Singing Our Faith: the Third Sunday in Lent

Christians in Germany are celebrating the 400th birthday of their greatest hymn writer, Paul Gerhardt, born March 12, 1607. This sunny Berlin morning, In the medieval Marienkirche, we were transported by Gerhardt's words and music. As Bishop Wolfgang Huber said in his sermon, we were experiencing the very singing of the angels together with us.

In his hymns, Paul Gerhardt combines a firm conviction of true Christian doctrine with deeply personal sentiment. His poetry is suffused with appreciation for human life and the natural world. Above all, Gerhardt expresses a belief in the Love of God as the greatest reality.

This "sweet singer of Lutheranism" wrote in the vernacular of 17th century German. Living through the difficult period of the Thirty Years War, Gerhardt suffered great personal losses and found himself at the center of theological conflicts. Despite Gerhardt's trials, what comes through in his poetry is the voice of one reliant on God, convinced of God's goodness and rejoicing in God's gifts.

On this Third Sunday in Lent, we offer a well known hymn by Paul Gerhardt based on Bernard of Clairvaux's 12th century text. In "O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden", Gerhardt's fervent love for Christ speaks across 400 years to move us to faith, as well.
[ More of Gerhardt's poems]

O sacred Head now wounded, with grief and shame weighed down,
Now scornfully surrounded with thorns, Thine only crown.
O sacred Head, what glory, what bliss, till now was Thine!
Yet, though despised and gory, I joy to call Thee mine.

Men mock and taunt and jeer Thee, thou noble countenance,
Though mighty worlds shall fear Thee and flee before thy glance.
How art thou pale with anguish, with sore abuse and scorn!
How doth Thy visage languish that once was bright as morn!

Now from Thy cheeks has vanished their color, once so fair;
From Thy red lips is banished the splendor that was there.
Grim Death, with cruel rigor hath robbed Thee of Thy life;
Thus Thou hast lost Thy vigor, thy strength, in this sad strife.

My burden in Thy passion, Lord, thou hast borne for me,
For it was my transgression which brought this woe on thee.
I cast me down before Thee, wrath were my rightful lot;
Have mercy, I implore thee; Redeemer, spurn me not!

My Shepherd now receive me; my Guardian, own me Thine.
Great blessings Thou didst give me, O Source of gifts divine!
Thy lips have often fed me with words of truth and love,
Thy Spirit oft hath led me to heavenly joys above....

What language shall I borrow to thank Thee, dearest Friend
For this, Thy dying sorrow, Thy pity without end?
O, make me Thine forever! And should I fainting be,
Lord let me never, never outlive my love for thee....

next posting: Wednesday, 14. March
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