When we were children my sister possessed a good singing
voice and enough confidence to use it when the occasion demanded. In church she
sang lustily. The problem was that the only hymn she knew was 'We plough the
fields and scatter'. Whatever the season and whatever the hymn chosen for it,
that is what she would sing. Loudly.
What we sing in church matters, and the day on which we
sing it matters too. On one Sunday of the year my sister's choice could not be
faulted. On every other Sunday it would have jarred horribly had she not been
three years old. Some hymns simply belong on some days. It's impossible to
conceive of Palm Sunday without 'Ride on, ride on' or of Pentecost without
'Come down, O love divine'. And, for me at least, it's impossible to conceive
of All Saints without 'For all the saints'.
Why is that? It part it's sentiment, of course. That hymn
has ushered in every All Saintstide that I can remember and is as much a part
of this time of year as fireworks, poppies, and the church heating not working.
In part it's that it's dear to any priest who has ever worked as a bishop's
chaplain. Our motto is 'We feebly struggle, they in glory shine'. But it's the
combination of William Walsham How's words and Vaughan Williams's tune which
have assured the hymn its place in the pantheon of classics. It will surely be
sung for as long as hymns are sung.
The words. How was a nineteenth century Shropshire parish
priest and a rather reluctant bishop, and in 'For all the saints' he sketches
out for the church he served the essence of saintliness. The saints are not
principally those who have done great things or thought great thoughts. The
saints are, first, those who have confessed the name of Jesus before the world.
They are those whose witness to the name of Jesus has been costly. How
characterizes saintliness in bellicose terms. Saintliness is a well-fought
fight; there is fierce strife and warfare long.
He published the hymn in 1864, when the American Civil War was at its
height and the forces of the British Empire were engaged against the Ashanti.
Today it is almost always sung a week before Remembrance Sunday, when images of
men huddled in their trenches are fresh in our minds. Then and now the image of
saintliness as struggle resonates deeply with those who sing the hymn.
Yet, secondly, this struggle, the struggle of saintliness,
is not a struggle fought in vain, for the saints are rewarded with rest. After
the noble fight comes the golden evening and the sweet calm of Paradise. But if
this sounds like a rather individualistic account of the Christian life -
sainthood as a tough job well done with an an appropriate recompense attached -
then How envisages more.
Thirdly 'But lo! There breaks a yet more glorious day; the
saints triumphant rise in bright array...' Beyond the struggles of the saints,
beyond their costly witness and beyond the martyrdoms of centuries there comes
a day when the King of Glory makes all things new, gathering the faithful from
earth's wide bounds and ocean's farthest coast. So How sets before the church
the vocation of the saints, the consolation of the saints, and the hope of the
saints: the vocation of the church, the consolation of the church, and the hope
of the church.
The music. Vaughan Williams entitled his tune 'Sine Nomine',
as it was destined for the feast when all the saints are honoured but none are
named. I know I'll be corrected if I'm wrong but it's written in four-four time
and so could - I think - be played as a march. It was certainly intended as a
processional, and the adjective 'rousing' could have been invented to describe
it. It's not just soldiers who march, of course. Civil rights campaigners
march; ban-the-bomb protestors march; anti-poverty agitators march. People
march with a common purpose. They may be diverse in almost every respect, they
may be a countless host, but the cause unites them and makes them one. And a
march - any sort of march - is a good
metaphor for the life of a saint: never static, but always advancing, in the
company of others, in knowledge of God and obedience to his call.
And perhaps it is this that accounts for the status of 'For
all the saints'. The words are theologically coherent (which cannot be said of
every hymn), and the tune is a good sing (ditto). But, more important than
either is that 'For all the saints' enables the church to become a part of the
reality that it's singing about. When the struggle of sainthood is at its
darkest, writes How, the distant triumph song can already be heard. The times
may seem bleak and hope may seem impossible, but the embattled saints are
already on the side of the victors. Desmond Tutu says 'We used to say to the
apartheid government "you may have all the guns, you may have all this
power, but you have already lost. Come, join the winning side!"' The same
is true of the saints, and the same is true of us. When we sing Alleluia to
Father, Son and Holy Ghost we are not just exercising our lungs, or politely
doing what custom expects of us at this time of year. We are adding our voices
to those of the blest communion. We are claiming our place among the fellowship
divine. We are singing because they are singing, and they are singing because
they know they've won. '...All are one in thee, for all are thine'. They are
singing us home - in a song that will never end. Amen.
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