Love Unknown

Sunday night we heard and meditated on the "Seven Last Words" - with the Haydn sonatas providing the environment for reflection following the College Church pastors' devotions based on the sayings of Jesus upon the cross. Perhaps better suited for Good Friday (Haydn's work was in fact written for the Good Friday services of a particular church), the service nevertheless served us well as we entered Passion Week. To contemplate the love and grace of our Lord, expressed through his agony, in these memorable statements, was a gift of time and words and music.

Just now I have come back from the sanctuary, where things are already set for the Good Friday service. The cross in place, the table ready for the elements signifying the body broken, the blood shed, the banners proclaiming the work and praise of the suffering Servant. With the "Last Words" ringing in our ears, we will next be in a service that lingers on this mercy, this grace.

What a fitting conclusion to that service, then, as we again sing of the great love of God for his people. For it is not a hymn of our love for God. But always, and fittingly, of his love for us.

My song is love unknown, my Savior's love to me,
love to the loveless shown, that they might lovely be.
But who am I that for my sake
my Lord should take frail flesh and die?
    He came from heaven's throne, salvation to bestow;
    but they refused  and none the longed-for Christ would know.
    This is my friend, my friend indeed,
    who at my need his life did spend.
Sometimes they crowd his way and his sweet praises sing,
resounding all the day hosannas to their king.
Then "crucify" is all their breath,
and for his death they thirst and cry.
    With angry shouts they have my dear Lord done away;
    a murderer they save, the Prince of Life they slay!
    Yet willingly he bears the shame
    that through his name all might be free.
Why, what has my Lord done to cause such rage and spite?
He made the lame to run and gave the blind their sight.
What injuries! Yet these are why
the Lord most high so cruelly dies.
    Here might I stay and sing of him my soul adores.
    Never was love, dear King, never was grief like yours!
    This is my friend in whose sweet praise
    I all my days could gladly spend.

Samuel Crossman, 1664;

rev. 1982 (c) Hope Publishing Co.

Every year more people are introduced to this hymn in our (and many another) Good Friday service. And each year, more people look forward to singing it again. I pray that its narrative, and its response, would constantly be shaping our hearts as we

Sing on