Somewhere during the PIT Stop training, we mentioned the incredible precedents in missions created by the Moravians, led by von Zinzendorf (cool name, huh?).
- 1 adult in 10 sent into cross-cultural missions
- Upon leaving, the Moravian missionaries planned to never return in person to the enclave of senders; they packed their belongings in their own coffins in good stewardship of resources
- not just one 24/7/365 prayer meetings for missions and their missionaries, but TWO (because of propriety, men and women had their separate lists) WHICH WENT ON FOR 100 YEARS!
This morning I found myself singing the one hymn written by him that is found in many hymn books but rarely sung.
I commend the biography of Zinzendorf and the story of the early Moravians to you.
Here’s the hymn from cyberhymnal.org —
In 1739, when the Count was making a sea voyage from Saint Thomas, West Indies, he wrote this remarkable hymn. Although as a boy he was educated in pietistic teachings, he is said to have been converted by seeing the famous painting, “Ecce Homo,” which hangs in the Düsseldorf Gallery and pictures the bowed head of Christ, crowned with thorns. Perhaps he still cherished in his memory that vision of the Man of Sorrows, when in this hymn he wrote of the “holy, meek, unspotted Lamb,” “Who died for me, e’en me t’ atone.”
Price, p. 57
Jesus, Thy blood and righteousness
My beauty are, my glorious dress;
’Midst flaming worlds, in these arrayed,
With joy shall I lift up my head.
Bold shall I stand in Thy great day;
For who aught to my charge shall lay?
Fully absolved through these I am
From sin and fear, from guilt and shame.
The holy, meek, unspotted Lamb,
Who from the Father’s bosom came,
Who died for me, e’en me to atone,
Now for my Lord and God I own.
Lord, I believe Thy precious blood,
Which, at the mercy seat of God,
Forever doth for sinners plead,
For me, e’en for my soul, was shed.
Lord, I believe were sinners more
Than sands upon the ocean shore,
Thou hast for all a ransom paid,
For all a full atonement made.
When from the dust of death I rise
To claim my mansion in the skies,
Ev’n then this shall be all my plea,
Jesus hath lived, hath died, for me.
This spotless robe the same appears,
When ruined nature sinks in years;
No age can change its glorious hue,
The robe of Christ is ever new.
Jesus, the endless praise to Thee,
Whose boundless mercy hath for me—
For me a full atonement made,
An everlasting ransom paid.
O let the dead now hear Thy voice;
Now bid Thy banished ones rejoice;
Their beauty this, their glorious dress,
Jesus, Thy blood and righteousness.