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Remember when I was eyeballs deep in those aspirational hymns in the In Time To Come section? And how wearing, given our current political crisis, I found them?

Yeah. Here we are again. I am worn out by these hymns, barreling down, calling us over and over and over again to remain hopeful and energized. I am feeling quite unhopeful and exhausted right now. And may I say, Dear Spiritual Practice, I don’t need you reminding me of what I know already.

Sigh.

I also know that what I am doing is not normal, and we don’t just sing through the hymnal like this. My experience is not a typical experience.

For people approaching this hymn in a typical manner, flipping through hymns known and unknown seeking a couple of songs of inspiration and vision, this one will certainly fit the bill. Odell Shepard’s lyrics remind us of our aspirations and calls us to remember what it’s all about. (Plus, the tune’s a familiar one from the Southern Harmony collection.)

Peace! The perfect word is sounding, like a universal hymn
under oceans, over mountains, to the world’s remotest rim.

Toiling centuries have struggled upward on a stony way
just to set the torch of freedom where it flames aloft today.

All the old forlorn lost causes, every fair forbidden dream,
and the prophet’s hopeless vision, and the poet’s fitting gleam,

All the hopes of subject peoples, all the dreams of the oppressed,
must be ours, our hopes, our visions. We can never stay or rest.

Good, solid lyrics, hopeful, aspirational. The right hymn, I am sure, for many occasions, which could be well paired with any of the other Peace or In Time to Come or even Freedom songs.

Just don’t try to sing them all, all at once.

—

The picture? Oh, that’s a peace plant. 🙂

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It’s non sequitur day here on the Far Fringe – I have several utterly unrelated thoughts, so I’m just going to write them and let you make up the transitions in your head.

I would love to know exactly what English pronunciations were like in previous centuries that allowed ‘sword’ to be rhymed with ‘word’ and ‘remove’ with ‘love’.

Somewhat related, is this particular pronunciation found in a particular dialect in a particular corner of England, one that our lyricist John Andrew Storey hails from? Because while you half expect it from Shakespeare, Milton, Blake, Coleridge, and even Keats and Byron, you don’t much see it in 20th century writing.

I know it’s set to a 19th century German tune (Lobb Den Herrn, Die Morgansonne), but I wanted to sing it to Westminister Abbey (by Henry Purcell, most familiarly used in Sing Out Praises for the Journey).

This song should be sung at every UN General Assembly and in every war room and situation room in the world.

I’m not sure I would ever use this hymn unless I was talking about war and peace.

I’m not sure who Storey expects to found the dynasty of love – maybe this is an implicit “let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me.” All I know is that if we’re to cease from warring, we need to start in our congregations’ meeting rooms and let go of the petty, inconsequential fights (see Nancy McDonald Ladd’s sermon at the 2016 General Assembly).

Far too long, by fear divided, we have settled with the sword
quarrels which should be decided by the reconciling word.

Now the nations are united, though as yet in name alone,
and the distant goal is sighted which the prophet souls have shown.

May, at least, we cease from warring, barriers of hate remove,
and, earth’s riches freely sharing, found the dynasty of love.

And… scene. Hope you’re not running late because your devices failed to awaken you for Daylight Saving Time. And if you are, what are you reading for? Get going!

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This hymn, y’all.

First – we’re already into the Peace section; Labor and Learning was short, sweet, and to the point.

Second – I am not Finnish. Nowhere in my family’s known genealogy is there any Scandinavian blood; we’re all German and English, with a dollop of Dutch and a dash of Irish. Yet this tune, from a longer symphonic piece by Finnish composer Jean Sebelius and considered if not the national anthem then at least Finland’s most important song, makes me weep from its beauty and connection to the ineffable.

In our hymnal, this tune appears twice – with these lyrics, by Lloyd Stone, written as a prayer of peace – and later in our journey as We Would Be One. And every time we use it, whichever lyrics we use, I am literally moved to tears. Because not only does the tune reach something deep in our souls, the lyrics reach something deep in our hearts: the call of peace, the call of humanity.

I sometimes think of this lyric as the First Principle on the national/global level. If we affirm and promote the inherent worth and dignity of every person, we must also affirm and promote the inherent worth and dignity of every nationality – with the important caveat, of course, that governments regularly deny and oppress and stir up nationalistic jingoism in egotistical shows of empty bravado. (I’m lookin’ at you, 45.)

But this… this is the vision, the prayer, the call for peace.

This is my song, O God of all the nations,
a song of peace for lands afar and mine.
This is my home, the country where my heart is;
here are my hopes, my dreams, my holy shrine;
but other hearts in other lands are beating
with hopes and dreams as true and high as mine.

My country’s skies are bluer than the ocean,
and sunlight beams on cloverleaf and pine;
but other lands have sunlight too, and clover,
and skies are everywhere as blue as mine.
O hear my song, thou God of all the nations,
a song of peace for their land and for mine.

Amen.

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I’m a little more in love with this hymn today than I was yesterday.

