THE OLD HYMNAL MYSTERY
I, James Carter had always been skeptical of miracles. In fact, I didn’t believe in them. I was a historian, a man of facts, not faith. So when my late grandmother’s antique hymnal arrived at my doorstep three days before Easter, I assumed it was just another relic of the past. I chuckled at the thought. That was until I opened it.
Inside, tucked between the yellowed pages, was a handwritten poem. The ink was faded, but the words were clear—powerful, almost alive. As I read, something stirred in me, something I couldn’t explain.
So that night, I sat in my quiet study, the poem still in my hands. The words still seem to ring in my mind:
His death on that tree
Was more than a fee
His death on that cross
To save the lost
Was more than a man
Could ever dream cost…..
The poem was longer and I read it thoroughly. The handwriting was familiar. My grandmother’s.
I closed the book and leaned back. She had been a devout woman, always telling me that faith wasn’t just about believing—it was about seeing. But seeing what? I shook my head. There was always an explanation. It couldn’t be that simple. Maybe it was the exhaustion talking.
The next morning, I took the hymnal to my mother’s house, hoping for answers.
“Where did this come from?” I asked, placing it on the kitchen table.
She smiled warmly and caressed the worn cover gently. “This belonged to your great grandfather. I haven’t seen it for years. My mother copied it many years ago for her daddy. It’s been in the family for generations.”
I hesitated. “Then why was it sent to me now?”
My mother smiled, as if she already knew. “Maybe because it was time.”
He frowned. “Time for what?”
She opened the hymnal to the poem. “This was written the morning my grandfather had a vision. He was just a boy then, but he said he saw a man in white, standing under an old tree, calling to him. He never forgot it.”
I felt a chill. “You’re saying he saw… Jesus?”
My mother didn’t answer, she wiped her eyes with a tissue and just turned the page to reveal a date scrawled at the bottom. March 30, 1936.
My heart skipped. That was the exact date stamped on the envelope the hymnal had arrived in. Strange.
Mother reached for my hand. “You’ve always searched for proof, James. Maybe this is it.”
I looked back at the poem, my face flushed and my eyes stung with conviction. The words at the end stood out now, almost glowing:
… My people, your sins
Were nailed on that tree
That tree on Calvary.
Cast your old selves upon my tree
Then you truly shall be free!
But this time, I didn’t just read the words. I felt them.
I read the entire poem again and marveled.
His death on that tree
Was more than a fee
His death on that cross
To save the lost
Was more than a man
Could ever dream cost.
How did we come to be so free ?
Was it our thoughts are thinking,
Our wishing to be ?
Was it our hopes or dreams
Our longing to see
The love of God
So majestically brought ,
in a way that are hardly
Any had thought ,
Was it all for not ?
Do we see what God has taught ?
His love for all man
Was poured out that day
That we might be gathered
To follow his way,
And the Lord does now say...
I am your life and I’m longing to be
All you’ve ever wanted to see
I died on that tree on Calvary
To save the lost
That they might be free
Oh my people come to me
Die with me and you’ll rise with me
My people take heed of my word
Of all that you have heard
Live unto righteousness
glory and honor
Hold fast to my truth
Do not dishonor
I’m all that you will ever need
Just wait in time I’ll take that seed
That seed of love
Within your heart
To be torn apart and bud within
A whole new start...
My people, your sins
Were nailed on that tree
That tree on Calvary.
Cast your old selves upon my tree
Then you truly shall be free!
And in that moment, I not only believed, I saw. I knew I was… free!
©️Donald J Schuler
3/30/1986
An Easter morning reflection
from Romans 6
revised 3/10/2025
Donald Schuler
HAPPY RESURRECTION DAY!!!