A Reflection on How Hymns Shape Our Faith

Here I am, Lord. Is it I, Lord?

In the parish I grew up in, there were always two books in the pew: a missalette and The Young People’s Glory and Praise. During Mass we primarily sang from Glory and Praise. I can still picture myself as a kid, tugging that book out of the rack, seeing that beautiful butterfly on the cover, flipping to the right song number, hearing Mrs. Cash or Sister Eleanor play the opening notes, and then singing my heart out without much thought. Back then, those songs were fun, catchy, had a cool melody, and were simply part of the rhythm of the Mass.

But something changes when you get older. You start reading and studying Scripture more. You begin reflecting on your faith differently. And suddenly, you realize many of those songs weren’t just words on a page. They were Scripture. They were prayers. They were God’s Word being sung over you long before you noticed.

The one that stands out most right now is Here I Am, Lord.

As a child, it was simply a melody I liked. The refrain was easy to remember. I never thought much about what it meant. But now, every time I hear it, I feel like God is calling me directly. I feel like young Samuel being woken in the night. “Samuel, Samuel!” And Samuel answered, “Here I am.” (1 Samuel 3:4) He didn’t understand at first. Just like me as a child, he didn’t recognize the call of God. He thought it was Eli calling him. But when Eli realized what was happening, he told Samuel, “Go to sleep, and if you are called, reply, ‘Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.’” (1 Samuel 3:9)

That story has taken on new life for me because of the song. “Here I am, Lord. Is it I, Lord? I have heard you calling in the night.” As a kid I sang the words without much thought. As an adult, they have become part of my daily prayer, especially in discernment.

There is another song that brings me to tears whenever I hear it. This one wasn’t part of my childhood. I first heard it as an adult at Mass, during the early days of discerning the diaconate. I had been praying after Communion, asking God if He was really calling me to serve. And then, almost like a whisper from the Lord Himself, the choir began singing The Summons.

As the words filled the church, it was as if Christ was speaking directly to me. “Will you come and follow me if I but call your name? Will you go where you don’t know and never be the same?” My heart cracked open. My voice couldn’t keep up with the lyrics. Tears ran down my face. Every line felt like an invitation, a holy summons to live in persona Christi servi — in the service of Christ.

That is what I call the tear factor. When you’re singing in church and suddenly you can’t get the words out. Not because you’re sad, but because God is speaking so directly to your heart that your voice gives way to the Spirit.

Over time I’ve realized how many hymns are really Scripture set to music. On Eagle’s Wings is drawn from Psalm 91. Sing a New Song from Psalm 96. Yahweh, You Are Near from Psalm 139. These are not just nice lyrics. They are the living Word of God, prayed aloud by His people in song.

As kids, we don’t notice. We just like the melody and the rhythm. We sang them like they were on a Bob Kingsley or Casey Kasem countdown, belting them out without a second thought. But as adults, when we hear them again and recognize the verses, it’s like meeting an old friend. The same words, but now with a depth and weight we could not have understood before.

One hymn that has always stayed with me is Be Not Afraid. As a boy, I thought of it as just another gentle melody. But later in life, when struggles mounted and questions about my future pressed hard, the words carried a new power. “Be not afraid. I go before you always. Come, follow me, and I will give you rest.”

That is not just a refrain. It is Jesus speaking directly to the heart. It is the same message God gave to Joshua when Moses had died and the people of Israel were afraid: “I command you: be strong and steadfast! Do not fear nor be dismayed, for the Lord, your God, is with you wherever you go.” (Joshua 1:9)

Now, whenever I hear Be Not Afraid in church, it is almost like the Lord is reminding me not to run from His call, not to get lost in fear, but to trust Him. That hymn has become a compass for me, quietly pointing me back to Christ whenever doubt or discouragement creep in.

I sometimes think about how much these songs shaped me before I even knew it. They were planting seeds in my heart. Seeds that would only grow later.

Music has a way of becoming memory. Certain hymns take me back to funerals, weddings, retreats, and school Masses. But more than memory, they become presence. When I hear Hail Mary, Gentle Woman, I think of praying the Rosary and how Mary has guided me in knowing what true love is. When I sing Let There Be Peace on Earth, I think of how much our world aches for the peace only Christ can give.

It amazes me how God uses music to keep His Word alive in us. Even decades later, a line from a song can resurface in your heart at the exact moment you need it.

I sometimes wish I still had one of those old Young People’s Glory and Praise hymnals. I’ve been searching for years, but they’re hard to find at a reasonable price. They are almost nonexistent on eBay or in used bookstores. I remember hundreds of them stacked in the pews, and there had to be thousands printed. They couldn’t all have disappeared. If someone has one tucked away on a shelf, I’d love to give it a home. Not because I need another book, but because those songs still speak. They remind me where my faith began and how far God has carried me. I would love to flip through those pages one more time and see which other songs might stir a memory.

St. Paul wrote, “Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, as in all wisdom you teach and admonish one another, singing psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs with gratitude in your hearts to God.” (Colossians 3:16) That is exactly what our hymns do. They let the Word of Christ dwell in us not only as words but as melodies. They give us language when we don’t have it ourselves. They teach us, console us, and sometimes move us to tears.

That’s why music is so important in the Mass. It is not filler. It is prayer. It is Scripture. It is memory and mission all at once.

And maybe that’s the invitation for you and me. Next time you’re at Mass, don’t just read the notes on the page or the lyrics on the screen. Let the words sink in. Ask yourself: Is the Lord speaking to me through this song? You might be surprised at what you hear.

Because sometimes, the hymn you sang as a child becomes the prayer that carries you as an adult. And sometimes, in the middle of Mass, the Lord uses a melody to whisper the same words He has spoken since the beginning:

Be not afraid. I go before you always.
Come, follow me, and I will give you rest.