Come, Ye Disconsolate

Do you ever have one of those memories that prompts so many emotions you don’t know whether to laugh, cry, bow in shame, or wiggle with joy? I was reminded of one today and, I assure you, I still don’t know what to do.

Years ago, when I was less than half the size I am now (think “High School”), some friends and I wound up in Iowa at Dordt College. Dr. Simon Kistemaker, then a professor at Reformed Theological Seminary, drove a station wagon filled with six high school students all the way from Clinton, Mississippi to Sioux City so that we could spend the weekend getting an idea of the college and what it had to offer. His daughter, Trudy (now Trudy Kistemaker Schalk), was already studying there, and another daughter, Lori (now Lori Kistemaker) was one of our merry band.

Those who knew me those years ago will recall that I was not necessarily quiet and well behaved. In fact, looking back, I think there are many who would be justified in describing my behavior as that of somewhat making an — rhymes with mass — of myself. In fact, during my freshman year of college, one of the upperclassmen scolded me that “there’s a big difference between enthusiasm and being obnoxious.”

Yikes.

During this trip, though, I was gleefully blind to my glaring fault and proceeded to have what I considered a great deal of fun. That is, until one of the other fellow travelers said I was embarrassing everyone.

Yikes, again.

I think that rebuke rather settled me down a little for the duration of the visit, or, I hope it did. In any case, the next day was Sunday and that was supposed to be a day for behaving oneself, anyway. We went to church for the morning service and I heard a hymn I’d never heard before: “Come, Ye Disconsolate.”

As we sang the hymn and I considered the words, it seemed as if the Holy Spirit sidestepped right past my reckless spirit and touched something in me that was too afraid to be contemplative.

I do not recall much more of the service, except that it was the first time I had real wine at Communion, and that’s quite a different story, nor do I recall much about the ride back to Clinton. But, I do recall learning to play that hymn on the piano almost as soon as I got home. It became my favorite.

One Sunday evening that summer, we were at church and came to the part of the service where congregation members were allowed to request particular hymns. I had my hand raised, but was disappointed when the leader called on someone else. It was Trudy. And she suggested, “Come, Ye Disconsolate.” To this day, I’m convinced she had seen my raised hand and had decided to try to make sure I had a chance to hear us all sing my then-favorite hymn. It has remained one of my favorites, although I haven’t heard it sung in a very long time. Until today, that is. Tuesday, September 19, 2017, in case you want to mark your calendars.

I had recently been feeling the weight of some heavy losses. Grief can be overwhelmingly persistent. It catches one unaware, and the fact that it is so enervating can lead one to despondency with no clue as to how he or she arrived there. In order to try to break free of the sense of discouragement, I turned, as so many often do, to YouTube.

Where I did a search for “Come, Ye Disconsolate.”

And found two versions that left me agog, one by the Baylor Men’s Choir, and one by Roberta Flack and Donny Hathaway. As I listened to the arrangements, I was inundated by a mixture of emotions — sadness over the losses I’ve experienced, shame over the losses I’ve caused, incredulity that anyone, not to mention the Son of God, would be willing to die for me, and deep stirrings of joy that He did and, one day, I will have the eternal consolation of seeing Him face to face.

The latter thought tends to outweigh the others by immeasurable proportions, and I am deeply grateful to the Lord for it.

The Baylor Choir’s performance includes all three stanzas of the hymn and, while I love it, I’m including the other version. I don’t know what would have happened if the church in Sioux City had someone singing the attached arrangement. Who knows? I might never have left the sanctuary. One thing I do know, though, is that “earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot heal.” Hallelujah!

Come, ye disconsolate, where’er ye languish,
Come to the mercy seat, fervently kneel.
Here bring your wounded hearts, here tell your anguish;
Earth has no sorrow that heav’n cannot heal.

Joy of the desolate, light of the straying,
Hope of the penitent, fadeless and pure!
Here speaks the Comforter, tenderly saying,
“Earth has no sorrow that heav’n cannot cure.”

Here see the bread of life, see waters flowing
Forth from the throne of God, pure from above.
Come to the feast of love; come, ever knowing
Earth has no sorrow but heav’n can remove.