The worst culture shock of my lifetime has been the loss of my kind of church music. I was raised on the great hymns of faith, written by the best poets and musicians in the world. Now, happy hymns like “Love Lifted Me” and choruses like “It’s Bubbling in My Soul” have given way to melancholy choruses that I find vague and hard to sing. Pianos and organs have been trumped by electric guitars and drums played so loudly that my bones buzz.

No, I don’t like all the old hymns, nor do I dislike all the new music. Much of it is lovely. I’m just happy for the rich lyrics and melodies that drift through my mind from a childhood spent in church.

In the morning I find myself singing, “Some golden daybreak, Jesus will come. . . .” When the day gets hard, I’ll be humming, “I need thee every hour, most gracious Lord.” And when I’m too upset to sing, I’ll think of the song that says, “And Jesus, listening, can hear the songs I cannot sing.”

One afternoon I was walking around town, thinking about doing something I shouldn’t have (never mind what). At that very moment the neighborhood church bells began to play, “Savior, like a shepherd lead us . . . keep thy flock, from sin defend us, seek us when we go astray.” With blurry eyes of repentance, I turned toward home.

Whether you prefer the old tunes or the new ones, music is a heavenly language that enables us to tune out the din around us. I recommend it for whatever ails you.

"Savior, like a shepherd lead me, because I tend to wander."