Methodist Fight Song

I came across this years ago, but lost it. I thought of it again the other day, and was able to track it down with the help of Google Books and Regenstein Library. This was once published in an actual hymnal. It’s awful. And also kind of awesome.

I am a soldier of the cross,
I count all earthly things but dross;
My soul is bound for endless rest,
I’ll never leave the Methodist.

For a better church cannot be found,
Their doctrine is so pure and sound;
One reason that I’ll give for this,
The Devil hates the Methodist.

They pray the most, they preach the best,
They labor most for endless rest;
I hope my Lord will them increase
And fill the world with Methodist.

The world, the Devil and Tom Pain
Have try’d their best, but all in vain;
They can’t prevail; the reason’s this:
The Lord defends the Methodist.

And when the happy day shall come,
And all the Christians are brought home,
My soul will feast in endless rest
With all the shouting Methodist.

We shout so much for sinners here,
But when in heaven we do appear,
Our shouts will make the heavens ring,
When all the Methodist shall sing.

A Methodist, it is my name,
I hope to live and die the same,
I then with Jesus shall be blest
With his dear loving Methodist.

The Devil, Calvin and Voltaire
May hate the Methodist in vain;
Their doctrine shall be downward hurl’d,
The Methodist will take the world.

(Lifted from George Pullen Jackson, White and Negro Spirituals. New York: J. J. Augustin, 1944. p. 56)

Dress Codes

Near the beginning of my first unit of CPE, I showed up one day in jeans. It was a part-time extended unit doing the school year, and I was just going in for group. I wasn’t going to see any residents that day (it was a residential retirement community, not a hospital). My supervisor disapproved and asked me to explain my choice. I told him I was coming from school, I was not going to see residents, that I dislike wearing what I call dress up clothes and everybody else calls business casual when it’s not necessary, and that it didn’t seem necessary when I was just going to be talking to four seminary students and priest behind a closed door.

He found that reasonable enough, but asked what I would do if I were called to a resident’s bedside for an emergency (which never happens, but that’s neither here nor there). I told him that given the unexpected nature of the situation, I wouldn’t hesitate to go in wearing what I happened to have on. Surely someone in need of emergency pastoral care had more important things on their mind than whether the pastor was wearing jeans or slacks. He didn’t buy it. Since he was the supervisor and I was the student, so he got to have the final say. And it wasn’t a battle I felt like picking.

I never deliberately pick this battle. I pretty much accept it as a fact of life that I have to dress “business casual” whenever I’m acting in a pastoral role. I’m willing to put up with it, for the most part. There was one other time when what I took to be a low-key check in with the committee that keeps track of me was in their mind a professional interview. It’s not a problem; I’ll wear slacks next year.

But let’s be clear: this is a concession I make, not something I embrace. I grew up in an informal atmosphere, and gravitate toward such places. Some people put a great deal of thought into planning what they will wear. They schedule their laundry accordingly, make ironing part of their daily routine, and the like. Some even enjoy this. For some, there’s a spirituality to it. I have nothing against them. But I don’t enjoy it. It’s not a spiritual exercise for me. It’s a chore. And given that I have enough trouble getting anywhere on time in the morning, it’s an unwelcome one.

One of my best friends is the exact opposite of me on this count. I wear a sweatshirt in the winter and a t-shirt in the summer if I can possibly get away with it. He’s been known to wear a three-piece suit in July even though he’s not going anywhere in particular. For him, it’s a way of showing respect to everyone he meets, of being reminded of the importance of every moment (his word was sacramentality). I get that. And hey, it looks great.

But that’s not how I show respect. I wouldn’t wear jeans if I were invited to the White House to meet the president, but that has nothing to do with respect for me. It would be to avoid causing embarrassment for myself or others. My friend shows respect through clothes. I show it primarily through language.

But in my mind, the language I would use meeting a head of state is more about respect for the office. I would be showing more respect for a person if I were speaking in a slight drawl and peppering my discourse with pedantic references to church history, sci-fi allusions, and cuss words. For me, that shows respect because it’s unaffected. It’s how I talk to people I consider worth talking to. And it’s how I talk to God. I only speak to God in earnest. But I talk to God while dressed up at church, in my pajamas when I wake up in the morning, and naked in the shower.

It’s not that I don’t think one’s outward actions have a bearing on one’s spiritual dispositions. I do. It’s just that the same actions don’t have the same effect on everyone. My friend finds a sacramentality in wearing a suit and calling people sir and ma’am. I find a sacramentality wearing jeans and swearing at God in Klingon. He and I probably make an odd looking pair when we go to a pub, he in his suit, me in whatever t-shirt happened to be clean. It’s a given that we’re being respectful. And if you can be respectful too, and enjoy talking about patristics over a beer, we’d love to have you join us. You can wear a tie like him or a t-shirt like me. Either way, pour yourself a glass. Qapla!