My song today, this Good Friday is ‘The Old Rugged Cross’. This popular hymn was written in 1912 by evangelist and song-leader, George Bennard (1873– 1958). George Bennard was a native of Youngstown, Ohio, but was reared in Iowa. After his conversion in a Salvation Army meeting, he and his wife became Brigade Leaders before leaving the organization for the Methodist Church. Bennard was a Methodist evangelist when he wrote the first verse of ‘The Old Rugged Cross’ in Albion, Michigan, in the fall of 1912, as a response to ridicule that he had received at a revival meeting. Published in 1915, the song was popularized during evangelistic campaigns by two members of his campaign staff, Homer Rodeheaver (who bought rights to the song) and Virginia Asher, who was perhaps also the first to record it in 1921.
‘The Old Rugged Cross’ speaks of the writer's adoration of Christ and His sacrifice at Calvary. Bennard retired to Reed City, Michigan, and the town maintains a museum dedicated to his life and ministry. A memorial has also been created in Youngstown at ‘Lake Park Cemetery’. A plaque commemorating the first performance of the song stands in front of the ‘Friend's Church’ in Sturgeon Bay, WI.
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Some of my earliest memories involve hearing ‘The Old Rugged Cross’ in Irish Catholic Churches and during celebrations on St Patrick Day. Until I researched its background for this post, I would most certainly have assumed the song to have been Irish in origin as opposed to American, and Roman Catholic in composition instead of a mixture of Evangelical and Methodist. My wife Sheila is the organist at the Catholic church we attend weekly in Keighley. Like all organists, it makes for good practice to introduce a new hymn to the congregation from time to time.
Behind the front pew where I sit weekly is an older couple in their eighties called Michael and Teresa, and when Sheila introduces a new hymn to the singing congregation, I frequently joke with Michael and Teresa that Sheila is ‘going off message again’ and is playing old Methodist hymns instead of good Catholic ones!” The fact is that many hymns sung in churches, chapels, and places of worship today are American Gospel and Methodist in origin. I’m afraid that the Roman Catholic religion has always been way behind the Evangelists and the American Gospel Churches when it comes to singing out the Lord’s praises loud and clear on a Sunday morning.
Let’s face it, folks, if today’s churches and chapels want to attract larger Sunday congregations, then having their weekly congregations raise the rafters with singing on a Sunday is one way of putting more bums on seats. While recognising that all praise is powerful and meaningful, we should never forget that prayer to and praise of the Lord is just as welcome by Him when it is sung out loud as well as being spoken or whispered in silent reflection. Attend any Church or chapel service where one has a rousing choir and an enthusiastic singing congregation, and I’ll guarantee that when the congregation leaves the church building, they will have a bounce in their stride, and a smile upon their face. They will feel like they’ve been to church!
I always recall my mother’s response to her weekly attendance at Cleckheaton Roman Catholic Church. While she loved her Maker, God Almighty, she held no affection or tolerance for long weekly sermons by the parish priest on a Sunday morning. She would always arrive at Mass ten minutes after the priest had started, and leave to smoke a cigarette outside ten minutes before the end of the weekly service. Her presence at Sunday Mass would extend to a maximum of one hour weekly, after which she would unilaterally declare her Mass to have ended.
Unfortunately, the priest was one of those who liked the sound of his own voice too much, and he fell into that egotistical trap of believing that his weekly congregation loved listening to him as much as he did himself. He also relished the weekly wisdom that he expounded every Sunday, so much, that he made a point of repeating every bullet point of his sermon, just in case anyone present had missed the crucial point of his important message. The parish priest was always as consistent in the precise time he allocated to his weekly service from start to finish. Whether he was preaching a Sunday sermon or boiling an egg for his breakfast, he always took one hour and twenty minutes from start to finish!
Now, knowing that my mother loved a good bit of singing, I am willing to bet that had she attended a good old Baptist weekly service where the singers raise the rafters as a matter of course, that she would have left her weekly service every Sunday of the year feeling that she had been to church today!
Love and peace
Bill xxx