I Cannot Tell

'I cannot tell' is in some ways a strange beginning for a favourite hymn. Are not hymns supposed to help us be sure and reflect the things in our faith we are certain about? In fact, should we not be living a life based on the certainties of what we know? If God has chosen us, and made us his sons and daughters, and told us his plan, should we not expect to be sure about everything? And if we are asked some question about what we believe, what sort of answer is 'I cannot tell'?

The hymn, however, does go on to reply 'But this I know', and says some glorious things about our Lord Jesus. It must be these things that make it so popular.

The hymn is set to the 'Londonderry Air' and was written by an Irishman born in Belfast in 1857. He grew up in the Baptist community. He was converted by the preaching of Charles Haddon Spurgeon, he knew - and wrote the life story of - F B Meyer; he himself became a preacher, speaking often at the Keswick Convention, and was an influential leader among the Baptists, writing books (particularly in his later years) and compiling hymnals. His name was William Young Fullerton. It is eighty years since he died in London, and there may not be many now who remember him or know about him, but there are many who know and sing this one hymn that he wrote, 'I cannot tell'.

'I cannot tell, why...' Jesus Christ, the Word of God, why does he love people? Love all mankind? Why is he the 'good shepherd', bringing us back from danger? Why did he care? Why does he care? I suppose one could prepare an explanation, and show that His attitude is logical and consistent with what we are told about him. But no such explanation could actually make him love us. He just does. It is pointless - irreverent - to discuss His motivation. Why should he be interested in our human race when the whole creation is so boundless? Yet He loves us. So we worship him, and wonder why.

Yet some basic facts are recorded in scripture: his mother, Mary; his birth, in a stable; his early home, Nazareth; his first 30 years of ordinary human life. These details of how the Saviour arrived on the scene, we know.

It is difficult to enter into a person's inner feelings unless we have had the same experiences. Can we enter into Jesus' feelings? His ministry was so determined, so positive, but how may He have been feeling inwardly all the time, in the face of the opposition and the suffering of those around him, all of which culminated in the suffering of the Cross. We cannot really tell what it was like for Him.

All that was long ago. But Fullerton's hymn speaks of Christ's presence with us now - to heal broken hearts, prevent sinful thoughts and actions, calm fears, relieve the pressure on our minds. The hymn speaks of all this as something we experience, which we know. The Saviour is still here!!! This is something which comes now to believers, but we still look for his Coming.

Still future, and shrouded in mystery, is the coming of the kingdom in its full sense: a time when all nations belong to our Saviour, when he claims his inheritance and satisfies the needs and aspirations of all mankind. That is the future, but what are the details, the timing, the method of how it will come about? How much are we expected to know about the details? Those who have expected it to come about through missionary work and organic growth may be disappointed: those who look for a dramatic intervention in earth's affairs may be impatient. Fullerton did not know 'how' - but he did know that the Saviour will be known. 'All flesh' shall see his glory. When? Fullerton put it. 'some glad day' (date not mentioned).

Another thing that he could not tell was the full joy that Christ's reign will bring. He speaks of all the lands worshipping, of storms (between nations and between individuals) being still, of the jubilation as we all find ourselves loving each other, loving the world around us, loving God. He seems to have a clear idea of what it will be like: but he realises that there is even more to it than he can visualise. He does know that there will be joy filling earth and sky, songs from million upon million of human kind. At last, at last the Saviour of the world is King.

As we live our faithful, believing lives in the present time, it may be that all of our experience lies somewhere in between 'I cannot tell' and 'this I know'. Seeing 'through a glass darkly' (1 Cor. 13), we sometimes find the glass clearer, sometimes more opaque. We see enough to give us hope, too little to let us be Christian know-alls. Enough to hold on to in dark times, enough to work for us 'a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory' while we look at the eternal things which we do not quite yet see.