By Robin Garrison Leach

I grew up singing hymns—church songs, as we called them—and I’m convinced the words they taught me impacted my life in ways far beyond the messages they imparted.

As a child, I memorized songs and parroted them back; my mother’s smile was my reward. I knew Jesus loved me because ‘the Bible tells me so’. And although I couldn’t read yet, I knew how to spell the ‘B-I-B-L-E’ and sang the word with pride.

I learned about the alliterative ‘peace that passeth understanding’ from the song ‘Down in my Heart.’ I didn’t know what that phrase meant for years, but it was fun to sing and I figured it was a good thing to pronounce.

Many of the words in our hymns were ones I heard nowhere else but church; their repetitions stressed their importance, and their pronunciations embroidered curls of intricate stitching that bolstered my struggling attempts to say them.

Some were as beautiful as the music that accompanied them:

Glory. Redemption. Rejoicing. Mercy.

Others words were woven into stories of struggle and the hardships of life, made worthwhile by following Christ:

Snares. Prostrate. Sheaves. Billows.

And some words joined together to offer phrases that became touchpoints for my Christian life. I heard them repeated within the music and outside the music, in the scriptures themselves:

In Jesus I’m safe evermore. It is well with my soul. What a day of rejoicing that will be.

I learned that God could be a metaphor: A Mighty Fortress. The Lily of the Valley. The Solid Rock.

And that his name could be Wonderful. Blessed Redeemer. Father. Whatever I called him, I was reminded that there was ‘something about that name.’

Choruses challenged me with action words: I was encouraged to ‘stand on the promises.’ Kneel at the cross. Shout on the Hills of Glory. Gather at the river.

And my favorite: Have a little talk with Jesus.

I sang words I didn’t know within verses I couldn’t comprehend, but the meanings swirled around my head and the warmth of their value was exhaled by voices I trusted and loved.

Each hymn added cadence to a line of lyrics; the rhythm thrummed like a heartbeat throughout the sanctuary. Breaths were metered to finish each line. The verses often told stories whose message created an arc: despair to faith to wondrous reward.

Through their structure I learned to expect the sometimes-difficult progression of life events and the value of having faith in the future.

I smiled when my favorite hymn was called out; I rustled songbook pages and smoothed the open destination with happy hands. Blessed Assurance. The Old Rugged Cross. When we all get to Heaven. Amazing Grace.

The songs we sang were the highlight of every church service I attended. I memorized stanzas so I could look around me and see the faces who felt each word.

Those who knew their wisdom and lived their messages the rest of the week.

The four-part harmony from the choir and the congregation swirled from pew to rafter. I learned that the melodies could be not only pleasing to the ear but also as soul-stirring as any sermon.

Stanzas that rumbled like thunder. Whispered lines filling hearts with hope. Verses of ‘joy unspeakable’ that could be wondrously expressed through song.

And, slowly, through the years of singing and listening, I grew to understand the importance of hymns and their layered meanings. The words—which had already become a part of my heart—became part of my vocabulary.

From childlike repetition I experienced happiness. From memorization, I found comfort. And when I grew to understand the impact their words and messages gave to my life?

I thanked God for those Wonderful Words of Life.