At the Lamb's High Feast We Sing

Latin, 7th century; tr. Robert Campbell, 1849

You know what I’ve never really talked out in our Hymn of the Week? What a hymn is! Often the most important things are directly in sight, which is why we miss them. The obvious thing about a hymn is that we sing it, and singing, says Saint Augustine, is what the lover does. He doesn’t mean that nobody else sings, but that the lover by the very power of his love is moved to song. When you sing, it’s as if you have turned your voice, your body, and your mind into a musical instrument. The hymn adds more: you are breaking out into song, with your fellows — because hymns are meant to be sung by people gathered together — to praise God, to move toward Him in love, to petition Him, to remember his great deeds, and to yearn for the fulfillment of his promises.

But that’s still not enough. A hymn is more than a sacred song or a sung prayer. At least, so it has been in ancient Christian tradition. The hymn organizes time and place: it situates the singers in a history extending from the creation of the world to the end of time. That’s why they sang certain hymns during certain seasons, or at certain times of the day — as our hymn, in Latin Ad regias Agni dapes, was (and still is) sung at Vespers from the Sunday after Easter to Ascension. And still more: the great hymns teach. They aren’t just effusions of feeling, and they don’t just recall a single verse or moment in Scripture. Like Scripture itself, they invite us into the midst of a comprehensive vision, seeing, for example, in the death and Resurrection of Christ the fulfillment of its great forerunner, the passage of Israel from bondage in Egypt, through the Red Sea, and into the Promised Land.

Our Word of the Week is lamb, and that may be the single most important motif in the book we now call Revelation, but what used to be called Apocalypse, which does in fact mean the revealing of what has been hidden (think of the nymph Calypso, who essentially wants to keep Odysseus hidden on her island forever). When we use the word Apocalypse, we have the sense that all of time is coming to its fulfillment, and that’s what we do read in Revelation, when John says that he saw the new Jerusalem, the new City of Peace, coming down from heaven like a bride adorned for her husband, at the great wedding feast of the Lamb. Why, the river of life itself, spreading into the vast and glassy sea, flows from the side of the Lamb — as, we remember, blood and water flowed from the heart of Jesus on the Cross, pierced with a lance. The sacrificial Lamb, Christ, was slain for sinners, at the great Passover feast, the ultimate Pasch: and his blood washes the garments of the saints, making them white, whiter than any fuller can render them.

We do not think of blood as cleansing, but this blood does. We do not think of a Lamb as a conqueror, but all the false values of the sinful world have been inverted and defeated, by the King who said of himself, “Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart.” To sing this mighty hymn, think of Genesis and the fall of man. Think of Exodus and the deliverance of Israel from Egypt. Think of that first Passover. Think of the manna in the wilderness. Think of Isaiah and the suffering servant, led like a sheep to slaughter. Think of the Baptist, crying out, “Behold, the Lamb of God.” Think of the gospels, when Jesus says that the kingdom of God is like a wedding feast that a king gave for his son. Think of the transfiguration of Jesus on the mountain. Think of his saying that the Son of Man must be handed over to wicked people, to suffer and to die. Think of his saying that he is the bread come down from heaven. Think of the Last Supper and the institution of the Sacrament. Think of the Passion, the death, and the Resurrection of Jesus. Think of Paul saying to the Romans, “O grave, where is thy victory?” Think of the Apocalypse. Think that it is all here, now, complete, in union.

Now — there’s a hymn!

At the Lamb's high feast we sing
Praise to our victorious King,
Who hath washed us in the tide
Flowing from his pierced side;
Praise we him, whose love divine
Gives his sacred Blood for wine,
Gives his Body for the feast,
Christ the victim, Christ the priest.

Where the Paschal blood is poured,
Death's dark angel sheathes his sword;
Israel's hosts triumphant go
Through the wave that drowns the foe.
Praise we Christ, whose blood was shed,
Paschal victim, Paschal bread;
With sincerity and love
Eat we manna from above.

Mighty victim from the sky,
Hell's fierce powers beneath thee lie;
Thou hast conquered in the fight,
Thou hast brought us life and light:
Now no more can death appall,
Now no more the grave enthrall;
Thou hast opened paradise,
And in thee thy saints shall rise.

Easter triumph, Easter joy,
Sin alone can this destroy;
From sin's power do thou set free
Souls new-born, O Lord, in thee.
Hymns of glory, songs of praise,
Father, unto thee we raise:
Risen Lord, all praise to thee,
With the Spirit ever be.

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