On one hand, I love the aesthetic power of this. On the other, I feel a degree of disgust that starched robes are singing of torture, blood, agony and a redemption which, beyond the song, may have little meaning for the participants.
Still, I will sing it tomorrow accompanied by my guitar – less aesthetically refined and perhaps more torturous.
But I’ll enjoy it – in a way.
I remember my youth at St Philip’s Choir in Montreal (1950′) when I could get those high notes. Now I sound like Brian Johnson with laryngitis.
I know from experience that these are not the only Anglican choristers who are singing without any religious conviction. There is one such boy I happen to be acquainted with who thinks this is giving him the training to be a rock star, on the cheap. At the appropriate time, he plans to leave the robes far behind him.
By what criteria can you assume that the meaning behind the hymn has no relevance to the participants?
He said “may have”.