Mourning the hymn book

It occurred to me last Sunday, now that I've moved away from my home denomination, that there will be something which, potentially, I'll never have to use again.


A hymn book.


Now, admittedly, if I stayed in my denomination, choosing a church which had more relaxed services or solely going church in the evening, I could still have avoided the songbook, but now that I've made the denominational turn, I can now go years without a hymn book in my hand.


And... I'm going to miss it.


Not always.


But, sometimes.


Why?


Because, chances are, I won't sing the familiar hymns that the oldies loved.
I won't sing the trusted hymns that I'd turn to when leading a morning service.
No longer may I sing songs rich with hymn-depth theology.


And this comes with an element of sadness.


For, with all its faults, I grew up in a hymn book church.
My maturity as a Christian was marked by attending a service that sung hymns.
I worked in churches full of people who loved and cherished the hymn book. 
I still, at times, have hymns that randomly pop into my head or are triggered by something in church.


Really, last Sunday, I mourned a part of my tradition that has now slipped by...