Traditions get dusty. And so, you have to spice things up, as they say. Organists however, don’t seem to have much of a spice cabinet and seem to be the most transgressive about being crusty and dull. If you have a damp basement apartment, rent it out to an organist to dry it right up. Many don’t seem to know how to invigorate the instrument or fortify their hymns either. They perfunctorily drag everyone into a lull. A former music director often asked, “Could you flower the hymns this morning?” That was his way of saying, “Light a fire underneath that organ bench!” Perhaps one could say the same thing about the preaching, the readers, the liturgics, and the people sitting in the pews. Perhaps our rituals and traditions are a bit dust encrusted, but they are certainly not dead. However, if they are on life support, we need to up the amperage, so they can breathe on their own again.

Routine lulls us into complacency. Freshness arouses the senses. If the liveliness withers, you have to recommit yourself. You have to invigorate your search for meaning, once again and re-saturate your soul. You have to respond and sing with effervescence. Creative people don’t just make new things, they make old things new again. Gilbert Martin has done this with our offertory anthem. He took a familiar hymn and rearranged it into something new, albeit what snobbish Anglophiles might consider schlocky. His arrangement uses the tune Hamburg rather than Rockingham, and it changes key every verse. If you come from the Baptist or Methodist tradition, you’ll recognize this music over the one we sing in our hymnal (#174). Even though tacky, I have a soft spot for this classic.

My best friend Adam, often tells of a former minister who insisted that a percussionist in the congregation be allowed to play “The Little Drummer Boy” on Christmas. Why? The minister insisted, “Christmas just wouldn’t be Christmas without drums!” Likewise, I insist, “Palm Sunday wouldn’t be Palm Sunday without this Gilbert Martin anthem.” It’s a tradition, and we shouldn’t abandon our traditions simply because “bored” people in the charismatic movement have declared hymns dull, irrelevant, and devoid of spiritual verve. However, no-one will save us from our fate unless we see anew!

One Sunday, the young Isaac Watts, the writer of this hymn text, was complaining about the dreadful hymns they sang. At that time, metrical versions of the Psalms were outlined by a cantor then repeated by the congregation, rather pitifully, as Watts groused. His father, the pastor, challenged him and declared, “I’d like to see you write something better!” As legend has it, Isaac did just that, and his first hymn was a rousing success. Although this is likely folklore, it does illustrate the point that music needs a healthy dose of freshness, and organists and congregations don’t always help, rendering hymns as bland as hospital food.

If you put yourself into it, truth can be revived. Palm Sunday isn’t dramatized on a stage, but in your very heart and soul. The words and music imbue both the triumph and the agony of Christ’s story – feelings we can all relate to as humans. That’s the beauty of tradition, spiritual depth is suggestive, not shoved in your face. But we have to take responsibility and to inject vigor into our understanding of it all. Traditions still admonish and move us to new levels of spiritual depth. If you listen with new ears, we will sing with new voices! Don’t believe that we can no longer be imbibed by the rich spiritual truths of our history. Traditions aren’t stale, uncreative, dusty people are. And rest assured, I’ll be blowing out all of the dust in every pipe on our organ come Easter! Soli deo Gloria!