Before We Sing
with Brett Taylor, Worship Director
Before we sing “Here Is Love” together this Sunday, take a few minutes to listen and reflect on the story, truth, beauty, and goodness of what we are about to sing.
The Story
In 1904, revival swept across Wales. Chapels overflowed, prayer meetings stretched late into the night, and thousands gathered to sing. One hymn became closely associated with the revival, becoming known as “the love song of the Welsh Revival.” Its words had been written more than fifty years earlier by Welsh minister and poet William Rees, who died before witnessing the awakening. At one gathering in Abertillery, after four hours of worship, a lone voice reportedly began singing “Here Is Love, Vast as the Ocean” before a congregation of about a thousand. A song written in obscurity became the anthem of a nation awakening to the love of God.
The Truth
At the center of this hymn is one of Scripture’s greatest mysteries: How can a holy God embrace sinful people without compromising his justice? Rees takes us to Calvary, where “heaven’s peace and perfect justice kissed a guilty world in love.” The image echoes Psalm 85:10: “Steadfast love and faithfulness meet; righteousness and peace kiss each other.” And Romans 3:25–26 tells us how: through Christ’s sacrifice, God is both just and the justifier of sinners. At the cross, justice is not abandoned so mercy can prevail; justice is satisfied so mercy can be freely given. God does not love us by overlooking our guilt, but by bearing it himself.
The Beauty
Notice the extraordinary movement of the poetry. The hymn begins with an ocean too vast to measure, then suddenly takes us to a particular place: “On the mount of crucifixion, fountains opened deep and wide.” The infinite love of God becomes visible at a single hill outside Jerusalem.
And then the imagery erupts: floodgates open, rivers descend, heaven’s peace and perfect justice embrace a guilty world. The cross is not merely where God’s love is explained. It is where God’s love breaks into history. The melody rises with the same sense of wonder, as though the congregation can barely contain what it is singing.
The Goodness
We often imagine love and truth as competing demands. In marriage, parenting, and friendship, we fear that honesty will threaten affection, or that kindness will require us to overlook what is wrong. So we choose between being right and being gracious.
But at Calvary, love does not require God to pretend sin is harmless, and justice does not prevent him from drawing sinners near. The cross frees us to tell the truth about ourselves without despair, and to extend mercy to others without denying what is broken. We can be honest because we are forgiven and gracious because we have received grace.
The Invitation
Rees asks a question that deserves more than a passing glance: “Who his love will not remember? Who can cease to sing his praise?”
As we sing, picture those Welsh congregations lifting their voices more than a century ago. But don’t merely admire their fervor. Look where they were looking: to the crucified Savior, where mercy and justice meet. And let the wonder of what happened there become your own song.