Singing Hymns...
An old farmer went to the city one weekend and attended the big city
church.
He came home and his wife asked him how it was.
"Well," said the farmer, "It was good. They
did something different, however. They sang praise choruses
instead of hymns."
"Praise choruses," said his wife, "What are
those?"
"Oh, they're okay. They're sort of like hymns, only
different," said the farmer.
"Well, what's the
difference?" asked his wife.
The farmer said, "Well it's like this - If I were to say
to you: 'Martha, the cows are in the corn,' well that would be a hymn. If,
on the other hand, I were to say to you: Martha, Martha, Martha, Oh, Martha,
MARTHA, MARTHA, the cows, the big cows, the brown cows, the black cows, the
white cows, the black and white cows, the COWS, COWS, COWS are in the
corn, are in the corn, are in the corn, in the CORN, CORN, CORN,
COOOOORRRRRNNNNN. Then, if I were to repeat the whole thing
two or three times, well that would be a praise chorus."
As luck would have it, the exact same Sunday a young, new
Christian from the city church attended the small town church. He came
home and his wife asked him how it was.
"Well, " said the young man, "It was good.
They did something different, however. They sang hymns instead of regular
songs."
"Hymns," said his wife, "What are those?"
"They're okay. They're sort of like regular songs, only
different," said the young man.
"Well, what's the difference?" asked his wife.
The young man said, "Well it's like this - If I were to
say to you, Martha, the cows are in the corn,' well that would be a regular
song. If on the other hand, I were to say to you: Oh Martha, dear Martha, hear
thou my cry
Inclinest thine ear to the words of my mouth. Turn thou they whole
wondrous ear by and by
To the righteous, inimitable, glorious truth.
For the way of the animals who can explain
There in their heads is no shadow of sense,
Hearkenest they in God's sun or his rain
Unless from the mild, tempting corn they are fenced.
Yea those cows in glad bovine, rebellious delight,
Have broke free their shackles, their warm pens eschewed.
Then goaded by minions of darkness and night
They all my mild Chillliwack sweet corn have chewed.
So look to that bright shining day by and by,
Where all foul corruption's of earth are reborn.
Where no vicious animal makes my soul cry
And I no longer see those foul cows in the corn.
Then, if I were to do only verses one, three and four and
move
to a key change on the last verse, well that would be a
Lutheran
hymn."