And for good reason. Yes, it’s a hauntingly beautiful song that stirs emotions with its equally haunting lyrics. (Fun fact, though—it was actually a poem Cecil Frances Alexander wrote in 1848 for a children’s hymn book. Then, organist Henry John Gauntlett wrote the music for it a year later). But, for me, it’s the association of the song that has pushed it over the finish line first. And that association began early when I was a young boy living on the campus of Ridley College in St. Catharines, Ontario.
Every year, my mom would fancy-me-up in a blue blazer and tie with grey flannels, stiff pleats in the front, complete with shiny black shoes—the uncomfortable kind, and cart me off to the School’s annual Nine Lessons of Christmas Carols Service.
Those memories are deep. The Chapel was, and still is, huge to me—large stone construction soars to the heavens, meeting an intricate wooden ceiling from which lights that looked like medieval weapons hang from on long steel chains. I worried every time dad chose to sit under one—maybe we were its next victims? The windows are stained glass and, quite honestly, a bit scary-looking to a young mind. Old men with long white beards looking serious while draped in robes unnerved me for reasons I didn’t yet understand.
The pews are solid wood and rigid. Comfort was clearly not a consideration when they chose them. In fact, now that I think about it, it was probably why they were chosen! Regardless, they were hard and cold, and the backs were tall so I couldn’t see over them. Dad would let me sit at the end of our pew, allowing me to peer out.
It was the late sixties and early seventies—women wore fur coats that looked to me like an entire animal was on their back. Their perfume was strong and sweet; their hair puffed high, and they had brilliant red lipstick. The men wore crisp white dress shirts with dark ties tied tightly—their neck skin folds barely escaped their collars—how could they breathe, I wondered.
Despite the cold-looking stone walls, the Chapel was always warm and cozy. The boiler room below us did a commendable job heating the massive space. Hot air was thrust upwards through large steel-grated vents that interspersed the length of the main entrance between the pews. I never liked looking down those vents as a kid—goodness only knows who or what lived in there.
With the Chapel full, it was time to begin. The wooden pews creaked and cracked as the entire congregation stood in unison. Silent, we gazed forward as the lights went dim. Discreetly as possible, I peeked around the pew, looking to the back of the Chapel to watch the choir quietly move in. Then, a young boy holding a lit candle and a hymn book took a pensive deep breath and began to sing—all by himself!
I watched in amazement as this young singer, different every year, sang at the top of his lungs in front of a room full of adults! What if he makes a mistake, I would think to myself, terrified for the soloist. But he never did. It was always perfect—like some Christmas Angel had climbed inside of him to help make those high notes sound effortless.
That was my introduction to ‘Once In Royal David’s City.’ From the first time I heard it, I was drawn in. The complexity of the music as ever-increasing sections of singers, one verse at a time, join in until everyone, including the organ, contributes their part in raising the Chapel roof. Listening to this song is my first recollection of goosebumps. Writing now and remembering that little boy experiencing what I would have considered then and still today a magical moment, I can feel myself become emotional as the nostalgia consumes me. Why wouldn’t I? It was a simpler and more innocent time. I was with my parents; I was warm and safe and felt part of something special—the staff of life.
Wishing all of you the time and grace to recall and create some Holiday Magic of your own! Regardless of why or for whom you gather and celebrate, may we all connect with the foundational message of this season—love and kindness.
May peace go with you!
In this week’s episode of Your Mindset Matters, I follow up on my four-week piano challenge and share what flexing our discipline muscles can teach us, as well as produce! In keeping with our Christmas carol theme, I tackle a classic hymn—you guessed it, Once In Royal David’s City. Enjoy…
Fun Fact Jason......I WAS that soloist in 1984......my Ridley Choir days
Impressive playing, Jason! Amazing how our rowing experience at the end of September suggests that muscle memory is deep and long-lasting, and yet your piano experiment shows that the muscles continue to have the ability to learn new patterns many years later. Thanks for sharing and have a wonderful holiday. We'll expect a full piano concert in the New Year.