Speaking to yourselves in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing and making melody in your heart to the Lord.

Ephesians 5:19

What is a hymn? It's a song, first of all. Something sung. Who is it addressed to? A god, usually, though the definition of what a 'god' is has varied quite a bit over human history, as you'll see. Basically, a hymn is a song in which the singer appeals to someone or something outside: outside, beyond the material, though how far beyond depends on what we're talking about at the time. The song may start with something mundane – say, the beauty of nature, or the night sky – but it goes past the object itself, trying to connect to the principle behind the apparent reality.

Hymns are cool. You can use any instruments you like, even a didgeridoo. A flautist friend says she owns one, but she couldn't play it even if she could master the embouchure, because her friend from Australia says it's a 'men's instrument'. Who knew? I suspect we'll run across a few headscratchers like that this month.

Each person who listens to a hymn hears something different, because the words speak to our conditions differently. Obviously, if you listen to a hymn to Hermes, and you're not an ancient Greek, you're not going to bring the same cultural baggage to a discussion of the musicality of turtles. (I'll get to the turtles one day.)

Each person who sings a hymn sings it differently. Not just musically, but in purpose. We're all reaching, and we all reach in a slightly different direction. Some people's arms may be a little longer than others – and then there are those Hindu gods, who have more arms than most of us consider strictly necessary. . .

All this speculation may sound a little vague and airy-fairy. Let me give you an example to start off with. Have you ever heard the Christian hymn O Sacred Head, Now Wounded? I'm willing to bet you have. 'Oh, no,' you say. 'I don't hang around in the sorts of places where people sing hymns.' Pah. I first heard one of my favourite hymns in a pub. But back to O Sacred Head: You've heard it, and I'll prove it. Just wait.

O Sacred Head

O sacred Head, now wounded, with grief and shame weighed down,

Now scornfully surrounded with thorns, Thine only crown. . .

James W Alexander, 1830

This hymn was originally Salve caput cruentatum by Bernard of Clairvaux, who wrote it in 1153. In 1656, Paul Gerhardt translated it into German. It sounds like this. I'll wait while you listen.

Does this sound familiar? Why are you suddenly seeing Paul Simon in your mind's eye?

American Tune?

Now listen to Paul Simon. Aha. I told you: you've heard it before.

The tune for O Sacred Head/American Tune comes from a 1601 book by German, Hans Hassler, whose song Mein Gmüt ist mir verwirret means 'my spirit is confused'. Oh, you want that one, too? Be my guest. It's about a young man who's lovesick. Really lovesick. The object of his affection isn't studying him, it's so sad. . .

O Sacred Head is about identifying with the death agony of Jesus. American Tune is about identifying with the anguish of people witnessing the death of their dreams. Maybe I'm just too old, but you might forgive me for thinking that both of these hymns are a little bit deeper than, 'Oh, she doesn't love me back. . . ' (You'll be in love with a different girl next week, fella, I'll bet a hat.) But there's heartbreak in every version of this song.

That's a cool (German, American) tune. It sounds like what the singers are all saying: I hurt, I'm confused, I need. Hymns are about need, if they're about anything. Need for self-expression, if nothing else: if you don’t sing you'll explode. Need for contact: calling occupants of interplanetary craft. . .

So, yeah. Hymns. I'm gonna go on and on about them, for a whole month. I warn y'all: I know a lot of hymns. But I hope one or two will hit the right note.