Dispatches from Home. The Very First Song.

Here’s the question: What is the first song—Hymn, Big Band, Opera, Operetta, Rock-In-Roll, Symphony, Motown, Musical, etc.—you remember hearing. Me? It was the old hymn, “Holy, Holy, Holy.”

When I was a child, Dad, Mom, and I attended Biloxi’s Trinity Baptist Church. I couldn’t have been more than four or five; I remember it was hot. I was squirming in the pew due to the sweltering summer heat (no a/c in those days) while looking up at a fellow church member, Mr. Horowitz. He was always dressed to the nines and wore tan and white wingtip shoes year-round. He was tall as a Georgia pine and just as skinny. As he sang, I was fascinated by his huge, bobbing Adam’s apple.

In his loud, booming bass voice, I remember him singing the last verse of the old hymn, “Holy, Holy, Holy.” “Holy, holy, holy, merciful and mighty, God In three persons, blessed trinity.” Not blessed with any biblical knowledge at that age, I didn’t realize the lyrics talked about God, Jesus, and the Holy Ghost. I just thought it was mighty cool that lit’ ol’ me was attending a church that had a hymn written especially for it.

We left Trinity in the early 60s when we moved to Gulfport and joined First Baptist Church. I’ve not been back to Trinity since, and sadly, it is now closed. But often, when riding Mom around waiting for her dementia meds to kick in, I drive by that old church.

I’ve often wondered if the ancient baptism pool is still in the old Fellowship Hall. It is there that a ten-year-old boy got baptized. I remember the sparkling water dancing around me, and I have never regretted my decision to follow Jesus in that old church. For that, I’ll be eternally grateful.