I have always drawn strength from old Southern gospel hymns. I was reared in the stone house that once belonged to my grandparents, and it stood beside that little country chapel my mama so loved. If I shut my eyes and listen with my heart, I can still hear Miz Bobbie Jean praising at the top of her lungs while Brother Kenneth led the choir, and nobody could play the piano like Miz Mattie, bless her heart.
I can remember holding my breath, fingers crossed that we would be directed to turn in our hymnals to my favorite: “I Learned about Jesus in Grandma’s Rocking Chair.”
I reckon you have to be Southern to fully grasp the adoration of music that stirs the soul, whether everybody’s singing “together” or even if someone is off key. Songs like “Blessed Assurance,” “The Old Rugged Cross” and “Rock of Ages” wafted through the wooden pews, far beyond the Lord’s house, way past the stained glass windows of a small church.
When my own mama was restless toward the end of her life, too ill to think of much else but her pain, it was the sound of me singing “Jesus Loves Me” and only that which would ease her troubled mind, allowing her to fall asleep peacefully. Most of the time she would hum along, and that’s a memory I keep close to my heart. I remember the sweet old days of long car rides with my second mother, Peggy, as our family passed county lines and even state lines gleefully singing “Looking for a City” and other favorites from yesteryear. That’s the thing about gospel hymns. Folks just sing along because it’s familiar. It’s joyful.
Another of my fondest memories is sitting beside Mama when I was just a freckled faced boy attentively watching the “Billy Graham Crusade” on the big console television in our living room. George Beverly Shea always made her tear up with his version of “How Great Thou Art.”
Of course, my best friend Tracey Annette and I passed the time sitting atop her Mawmaw Belle’s rusty tin-covered storm cellar belting out the lyrics to “Greater Is He that Is in Me than He that Is in the World.” We still remember that today, even after we have given up the sticks we used for microphones.
Yes, I love old Southern hymns, and that’s the gospel truth.
The Dispatch Editorial Board is made up of publisher Peter Imes, columnist Slim Smith, managing editor Zack Plair and senior newsroom staff.
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