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As I’m going through this section, entitled The Life of Integrity, I realize I use (or should use) these hymns a lot – and somehow am not at all getting bored, like I have with other sections of our hymnal. (I’m lookin’ at you, Christmas…)

It’s not surprising, as our Universalism calls us to love the hell out of this world. And as I scan back through a few years of services, it seems that one of these hymns from this category shows up easily 75% of the time. I admit I am feeling a little guilty for using them too much. But maybe they are filled with the messages most worth repeating – they say we only really preach one sermon, after all.

What I like about this hymn (and the others in this section) is that there’s both an openness and an urgency to the message – that liberal religion has not just benefit but also responsibility:

With heart and mind and voice and hand may we this time and place transcend
to make our purpose understood: a mortal search for mortal good,
a firm commitment to the goal of justice, freedom, peace for all.

A mind that’s free to seek the truth; a mind that’s free in age and youth
to choose a path no threat impedes, wherever light of conscience leads.
Our martyrs died so we could be a church where every mind is free.

A heart that’s kind, a heart whose search makes Love the spirit of our church,
where we can grow, and each one’s gift is sanctified, and spirits lift,
where every door is open wide for all who choose to step inside.

These lyrics are by Alicia Carpenter (commissioned for a Service of the Living Tradition), who also wrote Just As Long As I Have Breath; it is any wonder these two make such a good pair? More than once they have bracketed a service – this one to welcome and set the stage, the other to send out with a call to action.

Regarding the tune – we’ve sung it before, awkwardly I think, in The Winds of Change. But the German tune Mach’s Mit Mir, Gott works extremely well here. I’d love to hear a recast in a different time signature, or played with a swing, because it can get a bit stodgy; perhaps a 6/4 (my new favorite time signature) would help it out? Lord, please send me an accompanist who can come over with a keyboard every day and play hymns with me (and maybe bring coffee)… that’s not too much to ask, is it?

—

The image is from UU World’s Flickr page – of Rev. Cheryl Walker preaching at the 2017 Service of the Living Tradition, asking us to decide if we’re trying to make a name or make a difference. I was honored to be one of the many on stage, recognized for the transitions in our ministries.

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So…. bear with me on this: today’s hymn is the Jan to yesterday’s Marcia.

Everyone loves Wake Now My Senses. it’s a popular ordination hymn. It makes some of us cry. It is easy to sing and suits so many sermons.

And there, on the bottom of the right hand page, tucked away so as you hardly notice, is Make Channels for the Streams of Love. It’s not the favorite, it’s not well known, it’s overshadowed and often ignored. I can just hear this hymn whining to the Hymnal Commission about being stuck on that page and not having its own so it can shine. Just as second-born Jan Brady was always in her older sister Marcia’s shadow on The Brady Bunch, so too does this hymn sometimes sit in the shadows of a more popular hymn.

But folks, it deserves to shine. Set to the Land of Rest tune (which we have sung twice already in Heap High the Farmer’s Wintry Hoard and When We Wend Homeward), this text by Irish author Richard Trench contains a loving, lovely, and important message.

Make channels for the streams of love where they may broadly run;
and love has overflowing streams to fill them every one.

But if at any time we cease such channels to provide,
the very founts of love for us will soon be parched and dried.

For we must share, if we would keep this gift all else above;
we cease to give, we cease to have — such is the law of love.

Or, as Jimmy Durante (and many others) sang,

You’ve got to give a little, take a little,
And let your poor heart break a little.
That’s the story of, that’s the glory of love.

I hope you sing this more. I hope I sing this more. Because it’s so easy to stay angry and get angrier, to stay isolated and get more isolated, and then become parched and dried. We have to always love more, love more, love more.

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One of the joys of belonging to a congregation that’s just 20 years old is that the history is recent, and there are a lot of firsts to be part of.

