Upon learning that I grew up in the Moravian Church, a person will often mention the cookies! A church can have a worse reputation. Those thin, wafer-like treats are delicious — most especially (in my opinion) the ginger snaps.
But when I think of the Moravians, I think of singing the faith.
Every Sunday, the organ would summon us to our feet for the Doxology — Praise God from whom all blessings flow. The same organ belted out the old familiars at the Christmas Eve Lovefeast — Hark, the herald angels sing… O come let us adore him, Christ the Lord… the hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight. I raised my candle with everyone else in the darkened sanctuary – silent night, holy night – and got goosebumps every single time.
Before every potluck, either in the fellowship hall or picnic shelter, we would belt out the blessing with gusto — from thy all-bounteous hand our food. Growing up, I didn’t understand “all-bounteous,” but I was proud to know all the words by heart. By Christmas Eve, Moravian kids had memorized “Morning Star,” including this line: e’re thou cam’st, how dark earth’s night. For 8-year-old soloists, singing this hymn at the Lovefeast was a rite of passage.
Throughout the years of my childhood, even if I only had a vague understanding of the lyrics, I felt the power of singing together with people of all ages — Praise to God who reigns above, the God of all creation … of the Father’s love begotten, ere the worlds began to be.
When I became a pastor, a first-grader told me, “I come to church to sing to God.” She understood what Nicolas Ludwig von Zinzendorf, an influential leader in the early Moravian community, claimed about singing the faith: “In the Bible, one perceives how the Lord communicates with people; in the hymnal, how the people communicate with the Lord.”
Zinzendorf and the early Moravians were influenced not by cookies, but the Christian movement known as pietism. This theological recipe was flavored by the belief in a personal relationship with God. This faith is sung in one of Zinzendorf’s hymns:
The Savior’s blood and righteousness
My beauty is, my glorious dress;
thus well arrayed, I need not fear,
when in His presence I appear.
Such a personal assurance was theological sustenance in the upheaval of 18-century Germany and may be spiritual comfort food in the uncertainty of 21-century America.
Yet pietism resulted in another movement called quietism. Be still and know that I am God, counsels Psalm 46. Quietism took this to the extreme, calling for individuals to withdraw from society. Holy stillness is not an excuse from service to others, but rather a momentary retreat to renew one’s desire to serve again.
As a youth, I participated in service projects in the Appalachian Mountains and the highlands of Jamaica. Wherever we went, we began and ended each day with guitars and singing — Our God is an awesome God … with thanksgiving, I’ll be a living sanctuary … yes, they’ll know we are Christians by our love.
Yes, Moravian cookies are tasty. But these songs and the experience of singing in community have provided lasting nourishment for my faith in action, until the time beyond time when…
We to all eternity shall join th’ angelic lays,
and sing in perfect harmony to God our Savior’s praise!
