Sunlight invading the forest floor, trees that have stood for over 50 years, a path walked daily by all kinds of people, each with their thoughts, their anxieties, their need to be here, just here. When I walk in such places I better understand the hymn writer's rather sentimental lines:
"When through the woods, and forest glades I wander,
And hear the birds sing sweetly in the trees."
This hymn about forests and trees and birds, lofty mountain grandeur and brooks and breezes, comes close to the hymn writer's equivalent of condensed milk with that phrase, "sing sweetlyon the trees."
And yet. When through the woods at Garlogie I wander, and hear the tree-creepers, the woodpecker, the great tits and blue tits, the chaffinch and at this time of year the geese overhead honking their way to and from Loch Skene – at such times, I too want to sing to the Creator "How great Thou art!"
And in the photo, Sheila is watching a squadron of migrating goldcrests ground-feeding, then spiralling up into the high pines to enjoy the food necessary to continue their journey. Every year, around this time, various birds find their way to this North East corner of Scotland on their way to warmer places. And yes, we do sometimes hear them singing in the trees, though I confess I would never choose the word 'sweetly' to describe an angry chaffinch, a heid-banging woodpecker, or a full choir and orchestra of geese performing the honking chorus.
The hymn 'How Great Thou Art', is now an established favourite for funerals, and I can well understand why. But I doubt it's the 'forest glades' verse that eventually lifts the heart heavenwards. Stars, rolling thunder. "God, his Son not sparing," Christ coming "with shout of acclamation", these are the deeper realities that help to anchor hope upon something transcendent, on truths substantial enough to inspire hope and trust, and that bring us to that place where we have no other recourse but to "bow in adoration."
And yet. There is something about a walk in the woods that earths us in the realities of life. Feet walking the earth, following a path shared by others, birds singing out in either song or warning, and from Garlogie the hill line showing the start of the Highlands, and the lofty mountain grandeur of a landscape that has been in the making for millions of years. And the sunlight, itself a metaphor, or a messenger, of the pervasive grace and invasive love of God, whose light is the light of life.
All of this true enough. And so perhaps the person who translated the song can be forgiven for the lazy cliché about sweet singing, because so much else in this hymn is true to our human response to the world around us, and to the story of God's love affair with His creation. And it moves from Creation through space and time, to the coming of Jesus, his atoning death, and the hope of his coming again to bring to fulfilment the reign of God through all creation.
I can live with the occasional word that annoys and grates, if it's in the context of a hymn that is otherwise persuasive in its telling of the narrative of the world's creation and God's purpose of redemption in Christ. And when I walk in the woods, and hear the birds, and they remind me of this hymn, quietly, and with more humility than I would ever be capable of without yet another touch of divine grace, I hum, "How great Thou art!"
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