and how by a spiritual modulation, the sono which besrins in lameutino; ends in praise; through the tender mercies of Him who giveth ‘beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, and the garment of praise for the sj)irit of heaviness.’ On this point great errors prevail, so that many Christians would no more think of psalmody than of feasting, in their hours of distress. And the mistake has perhaj)s been fostered by the manner of our ordinary singing in God’s worship — so cold, hard, dry and mechanical, that it never suggests itself as the utterance of gentler and melting emotions. But could we use this means of grace according to its intention, and according to its marvellous capacity of varied expression, we should find

it the fittest and only perfect channel of sentiments too sacred for the harslier intonations of ordinary speech. Music has its vehicles for the thoughts of the burdened, the penitent, the heart broken and the dying. Soft are the tones and wailing the key, when David murmurs, as the chords of the harp scarcely add their resonance — “My life is spent with grief, and my years with sighing: my strength faileth because of mine iniquity, and my bones are consumed.” “Forsake me not, O Lord, O my God, be not far from me. Make haste to help me, O Lord, my salvation.” “My heart is sore pained within me; and the terrors of death are fallen upon me. Fearfulness and trembling are come u|)on me, and horror hath overwhelmed me. And I said, Oh that I had wings like a dove! for then would I fly away, and be at rest!” The inspired devotions of the Church, authorize the employment of song, for the expression of our most subdued emotions. If the Apostles sang, just as they were going out into the mount of Olives; if Jesus sang, at the moment just preceding his betrayal, agony and arrcvst; we may surely feel justified, when deeply smitten and afflicted, if we resort to this medium of pouring forth sorrows which might otherwise prove inexpressible.

The lesson then seems to be unequivocally here: Songs of praise are not to be intermitted or silenced by seasons of great affliction. Here we have the disciples and their Lord on the verge of their great separation; yet they cause the voice of their praise to be heard. The further lesson is not to be mistaken; that when our religious feelings partake of sorrow and fear and compunction, we are not the less to utter them in spiritual song. It is often the way to the sweetest solace. And this is remarkably evinced by the experience of David. I take it for granted, that his compositions are so many leaves from this experience, and that he sang the psalms, which he afterward wrote down for us. I further suppose, that, under Divine insyiration, his mind passed through changes of mood and temper, varied and modified by the reflex operation of his own voice and instrument. Those who think this remark derogates aught from the directness of inspiration, can scarcely have considered the case of the ancient prophets; in which the illapses of Divine influence seem not only to have allowed, but demanded, the vehicle of music. So it was said by Samuel to Saul — “thou shalt meet a company of prophets coming down from the high-place with a psaltery and a tabret and a pipe and a harp before them; and they shall prophesy.” 1 Sam. 10: 5 And when Elisha was about to receive the Divine influence and work a great miracle 2 Kings 3: 15 he called for music, saying “Now bring me a minstrel; and it came to pass, when the minstrel played, that the hand of the Lord came upon him.” Thus too, while David was musing, the fire burned; and while he was singing, his soul passed through new frames, and often emerged from depths of horror into lofty thanksgivings.

He begins a psalm, ‘Lord how are they increased that trouble me.’ He ends it, ‘Salvation belongeth unto the Lord: thy blessing is upon thy people.’ He beorins: ‘O Lord rebuke me not in thine auger.’ He ends: “The Lord hath heard the voice of my weeping.” He begins: “How long wilt thou forget me, O Lord? for ever?” He ends: “I will sino” unto the Lord, because he hath dealt bountifully with me.” He begins: “Deliver me from mine enemies.” He ends: “Unto thee, O my strength, will I sing; for God is my defence, and the God of my mercy.” He begins: “Out of the depths have I cried unto thee, O Lord.” And he ends: “Let Israel hope in the Lord, for with the Lord there is mercy, and with him is plenteous redemption.” These were so many transitions of feeling, effected during holy song; and these songs are recorded for us, that in the use of them we may have a solace, and in like manner pass from grief to exultation. Be assured my brethren, there are uses of sacred music and uses of the psalms, in regard to inward experience, which many of us have yet to learn.

