Hymns of Hope: Oh Love That Will Not Let Me Go

Many of the hymns were born out of immense sorrow. In this series, we will examine these songs of old, discover the circumstances behind when they were written, and find comfort in the lyrics that so powerfully point us to the hope of Christ.

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Have you ever felt pain from something that others have and you don’t? Like a relationship? A baby? A family with children? Living children? You might find comfort in this old hymn—a source of words brought forth from reminders of the author’s own pain and what he, himself, did not have. This song, Oh Love That Will Not Let Me Go, resonated with me in my dark days of grief.

As you read the words of this hymn, insert your name into each verse in place of the word “me.”

O Love that will not let me go,
I rest my weary soul in Thee;
I give Thee back the life I owe,
That in Thine ocean depths its flow
May richer, fuller be.

O Light, that follows all my way, 
I yield my flickering torch to Thee;
My heart restores its borrowed ray,
That in Thy sunshine’s blaze its day
May brighter, fairer be.

O Joy, that seekest me through pain,
I cannot close my heart to thee.
I trace the rainbow through the rain,
And feel the promise is not vain
That morn shall tearless be.

O Cross, that lifts up my head,
I dare not ask to fly from Thee;
I lay in dust life’s glory dead,
And from the ground there blossoms red
Life that shall endless be.

What stood out to you? What images or words resonated with you? What spoke to your hurt and pain?

Here’s the background and context to this song. Imagine yourself in the story for a moment. It’s the evening of your sister’s marriage. Years prior, you were engaged until your fiancé learned that you were going blind and there was no cure. Your fiancé told you they could not go through life with a blind partner, so the engagement ended. You go blind while studying for the ministry, a passion of yours. Your sister was the one who cared for you and helped you navigate your schooling without eyesight. Now, she is married and unable to be there for you. You’re 40 years old, and your sister’s marriage brings a fresh reminder of your own heartbreak. It is all just too much. 

This was the setting for which this hymn was composed. In fact, the author, George Matheson, said it was written in only five minutes in the context of this specific circumstance and intense sadness. 

It’s striking to me that this hymn was written by George when he was at his worst—when he was suffering from extreme mental distress. This hymn was the fruit of his pain. Those words make me pause.

What extreme mental stress might you find yourself in now? Can you relate with your own story of pain and loss? I know I can. And yet, somehow, these poetic words were penned because of George’s pain.

The words of this song and the context behind it encouraged me as I struggled for years with not having things I wanted—to be married, to have a career, to be pregnant, to have a baby. I vividly remember eating dinner at a Mexican restaurant with family when I learned, again, that I was not pregnant. My period had started. I was devastated, as I had hoped so much that this time would be it. That hope was gone immediately. 

Sitting across from me was my younger, pregnant sister, whom I adore and am close with. Yet, like George Matheson, it was just too much to see all that she had while I grappled with what I didn’t have—again. I had to excuse myself from the table, leaving while fighting back the tears that were streaming down my face. I stood outside of the restaurant and sobbed, feeling incredibly alone and heartbroken.

In that particular moment, I felt more in touch with my pain and loss than I wanted to be. I felt weary, jealous, and lifeless. After many months of infertility, I wondered if I would ever get to experience what it was like to be a mom. I felt robbed of something that I desperately wanted—learning about my loss in the presence of others who had that for which I deeply longed for. It wrecked me. How could the “love that will not let me go” still be there? Could “I rest my weary soul” in God in the midst of my pain when instead I felt forgotten? When it seemed like God’s gifts were for others but not for me, where was the “joy that seekest me through pain?” 

What I didn’t know that night at the Mexican restaurant, was that Love was truly never going to let me go, and that there would always be a place to rest my weary soul with Him. God would continue to seek me through pain, even the pain that was yet to come as we endured loss after loss. I don’t remember if I wholeheartedly trusted that God was with me that evening as I sat outside the restaurant and sobbed. But looking back, I believe that He was with me then and that He is with me now. I don’t think I’d be here, able to write these words, otherwise.    

So, wherever you may be in your own story of pain and loss, let the lyrics of this hymn settle a bit more into your mind and heart. Re-read the words, inserting your name in the hymn once more. Or consider listening to the song by Indelible Grace, one of my favorite recordings of the hymn. Consider how, even if you struggle to fully believe all of these words at the present, they describe the way God sees you and loves you, even now.

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Lauren is a part-time working mama to Isaac and two babies in heaven as well as her boys Samuel and Nathanael at home in Colorado. She is a mental health therapist, recovering perfectionist, and truth be told, often feels overwhelmed as she tries again and again to reorient herself to live life as God intended. Lauren loves all things that bring out a deep belly laugh and tears to her eyes, really (good) hot coffee, Kansas sunsets, trail runs, and being with others who can share in both the joys and sorrows of life. 

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