On May 27th of this year, there were a lot of firsts: I was co-ordained by the First Universalist Church of Southold, where I was serving and who has ordained dozens in their 187 year history…. and the Unitarian Universalist Congregation of Saratoga Springs, making this their first ordination. This was, of course, my first (and only) time being ordained. And I am the first person in my ancestry in many, many generations – perhaps since the early 1600s – to be ordained. For many friends, it was the first time they’d participated in an ordination. In attendance (and also participating) were not only their current minister (the resultant call of Saratoga’s first ministerial search) but also their first, founding minister. And while he was not in attendance, Saratoga’s first interim minister, Thomas Mikelson, was present through his words, written for this, the first hymn we sang that day.

A day of firsts.

And I’m glad this hymn is a part of that memory and my history; it’s one of my favorites, far surpassing Rank by Rank Again We Stand (which we’ll get to in September) as the perfect hymn to use in rituals like ordinations and installations. Mikelson draws us all in to the wide net of ministry, recognizing that we are all called.

Wake, now, my senses, and hear the earth call;
feel the deep power of being in all;
keep, with the web of creation your vow,
giving, receiving as love shows us how.

Wake, now, my reason, reach out to the new;
join with each pilgrim who quests for the true;
honor the beauty and wisdom of time;
suffer thy limit, and praise the sublime.

Wake, now, compassion, give heed to the cry;
voices of suffering fill the wide sky;
take as your neighbor both stranger and friend,
praying and striving their hardship to end.

Wake, now, my conscience, with justice thy guide;
join with all people whose rights are denied;
take not for granted a privileged place;
God’s love embraces the whole human race.

Wake, now, my vision of ministry clear;
brighten my pathway with radiance here;
mingle my calling with all who will share;
work toward a planet transformed by our care.

Set to the Irish dance that is Slane, it reminds us that all that we are called to is a dance with the Mystery – that as much gravitas as our call requires, it also requires us to enter that call with a light and loving heart.

I honestly have not one bad thing to say about this hymn – as long as it’s not played as a dirge, of course.

And it will always live on in my memory as the first hymn of my ordination. May it also always live on as a reminder of my call.

—

From my ordination – the amazing Rev. Kimberly Quinn Johnson leading the processional, singing this hymn.

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It seems that every month or so there is a day I let my faithful –  and even not so faithful – readers down. Today is one of them. I’ll chalk it up to utter exhaustion after an amazing, if sleep-deprived, week at SUUSI, and a beautiful but long drive home from the Smoky Mountains of North Carolina to the foothills of the Adirondacks. And I’m not a kid anymore. This pace, while awesome in the moment, does take its toll. I slept in late, and even after two cups of coffee, I just can’t handle a new tune in four flats on my little keyboard app.

I’m sorry to say this tune, by composer Dede Duson and commissioned for this hymnal, seems like it is beautiful; but I just can’t get a handle on it. And as it turns out, the last time I encountered one of Duson’s tunes, I was also letting you all down, finding the tune too hard to manage through less-than-perfect conditions. Perhaps I need to find an accompanist I can call on mornings such as this to play tunes for me.

Anyway. Having not sung the tune – thus letting you and my practice down – I turn to the lyrics, by our old friend John Andrew Storey.

The star of truth but dimly shines behind the veiling clouds of night,
but ev’ry searching eye divines some partial glimmer of its light.

The certainty for which we crave no mortal ones can ever know;
uncharted waters we must brave, and face whatever winds may blow.

Though for safe harbor we may long, we must not let our courage fail,
and, though the winds of doubt blow strong, upon the trackless ocean sail.

From honest doubt we shall not flee, nor fetter the inquiring mind,
for where the hearts of all are free, a truer faith we there shall find.

I love this lyric. Every single line of it. The idea that we not only are able to have our answers questioned but that we can engage the search together, and that our hearts will open wide in the search? Sign me up.

I wish I was familiar with the tune and could teach it – I could have used this hymn several times in the last year. I mean, I could have us sing it to a different tune, like Winchester New (also used for As Tranquil Streams), but I would really like to use the new tune written for us.

So I ask: anyone willing to sign up to be on the other end of a Dial-A-Pianist Hotline?