There is a principle involved in psalmody which extends widely in religion; it is that our emotions are increased by due utterance. All modes of utterance are not equally suitable. For the expression of sentiment and passion, it lias been admitted, there is nothing comparable to the musical voice From neglecting this, there are many whose hearts are like a spring of which the flow is clogged by earth and grass, so that it never has clear and unobstructed flow. Not only is the actual amount of their religious feeling unexpressed, but it abides at one point — it is not increased — it has not the modifications through which it would have passed by a free and generous expression. Let it be placed high among maxims for the improvement of piety, that our religious affections must have utterance. They must not be pent up, lest they wither and decline. It is so with those who restrain prayer, or who indulge in no vocal prayer, but restrict their devotions to silent mental acts. But much larger is the number of those whose fountain dries up for lack of a frank, large and hearty psalmody. The great example before us, in this nascent condition of the Church, demonstrates the importance of singing God’s praise together, even in hours of the greatest tribulation. Which of us lias not some sliortcomiugs to confess, in regard to this duty? How apt are we to feel as if pain and Fadness absolved us from the tribute of praise — at any rate, of social praise? When, in truth, we can never be brought into circumstances, in which our mercies do not immeasurably outnumber our trials; in other words, into circumstances where there is no call for thanksgiving. Early Christians judged otherwise. Not only were they speaking and admonishing one another, in psalms and hymns and spiritual sonos; but when cast into duno:eons and their feet in the stocks, “at midnight Paul and Silas prayed and sang praises unto God, and the prisoners heard them.” The particular mention of this hymn by two of the Evangelists, amidst the very record of our Lord’s death, shows clearly that sacred praise harmonizes well with all the facts and all the doctrines of the atoning work. As has been said, many of the Old Testament psalms look forward pro^Dhetically towards these very events; and ever since the days of the Cross the dying sorrows of Jesus have formed a chief portion of what have been sung by Christian assemblies. It is truly delightful to observe, that even amidst all the errors and superstitions of the Latin Church, the death of the Redeemer has still held its place in the hymns of the people. The same, without need of qualification, is true of the era of the Reformation. In her better days, Germany, above all countries, was rich in evangelical hymns, and especially in those which take us to Gethsemane and Golgotha. It is only when the death of Christ becomes a secondary matter, and his divinity is denied, that Socinian criticism begins to amend the hymn-book, (as in some European churches) and weaken or remove all expressions of love to a Divine and dying Saviour. When the heart is full of faith and worship, it will, sitting at the foot of the Cross, long for the twofold wings of poetry and song, to rise and soar to the height of such praise as befits the wondrous work of redemption. In our own favoured tongue, Watts and Wesley and Toplady have aided us with strains, which either in public or in private, aid our

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thoughts and lift up our devotions. We are familiar, from childhood, with their words; but O for a coal from off God’s altar, to touch our lips and inflame our hearts to praise!

And when they had sung an hymn they went out into the Mount of Olives. That is, they engaged in this act of worship, the only one of the kind recorded of our Lord, at a time immediately between the first Eucharist and the mysterious agony of the Garden. What could be a stronger argument for the authority and fitness of sacred song in connexion loitli sacrctmental communions! The ordinance was incomplete, until they had sung a hymn. With the anguish, the strong crying and tears, and the bloody sweat full in view, Christ will not go to them, before he has mingled his voice with that of his disciples, in audible praise. What a rebuke to those, who look on this part of worship as secondary, as a mere appendage, which they may observe or omit at pleasure, or as something which they are only to witness, without any attempt at participation! For a service which is named the

Cominumon notMng can be more appropriate than fellowship of jDraise. According to our mode of conducting Divine services, in other |)arts of worship all are silent but the officiating minister; but in psalmody all voices have the privilege of joining. And when the psalm is well chosen, and the heart attuned, what on earth can more nearly emulate the unity of heaven!

