“Whiter than snow, yes, whiter than snow, Now wash me and I will be whiter than snow.” We sang that refrain from the green Broadman Hymnal many Sundays during my childhood at Harmony Baptist Church. Mr. Lee Williams, song leader for our small congregation, followed tradition by announcing we would sing the first, second, and last stanzas. It’s been said that the loneliest thing on earth is the third verse of a four-verse hymn.    

We’ve not sung “Whiter Than Snow” at Vienna First Baptist in recent years, but the hymns I grew up with often come to mind. That one broke free from the cobwebs of memory on Wednesday, January 22. I was taking a slow drive on country roads, admiring a rare sight of farmland blanketed in snow.

About six inches of snow accumulated in Dooly County the night before. Although I have no desire to live where that’s common, it was a charming oddity for South Georgia. Majestic beauty was enhanced by its temporary condition.  

I cautiously drove to my mother’s childhood home that morning, wanting to see the spring-fed stream and woods. It was an enchanting scene with snow clinging to trees and covering the tops of large rocks as water trickled by.   

What impressed me the most that day, though, were the open fields along the nearly abandoned roads, fields where cotton and peanuts had been harvested and everything was now hidden. The sun’s reflection off the snowy expanses was almost blinding. It caused me to ponder the chorus of that old hymn.

I’ve never thought much about those lyrics. They just seemed a poetic description of a white that’s beyond ordinary. Looking across those fields, though, I decided it might be more than that. I don’t know the story behind the hymn. Maybe it simply reflects King David’s plea in Psalm 51:7 to be made whiter than snow. But I wondered if James Nicholson had perhaps seen snow at its brightest, snow illuminated by reflecting the sun.

Several fields revealed no hint of what was below the white fluff. Everything was concealed. Then I rode past a farm where the stubble of decaying cotton stalks protruded a few inches above the pillowly layer. It reminded me of unconfessed sin.

My understanding is that salvation comes with a snow-white cleansing. Unfortunately that doesn’t stop us from sinning. The unconfessed sin in our lives is sort of like those cotton stalks, decaying matter which blemishes a perfect state.

Sin comes in many forms. Some we mostly agree are unacceptable and should always be avoided. Others are less obvious but just as serious, like seeing a brother in need and ignoring him. Or maybe our choices aren’t really bad, but they could be better.

Jimmy Carter wrote a book titled Why Not The Best? That’s a good question to ask ourselves in all life situations – work, home, and other areas. It’s a great question for examining our relationship with God. If we’re consistently giving him our best, we’ll be whiter than snow by reflecting the light of the Son. 

James Nicholson might be surprised to know his third verse has moved up a notch. The Baptist Hymnal, 1991 edition, omitted the original second stanza and put the third in its place. Perhaps someone thought it had been lonely too long. Or maybe a rogue congregation was caught flaunting the unwritten rules of Baptist hymnody by singing all four verses. Both stanzas are worthwhile, so I’ll close without showing favoritism.

“Lord Jesus, look down from Thy throne in the skies, And help me to make a complete sacrifice; I give up myself and whatever I know – Now wash me and I shall be whiter than snow.”

“Lord Jesus, for this I most humbly entreat, I wait, blessed Lord, at Thy crucified feet; By faith for my cleansing I see Thy blood flow – Now wash me and I shall be whiter than snow.”

Amen.