The Cows

Ok. I had a lot of people request a copy of the email shared this morning. I did not write it, and I do not know who the author is, but here it is for you consumption. Enjoy:

An old farmer went to the city one weekend and attended a big city church. He came home and his wife asked him how it was.

“Well, said the farmer, “it was good. They did some things differently though. They sang praise and worship choruses instead of hymns.”

“Praise and worship choruses?” said his wife. “What are those?”

“Oh, there okay. They’re sort of like hymns, only different,” said the farmer.

“Well, what’s the difference? Asked his wife.

The farmer said, “Well it’s like this. If I were to say to you: ‘Martha, the cows are in the corn’ well, that would be a hymn. If on the other hand, I were to say to you:

Martha, Martha, Martha,
Oh, MARTHA, MARTHA, MARTHA,
The cows, the big cows,
The brown cows,
The black cows,
The white cows,
The black and white cows,
The COWS, COWS, COWS,
Are in the corn,
Are in the corn,
Are in the corn,
Are in the corn,
The CORN, CORN, CORN!

Then if I were to repeat the whole thing 4 or 5 times and include guitar and drum solos, well that would be a praise chorus.”


As luck would have it, the exact same Sunday, a young, new Christian from the city church attended a small country church. He came home and his wife asked him how it was.

Well, said the young man, “It was good. They did some things different though. They sang hymns instead of regular songs.”

“Hymns?” said the wife. “What are those?”

“Oh, there okay. They’re sort of like regular songs, only different.” Said the young man.

“Well, what’s the difference?” asked his wife.

The young man said, “Well, its like this. If I were to say to you: ‘Martha, the cows are in the corn.’ Well, that would be a regular song. If on the other hand, I were to say to you:

‘Oh Martha, Dear Martha, hearest thou my cry.
Inclinest thine ear to the words of my mouth.
Turn thou thy whole wonderous ear by and by
To the righteous, inimitable, glorious truth.
For the way of the animals - who can explain?
There in their heads is no shadow of sense,
Hearkenest they in God’s sun or His rain?
Unless from the mild, tempting corn they are fenced.
Yea those cows in glad bovine, rebellious delight,
Have broken free their shackles, their warm pens eschewed.
Then goaded by minions of darkness and night,
They all my mild sweet corn have chewed.
So look to that bright shinning day by day.
Where all foul corruptions of earth are reborn,
Where no vicious animal makes my soul cry
And I no longer see those foul cows in the corn.

“Then, if I were to only sing verses one, three and four, well that would be a hymn.”

Annonymous