As a people we learn from our past, we learn from the history of others that have come before us. Walked the path and blazed the trail (add any of the cliche statements you’d like). I have found that by looking back from time to time it helps me discover why I’ve turned out the way I have. Though I think that I would have eventually reached the same point, but possibly with a slightly less sardonic tone to my daily interactions with those meager creatures I share a kinship too by species. Though I doubt it. I grew up in church, like most who are raised in the midwest. Church is a weekly affair including the weekly allotment of Hymns. I remember one conversation I overheard between two of the deacons of the church debating on a radical idea of including “modern” christian music in the worship music on Sunday morning services. Looking back this is a rather silly thing to debate, it would be like me debating with a fellow pickle enthusiast over the inclusion of Kosher dill relish as a option to the traditional sweet relish we use here in the midwest. It doesn’t matter, it’s just pickles. Though this topic of debate was rather divisive throughout my youth among the elders of the church. Though I’d preferred Nirvana’s Smells Like Teen Spirit to be on the table rather than a “new hymn” that was actually slightly less than one hundred years old.
I have some fond memories of seeing old ladies crying their eyes out at these songs. They are fond because I always had a view of the morbidity of these songs glorification of the grotesque. Looking back at this bit of my history it makes more sense why I tend to be a bit twisted in my sense of humor and what is offensive to me. Let’s take a peak at what I used to sing each Sunday at the good ol’ save yer soul church service.
The Old Rugged Cross
On a hill far away stood an old rugged cross,
The emblem of suffering and shame;
And I love that old cross where the dearest and best
For a world of lost sinners was slain.
So I’ll cherish the old rugged cross,
Till my trophies at last I lay down;
I will cling to the old rugged cross,
And exchange it some day for a crown.
O that old rugged cross, so despised by the world,
Has a wondrous attraction for me;
For the dear Lamb of God left His glory above ,
To bear it to dark Calvary.
In that old rugged cross, stained with blood so divine,
A wondrous beauty I see,
For ’twas on that old cross Jesus suffered and died,
To pardon and sanctify me.
To the old rugged cross I will ever be true;
Its shame and reproach gladly bear;
Then He’ll call me some day to my home far away,
Where His glory forever I’ll share.
Now let’s play a little game of switcheroo. I’m going to replace each of the word “cross” with “Electric Chair” perhaps this will illistrate how screwed up this song is.
The Old Rugged Electric Chair
On a hill far away stood an old rugged electric chair,
The emblem of suffering and shame;
And I love that old electric chair where the dearest and best
For a world of lost sinners was slain.
So I’ll cherish the old rugged electric chair,
Till my trophies at last I lay down;
I will cling to the old rugged electric chair,
And exchange it some day for a crown.
O that old rugged electric chair,
so despised by the world,
Has a wondrous attraction for me;
For the dear Lamb of God left His glory above
To bear it to dark Alcatraz .
In that old rugged electric chair,
stained with blood so divine,
A wondrous beauty I see,
For ’twas on that old electric chair Jesus suffered and died,
To pardon and sanctify me.
To the old rugged electric chair I will ever be true;
Its shame and reproach gladly bear;
Then He’ll call me some day to my home far away,
Where His glory forever I’ll share.
Gasp! My word! That’s just blasphemy! Come on I take it, tell me how you feel? I hope you laughed a bit. Yes, I’m poking fun at your old faithful song. Let’s take a look at this in a practical light. By replacing one object in the song of equal task I’ve illustrated how strange singing this song is. At least I hope it makes sense in this light! As a culture the weekly singing of one of the most famous hymns in America we were no better than going to see the prisoner executed at the gallows or in the chair. We think capitol punishment is rather crude now days, though some might argue it is needed as a deterant to others from committing the same crimes. If you want I can go further into this one song, but I think I’ve illustrated my point with this one.
Another great song that christians love to sing in the midwest is Nothing But The Blood. This one I will add commentary to each verse because I simply can’t resist.
Nothing But The Blood
What can wash away my sin? (Lava Soap and a shot of whisky works for me)
Nothing but the blood of Jesus; (Oh my bad, didn’t know we needed to cut someone.)
What can make me whole again? (Stitches?)
Nothing but the blood of Jesus. (Oh, umm not sure how that will work. I mean maybe if he bled on you and it scabbed over somehow. But he might have a blood born pathogen you don’t want... just saying.)
Oh! precious is the flow That makes me white as snow; (I like clorox too!)
No other fount I know, Nothing but the blood of Jesus. ( Really? Blood is really hard to get out of clothes and never leaves anything white!)
For my pardon, this I see, Nothing but the blood of Jesus; (I could be wrong, but I don’t know of any pardons written by a government official ever written in blood. Pretty sure that doesn’t meet the industry standards of Black or Blue ink on contracts.)
For my cleansing this my plea, Nothing but the blood of Jesus. (Geez, with the blood again. I would recommend an alcohol base for cleansing anything, or the bleach.)
Nothing can for sin atone, Nothing but the blood of Jesus; (So I have to go vampire on a mexican called Jesus? Not cool man!)
Naught of good that I have done, Nothing but the blood of Jesus. (So being good doesn’t cut it, you have to cut a jew... or a mexican.... This makes no sense.)
This is all my hope and peace, Nothing but the blood of Jesus; (We all know peace doesn’t come from blood, it comes from bombs dropped from big fucking air planes! At least that is what Pres. Bush said... kind of...)
This is all my righteousness, Nothing but the blood of Jesus. (So you are a righteous man because you have my lawn guys blood? I’m pretty sure he will want that back. He might have been banking that at the local Red Cross or something. )
Now by this I’ll overcome— Nothing but the blood of Jesus, (Herpes isn’t cured by blood, so no overcoming that man.)
Now by this I’ll reach my home— Nothing but the blood of Jesus. (Hold on! Wait right there! Are you saying that blood is actually an alternative fuel? What the hell man! Why aren’t we all researching that!)
Glory! Glory! This I sing— Nothing but the blood of Jesus, (Oh man, back with the “yeah blood” thing... it’s really getting old.) All my praise for this I bring— Nothing but the blood of Jesus. ( Are you kidding me? Really? Still with the blood issue... Wait... I’ve got it! This whole song is really singing the virtues of Blood Magic! Why didn’t I see that before? Man I feel silly now for making fun of this song. )
Did you know that with one simple search of Google.com with a criteria of “Hymn ‘blood’” you will get back 12.9 million results? If you go to Nethymnal.org and simply type in “blood” you will get back 803 hymns about Blood! The obsession with blood in church is amazing! Though the more disturbing thing is that all these songs written about death, brutal public execution is looked upon as a great thing. A act that should be put upon the same pedestal of a soldier throwing himself on a grenade to save his comrades. This kind of adoration is something that should not be the norm to rational people. Please think before invoking blood magic people. Hymns are all good fun till someone realizes they are filled with public execution, imaginary friends and blood magic. Sounds silly but read what you sing on Sunday morning and think.
Here is a little something fun from TheThinkingAtheist.com
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