It is not unimportant to observe, that the little group who united in this sacramental hymn, were frail and imperfect men like ourselves. At this moment, no doubt, their hearts were deeply possessed with attachment to their Lord, and apprehensions more or less clear of what was soon to befall him. But their frames, like ours, were fitful and inconstant. After a little, while their Lord was in his agony, several of them were asleep. Somewhat later all forsook him and fled. And when a remnant was rallied, the foremost among them denied him repeatedly and with imprecation. This may serve us as an admonition, that sacramental fervours are not to be rested in, and that we need perpetual renewals of grace. But now, we would fain believe, there was as true a unison of sentiment as of psalmody. One voice there was, we know assuredly, which then broke the silence of the vale, in a flow of devotion which was absolutely 23erfect, in kind and in degree. The human soul of Jesus offered itself up, in a worship which was immaculate, sublime, and infinitely accejDtable to God. This was true of all his prayers, for examj)le, in solitude, upon mountains, long before day. When now, leading his sorrowing flock, he woke the echoes of crags and olive-groves, with the voice of praise, he left a pattern to his church, which we should warmly imitate. And O my brethren, how earnest should be our desires for more of the grace of real praise! The defect in this particular is alarming. There may be a pure creed, an able ministry, a decorous attendance, strict observance of the Sabbath, punctual resort to ordinances — and yet utter deadness in associate homage to our God and Saviour. How often is public prayer a mere performance, in which the officiating minister is left alone, to be listened to, if not disregarded. There are no sympathies of the brethren, no breathings of common desire, no silent, unutterable wrestlings of soul. How often, in particular, is the psalmody of God’s house, a partial, scanty, unmeaning utterance.

If forced to avow what is my gro ing conviction, it would be this: we never shall know the joys of the sanctuary, until there be poured out upon us a new baptism in regard to fellowship of adoration, love and praise. We talk of our need of revival in many things — and justly — but what we greatly need is a revival of the spirit of worship. How new a face would instantly be put upon our solemn gatherings, if whole assemblies, as the heart of one man, were touched with an apprehension of a present God, and not only individually but jointly, were sending up the volume of sanctified harmony, sometimes in tender moanings like the dove, sometimes in profoundest awe, sometimes in rapturous joy, but all together and all accordant, not a heart unmoved, and not a voice silent! — Is it a vain fancy to think that such days will come? Nay, brethren, unless we live

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in perpetual delusion concerning the latter glory of the Church, there will be such a renewal of the spirit of worship, as in a thousand places the voice of joy shall be in the tabernacles of the righteous. Then shall God’s praise — the highest employment of human tongues — ascend with such richness and volume, that a day in God’s courts shall be better than a thousand. Then shall worshipping multitudes go up to the sanctuary of God their exceeding joy, with as much eagerness as now they press in throngs to amusements and festivities — but O with how great an increase of holy pleasure! Then shall the world without see and know that God is with us of a truth, and recognize that there is happiness in glorifying the name of God. The millennial church shall lift up heai*t and voice, in that new era, with a transcendent enthusiasm of pure bliss, far beyond all our present conceptions. — But however distant may be this day, and whether we live to see it or not, there is a world, where, if found faithful by grace, we shall hear and join the praises of the same Kedeemer. For there the Church of the Old Testament and the New unite their voice, to sing ‘’the song of Moses and the Lamb.” Amidst much that is obscure in the Apocalypse, one thing is as clear as day, that in the heavenly state there shall be lofty, joyous, and perpetual praise of Christ. John heard them, “saying with a loud voice. Worthy is the Lamb that was slain, to receive power and riches and wisdom and strength and honour and glory and blessing.” He saw also the great company, “having the harps of God,” singing “Great and marvellous are thy ways. Lord God Almighty, just and true are thy ways, thou King of saints.” O for some earthly prelibation of those joys! O for some sincere and hearty and unanimous anthems in the Church below!