When I was a young boy, my mother kept a hymnal on our piano left open to “The Old Rugged Cross,” her father’s favorite hymn. My grandfather died when Mom was pregnant with me, so, I never met him. Whenever my mother played that hymn, I heard a ghost. My grandfather was gone; the hymn remained.
From all accounts, my grandfather was a larger than life presence, irrepressibly optimistic and friendly to all. Most versions on record treat his favorite hymn like a funeral dirge, which might be why I’ve never liked “The Old Rugged Cross” that much. Alan Jackson’s “Cross,” for example, is slow and low, cut with overwrought production that makes it sound like background music for a Precious Moments outlet store.
Johnny Cash and Merle Haggard use “The Old Rugged Cross,” presumably, to play against type and showcase their profundity, and even Ella Fitzgerald bathes us in languor. Of the numerous versions that take this sad-sack approach, George Jones’ is the best (that guy can really sell a sad song).
There are performers who use “The Old Rugged Cross” to celebrate the gift of Jesus’ resurrection, as opposed to mourning his death, and they are refreshing.
Ernest Tubb, who recorded the hymn in 1949, plays “The Old Rugged Cross” as a Texas country waltz, and maintains his trademark phrasing and vocal timbre. His version transports you to a dance hall in Tennessee in the early days after World War II. By evoking the sensuality and humanity of a social dance, Tubb places Jesus squarely into the middle of our daily life. Thinking about Jesus is for all times, even at the Saturday night dance.
Mahalia Jackson uses a more overt, bouncy waltz tempo and combines it with a Black gospel feel. Her singing soars as she molds the melody into something that lets her climb high, instead of wallowing in her lower range. This “Old Rugged Cross” is, in a manner similar to Tubb’s, celebratory and cathartic.
Tubbs and Jackson perform “The Old Rugged Cross” as I hope my grandfather would liked to have heard it, as a paean to hope. For me, they offer a chance to interpret the hymn not as a spectral reminder of the grandfather I never had, but as a bond between him and me that we never had in life.
Mark Likes Music 