Mark's Blog

The critics of contemporary Christian music often make the claim that it is too individualistic, that is, individual relationships to God seem to have greater mention than communal, or that more of the songs focus on Me than on Him or They or Us.

You who feel that way will be shocked to learn which hymn—probably one of your favorites—was the first to be caught up in this kind of controversy.

At the turn of the 18^th century, most Protestants were still singing the Psalms or the slightly more modern paraphrases of Scripture.  In 1701, Isaac Watts wrote a communion hymn, which he first titled Crucifixion To The World By The Cross of Christ.  We know this hymn today as When I Survey The Wondrous Cross, still used among us as a communion hymn and considered one of the best hymns ever written.  Charles Wesley is reported to have said that he would have sacrificed all of his own hymns freely if he could have written this one.

Nevertheless, this hymn stirred up controversy because it is the first known hymn to be written in first person.  To sing from one’s own heart about one’s own feelings and one’s own relationship to the cross and one’s own Savior was much too personal, too individualistic for Christians of that time.

Times and people have not changed much, have they!  But, neither has our amazement when we look on “the wondrous cross.”

When I survey the wondrous cross
On which the Prince of glory died,
My richest gain I count but loss,
And pour contempt on all my pride.

Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast,
Save in the death of Christ my God!
All the vain things that charm me most,
I sacrifice them to His blood.

In our fellowship, this was the moment when the voices quieted, and we paused between each phrase—“His head…His hands….his feet”– to realize the crucifixion moment.

See from His head, His hands, His feet,
Sorrow and love flow mingled down!
Did e’er such love and sorrow meet,
Or thorns compose so rich a crown?

The following stanza is original, but even Watts suggested it might be omitted, so most of us will find it unfamiliar.

His dying crimson, like a robe,
Spreads o’er His body on the tree;
Then I am dead to all the globe,
And all the globe is dead to me.

Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were a present far too small;
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all.

With almost sudden volume, this last stanza would burst forth like the resurrection—from our own death and burial to new life, with renewed recognition of what the Cross demands in our—no, in MY life!

It’s very personal, isn’t it!