Last month I had the privilege and joy to lead the singing for the annual Association of Classical Christian Schools “Repairing the Ruins” Conference in Pittsburgh, PA. I don’t know how many people were in the main conference hall each morning and afternoon when we sang together. I heard estimates of around 1,000+ educators, board members, and school administrators were in the room. We would begin with a hymn or a psalm.
Twentieth-century English hymnologist Erik Routley once wrote about hymnody:
“Hymn-singing is, as a matter of fact, the most insistent and clamorous of all the ways in which the Christian faith and worship makes impact on the world around it. The reason is very simple. You can close your eyes; you can stay away from the church and so neither taste nor see that the Lord is good. But you cannot close your ears, and if a group of Christian people chose to sing a hymn under your windows you are defenseless.”1
For this reason, Routley says, “Hymns are the folk-song of the church militant.” Moderns don’t really think of traditional hymnody as folk song. If you are like me, when you first read this quote, your eye is drawn to the term “church militant.” But for this post, I want to consider hymnody as a “folk song,” as Routley calls it.
Returning to the ACCS conference, I was sitting at a nine-foot Steinway grand piano leading the congregation in what would be considered nothing less than ‘traditional hymnody.’
What is interesting is that we did not have a band—just the congregation singing along with my piano accompaniment. They sang, I sang, and played selections known to a wide range of Christians. I didn’t tag any refrains or key changes in the last verse. It could be described as an unadorned, no-frills hymnody, with the people’s voices being the key feature.
Folk song is, in a sense, the people’s song, and when we sang together, it was not my song or a stage band’s song but the room’s song. It was a corporate sound of the people and not just of one person. That may seem a bit obvious or overly simplistic, but it is worth considering.
Body Songs
Christian worship services in past decades have been referred to as corporate worship services. That term is not in as much use today when speaking of congregational gatherings. The music has been more congregational and, therefore, more folk because of it. This is why Routley’s definition is fascinating to me. It comes at this idea of folk song from a different perspective. It’s the song of the body, and if we think about it, there should be some characteristics of these corporate/folk songs that embody this idea. First, songs and texts should be singable and accessible. They don’t have to be too high in style or composition, but neither should they be too low in style or composition that it needs a soloist embellishing the melody to feel like it has life. Second, these songs should be fitting to the task at hand. In other words, if the text says, “For our sins, He suffered and bled and died,” the tune and rhythm should not be composed in such a way as to pass right over that quickly in a seemingly flippant way. Neither should themes of rejoicing and singing be paired with slow, sedate tune settings. In a previous era, this reminder might not have been needed. But we live in a time of expressionism that seeks to radicalize previous norms and desensitize us to misfit pairings of all kinds of things—not the least of which is in church music.
Conclusion
Routley’s folk song description of hymnody struck me differently than it did when I first read it several years ago. I think he’s right. In a fuller sense, it is the song of the people, not of the person. It is both in ownership and performance. It does not have to be a three-chord tune played by a guitar. Routley’s folk hymns would have had glorious organ accompaniment. Here’s to more folk music that is continually maturing to newer and more complex and joyful forms of psalms and hymns as the people in the pews joyfully sing them with greater skill and understanding!
Routley, Erik. Hymns and Human Life. United Kingdom: John Murray, 1959, 2–3.
Brother Richey, you are going to have to stop writing this sort of stuff. Every time you do you make this old man cry for joy, and then for sadness. May your tribe increase.
God’ blessings to you and yours.
Too bad piano is not a sacred instrument. Only an organ conveys “church.” And “folk songs” have no place in worship to God when there is millennia of sacred liturgical music plus Gregorian chant available.