—

Anyone know the artist of this image of safe harbor? Google is also failing me today.

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Confession: sometimes I sing a hymn and all I really have to say is, ‘yep, it’s great’ and then I look for more to say.

I love this hymn. It’s great. The melody, a late 15th century French tune by Franciscan monk Jean Tisserand, is lush and a bit bittersweet, and provides a perfect mood for these last three absolutely perfect verses of Christina Rossetti’s poem “What Good Shall My life Do to Me?”

O filii et filiae, Alleluia.

O ye who taste that love is sweet,
set waymarks for the doubtful feet
that stumble on in search of it.
Alleluia.

Sing hymns of love; that some who hear
far off, in pain, may lend an ear.
Rise up and wonder and draw near.
Alleluia.

Lead lives of love; that others who
behold your lives may kindle too
with love, and cast their lot with you.
Alleluia.

Two last notes, and then I’m heading on the last leg toward home from SUUSI.

The hymn tune is called O Filii et Filiae, which in Latin means “o sons and daughters” – and yes, it’s problematic now in terms of gender expansiveness. However, it is also the title of this rather famous-in-Catholic-circles tune, and I am not sure we can or should change it.

Also: this first line is the priest’s ‘get your attention’ line. It’s the “gather around and listen up” line. It absolutely sets the mood of the piece, too. If you use this as a congregational hymn, you probably want the song leader to sing the first line and then the congregation to sing the verses. Or, consider a song leader, then the choir on the verses, with everyone joining in on the ‘Alleluia.” or, drop that first line altogether and just do the verses. But know you have options, because this tune is somewhat unfamiliar in form, and it may prove to be a good way to teach it.

So this hymn? Yep, it’s great.

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Of course this is the hymn today, as I set out on 14-hour trip home from SUUSI that was called Blessed Is the Path. And in fact, I’m a little surprised no one used this in their worship this week… except that it’s probably a bit stodgier than most of what we sing here.

Yet it is a favorite hymn of mine, one I find myself using (or wanting to use) a lot. Perhaps it’s because I talk about our journeys a lot – all kinds of journeys, from personal journeys to collective, from spiritual to intellectual, from historical to prophetic. Unitarian Universalist Mark DeWolfe’s lyrics are simply gorgeous:

Sing out praises for the journey, pilgrims, we, who carry on,
searchers in the soul’s deep yearnings, like our forebears in their time.
We seek out the spirit’s wholeness in the endless human quest.

Look inside, your soul’s the kindling of the hearth fire pilgrims knew.
Find the spirit, always restless, find it in each mind and heart.
Touch and hold that ancient yearning, kindling for a newfound truth.

Stand we now upon the threshold, facing futures yet unknown.
Hearth behind us, wayside hostel built by those who knew wild roads.
Guard we e’er their sacred embers carried in our minds and hearts.

An aside – while training friend and colleague Elizabeth Assenza to take over as a Union chapel minister, we giggled a lot at “forebears” because it didn’t scan to our eyes correctly. We wanted it to say “forebearers” because we weren’t quite sure four bears were quite up to the task.

And now you will never look at that word the same way again. Our work here is done.

Now back to the hymn – a lush lyric set to a lovely if somewhat squarely notated – and thus played – tune by the English composer Henry Purcell. I wonder if it would make it drag if done in a 6/8 time signature; it certainly would dance a bit more. Or maybe we find a new tune.

But no matter. I like the Purcell, and I don’t know why I’m stuck on trying to change it, but, well, there it is.

Bottom line: this is a favorite of mine, and it’s a good, useful hymn. I’m grateful for it.

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Here at SUUSI, we have a yearly theme; this year’s is “Blessed Is the Path,” and the resulting worship services have explored the many ways we are on our path, what we may encounter on the path, and what it means to say ‘yes’ to the path.

Of course, my mind has spent a little energy thinking about the path I’m heading down; a path that’s mine and mine alone. Friend and colleague Karen Armina (formerly Quinlan) reminded us of these words from Joseph Campbell:

If you can see your path laid out in front of you step by step, you know it’s not your path. Your own path you make with every step you take. That’s why it’s your path.

