Flashbang

I grew up in a tiny Baptist church on top of a hill, overlooking Lake Winnipesaukee. We had an organ, a piano and a surplus of cotton haired ladies. Each Sunday a handful of hymns from the thick, maroon hymnal were chosen for us to sing. My father kept time for us with hand movement like he was trying to chop his way out of a nylon web. Occasionally we branched out to some of the lesser known songs, but most Sundays we stuck to the classics most of us know today. “Come Thou Fount,” “Before the Throne,” “It is Well” – hymns like these were the butter on the showbread. Because of this repetition, these hymns have never left me, and, only as I have gotten older, have I discovered a pin holding in the contents of these songs.

If you have seen any action movie ever, you are familiar with a flash-bang grenade. It is a non-lethal, explosive device meant to disorient, blind and incapacitate an enemy. It produces a concussive force that can blow out eardrums, cause loss of balance and leaves an afterimage from the flash that impairs aim. 

There are some days where I can’t get it together. Heaven feels sewed up and prayers lose their buoyancy. I pace, itching with impatience; that inky, black raven of despair perches on my shoulder and prognosticates future doom in present tense. 

I don’t remember where I was that time I first pulled that pin on top of “Before the Throne.” But it was one of those bleek, gray days. I sang out the hymn, despite all the groanings within me and the broken winged prayers quivering about the yard. At the end of the song, the raven was gone and the burden lifted. That stun grenade of a hymn scattered the clouds and strengthened my hands for battle. 

I don’t know how this works, but it does. I have read books about pointy-hatted men who declaim incantations that rain fire from heaven upon their enemies, scattering them. We call these words magic. What do we call the melodious words given to us by mystic God-fearers that dispel darkness and incapacitate invisible, faith-eating enemies? I’m okay with calling them magic. I tell my kids on Sunday, when we sing the Hymns – the ones that teach theology and look away from the self to God – we are learning magic words that have explosive powers, both to defy enemies and to elevate our spirits with joy and love toward God.

Those old hymnals I sang from were maroon. The hymns themselves are gunmetal green and fit nicely in the palm of your hand. Carry a dozen on your bandoleer. When you feel stuck, pull the pin, sing a hymn and stun the enemy.

There is nothing that so clears a way for your prayers, nothing that so disperses dullness of heart, nothing that so purifies the soul from poor and little passions, nothing that so opens heaven, or carries your heart so near it, as these songs of praise.

– William Law, A Serious Call to a Devout and Holy Life.