Our hymn today is about the paths we make. It’s not about looking back at our accomplishments (for which we do also give praise) but about looking forward to the next step – the untilled field, the open sea, the roads ahead.

Our praise we give for harvests earned,
the fruits of labor garnered in;
but praise we more the soil unturned
from which the yield is yet to win.

Our praise we give for harbor’s lee,
for moorings safe in waters still;
but more the leagues of open sea,
where favoring gales our canvas fill.

Our praise we give for journey’s end,
the inn, all warmth and light and cheer;
but more for length’ning roads that wend
through dust and heat and hilltops clear.

Soren Kierkegaard is famously quoted as saying “Life is lived forward but understood backward.” The path ahead – unturned, unsailed, untraveled – makes sense only because we look back and know that what we do creates a life well lived.

Now I know I’m waxing poetic this morning and not saying much about the hymn itself. So let me pause to say the tune is a gorgeous piece by Percy Carter Buck, and the lyrics are part of a longer piece written by Unitarian minister John Coleman Adams.

It is a lush and lovely hymn, one I would definitely use at an ingathering or a sending off. Or maybe another time of the year – because our journey never ends until we do, and the time we are on the path is a lot longer than the preparation or reflection.

As I and my colleagues across denominations are wont to say, that’ll preach.

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So… I’m not sure about this one.

On the one hand, it’s a wonderful piece about our first source – our personal experience of awe and wonder, singing praise to the “star of truth”  – which is a wonderful name for that which some call God.

On the other hand, there seems to be a bit of humanist snark in the second verse – ‘though ancient creed and custom may point another way’ – which seems to point away from anything which some call God.

I guess my uncertainty lies in not being entirely sure who or what it is that lyricist Minot Judson Savage (who also wrote Seek Not Afar for Beauty) thinks we are singing praises to and why.

O star of truth, downshining through clouds of doubt and fear,
I ask beneath thy guidance my pathway may appear:
however long the journey, however hard it be,
though I be lone and weary, lead on, I follow thee.

I know thy blessed radiance can never lead astray,
though ancient creed and custom may point another way;
or through the untrod desert, or over trackless sea,
though I be lone and weary, lead on, I follow thee.

I’m prepared for dozens – baker’s dozens! – of you to have a clearer view of this hymn (set to a sweet Finnish melody called Nyland). I admit I’m a bit sinus foggy and headachy this morning, which never helps with clarity. And I’d welcome a discussion about the hymn.

The good news is that even headachy, the tune is sweet and it was a lovely song to start my day with. I sometimes have to remember that the experience of this spiritual practice does matter as much as the words I put on the page. And that experience was sweet.

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Last night, friend and colleague Erika Hewitt brought a message of love to evening worship here at SUUSI. It was not an easy message – she challenged us to flex our heart muscles in new ways, to lean into empathy, to see love in part as being willing to look past events and out into the systems that cause events to occur, and to know that we have the power – by practicing love even when it’s hard – to change lives and live into our call as Unitarian Universalists. Quoting UUA President Rev. Susan Frederick-Gray’s pastoral letter about New Orleans, Erika asked, “Who’s outside the circle of love?” We replied, “No one is outside the circle of love.”

And because this spiritual practice has a keen sense of timing, today’s hymn is of course a setting of this amazing poem by 19th century American poet Emily Dickinson:

If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain.
If I can ease one life the aching
or cool one pain,
or help one fainting robin
unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.

Sometimes we think we are called to solve all the world’s problems. But love, as Erika reminded us, uses plural pronouns; so no, I as an individual can’t do it, but we, all of us loving, can do it together. But it means I have to do it and you have to do it and the others too – and thus, if I can do one thing, help one person, ease one life, stop one heartache, show one kindness – I have contributed to the we.

And who doesn’t wanna do that?

Now what I don’t really want to do is sing this again. It’s not that the piece by Leo Smit, commissioned for STLT, is bad, it’s just super tricky. I first learned this tricky melody for a service a million years ago – a group of us sang it as a trio or quartet (I don’t really remember, as it was over a dozen years ago). I remember the harmonies being hard, the phrasing being tricky. And when I tried to sing it this morning, I fumbled and struggled. (Crazy part is that I’m on a college campus full of musicians but it’s too early to wake one up and ask them to play it for me.)

In other words, this is NOT for a congregation to sing unless you’ve spent a lot of time teaching it. And even then, the newcomer will be baffled (and rightly so). So put this in the not-for-the-congregation category, hand it to some seasoned singers, and see what magic happens.

Because what Dickinson’s poem – and Erika’s service – and really, our entire faith – says, is that we must show mercy and love, because that’s what it’s all about in the end.

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I entered this morning’s hymn with trepidation; I’m familiar with it and I’ve sung it a few times, but I was a bit anxious about what is really a charming little melody, wondering whether it would be a problem the way the Austria tune can be.

Between the Lines was no help really; James says simply that this is an Alsatian tune, with a translation of verse 1 by Arthur Kevess and new lyrics from Elizabeth Bennett.

That’s it.

Before we go too far, here are the lyrics as we have them in the hymnal:

Die Gedanken sind frei, my thoughts freely flower.
Die Gedanken sind frei, my thoughts give me power.
No scholar can map them, no hunter can trap them,
no one can deny: Die Gedanken sind frei!

My thoughts are as free as wind o’er the ocean,
and no one can see their form or their motion.
No hunter can find them, no trap ever bind them:
my lips may be still, but I think what I will.

A glimmering fire the darkness will brighten;
my soaring desire all troubles can lighten.
Though prison enfold me, its walls cannot hold me:
no captive I’ll be, for my spirit is free.

Good strong lyrics representing free thought. But what of the original? Was it as freely thinking?

As it turns out, yes.

This song first became popular during the 1840s, after the Carlsbad Decrees and then during the 1848 German Revolution, Die Gedanken Sind Frei was a popular and important protest song. A direct translation from the German goes like this:

Thoughts are free, who can guess them?
They fly by like nocturnal shadows.
No man can know them, no hunter can shoot them
with powder and lead: Thoughts are free!

I think what I want, and what delights me,
still always reticent, and as it is suitable.
My wish and desire, no one can deny me
and so it will always be: Thoughts are free!

And if I am thrown into the darkest dungeon,
all these are futile works,
because my thoughts tear all gates
and walls apart: Thoughts are free!

So I will renounce my sorrows forever,
and never again will torture myself with whimsies.
In one’s heart, one can always laugh and joke
and think at the same time: Thoughts are free!

I love wine, and my girl even more,
Only her I like best of all.
I’m not alone with my glass of wine,
my girl is with me: Thoughts are free!

Not surprisingly, this also became popular again in the 1930s and 40s in German; in at least one example of Nazi resistance, a member of the White Rose Resistance (Sophie Scholl) would play the song on her flute outside the prison where her father had been detained for calling Hitler “a scourge of God.”

So we’re getting closer to why this might be in our hymnal, but just as there are dozens of protests songs around the world that we’ve never heard of much less included in our living tradition, how did this one get our attention?

And then I read this, in Wikipedia:

The Weavers recorded the song at a live concert in the 1950s. Pete Seeger also recorded the song, solo, back in the 1950s. The Limeliters recorded the song in 1962 on their Folk Matinee album. Pete Seeger recorded the song once more in his Dangerous Songs!? album in 1966.

It all makes sense now.

And yes, I used this in my service on January 21st. We need to remember that what we are experiencing is not normal, and that we must keep our minds freely flowering.

—

Image is of cornflower, the national flower of Germany. I was going to show edelweiss, but it’s honestly not as lovely. Plus, it’s Austrian. Plus, it plants an earworm, and goodness knows I wouldn’t do THAT to you. Not me. Perish the thought.