I’ve used it several times – often with services about the arts or knowledge and reason. But even then, I don’t know that I actually meditated on the lyrics, written by Thomas Troeger, now a professor of preaching at Yale (officially the J. Edward and Ruth Cox Lantz Professor of Christian Communication – isn’t that a helluva metaphor for preaching?).

But I digress.

The reason I love this hymn a little more is that Troeger’s lyrics rather described my personal theology, which is most decidedly a Universalist process theology. The lyric never defines what the “source of faith and learning” is, but instead invite us to consider the wonder of creation and the act of creating as connected to some source within and beyond us. The lyrics command us to learn and explore and create, and never lose a sense of wonder. And they implore us to use our reason and faith-led, ethical, humanist core to carry out justice and compassion, and to reject things that do not aid in the growth and nurturance of this world.

Just look at these words:

Praise the source of faith and learning that has sparked and stoked the mind
with a passion for discerning how the world has been designed.
Let the sense of wonder flowing from the wonders we survey
keep our faith forever growing and renew our need to pray.

Source of wisdom, we acknowledge that our science and our art
and the breadth of human knowledge only partial truth impart.
Far beyond our calculation lies a depth we cannot sound
where the purpose for creation and the pulse of life are found.

May our faith redeem the blunder of believing that our thought
has displaced the grounds for wonder which the ancient prophets taught.
May our learning curb the error which unthinking faith can breed
lest we justify some terror with an antiquated creed.

Praise for minds to probe the heavens, praise for strength to breathe the air.
Praise for all that beauty leavens, praise for silence, music, prayer.
Praise for justice and compassion and for strangers, neighbors, friends.
Praise for hearts and lips to fashion praise for love that never ends.

I am weak.

(Also – while the tune has a decidedly Irish lilt, it was a commission, written for the 125th anniversary celebration of the First Unitarian Universalist Church of Ann Arbor, Michigan. Well met.)

—

Image is of the seven wonders of the ‘modern’ world.

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If it seemed like I phoned it in a bit the last few days, well, you’re not wrong. The truth is, I could blame it on being sick, but mostly I blame it on my personal fears that I wouldn’t treat the freedom songs from the African American spirituals tradition well – and in fact I may have been unclear or hurtful more than once in my efforts to seek balance and information. For all this, I apologize.

What I won’t apologize for, however, is a sense of pride in myself that despite the horrible sinus headaches and annoying coughs, I have kept this up. Much like those hard weeks after the election, I felt a sense of commitment to myself and the process. And that matters. (Now if I could only feel the same sense of commitment to exercise…)

Anyway… we’re on to the Labor and Learning hymns, beginning with this iconic song of the labor movement. In learning more about the song, I ran across an interview with singer-songwriter John McCutcheon, who spoke of his admiration of this song, which is

able to say everything you need to say in four lines. I tried to write verses for it and they were just pointless. … They can’t be improved. It was like a perfect distillation of the sentiment of the song. … the way it talks about the basic, the most basic things about communities and unions, and … it’s just a perfect song as a piece of craft work.

The song, like most folk music, has its own stories, with various sources claiming various origins. In his songbook Where Have All the Flowers Gone, Pete Seeger says this:

Waldemar Hille, editing the People’s Songs bulletin in 1948, once showed me two short verses he found when researching U.S. labor history:

Step by step the longest march can be won, can be won.
Many stones can form an arch, singly none, singly none.
And by union, what we will can be accomplished still;
drops of water turn a mill, singly none, singly none.

It was printed in the preamble to the constitution of an early coal miner’s union. Says Wally, “good verse.” Says I, “What’s the tune?”

“I don’t know,” says Wally, “I suppose some old Irish tune might fit it. Like the song from the Irish famine of the 1840’s, ‘The Praties they Grow Small.’”

“Let’s try it,” says I. It fit. And has been sung to that melody ever since.

And so this is the melody we sing. Two simple, compact, complete couplets – a perfect introduction to this section, and a good section to be starting on this day after the International Women’s Day general strike, A Day Without a Woman. There will be more space to talk about women and the labor movement in upcoming songs… so I’ll save my energy for those.

For now, I leave you with this wonderful, short, meaningful song. I’m glad we sing it.

 

 

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When I started this practice, I intended to talk about what was on my mind, what the song brought up for me. As it has evolved, I have incorporated a lot of history, literary criticism, and musicology, along with my thoughts and feelings.

My thought today is that this song, thought to be a response to the Emancipation Proclamation, must speak for itself.

Oh, freedom, oh, freedom, oh, freedom, over me;
and before I’d be a slave,
I’d be buried in my grave,
and go home to my God and be free.

No more moaning, no more moaning, no more moaning over me;
and before I’d be a slave,
I’d be buried in my grave,
and go home to my God and be free.

There’ll be singing, there’ll be singing, there’ll be singing over me;
and before I’d be a slave,
I’d be buried in my grave,
and go home to my God and be free.

A final note: while today is a general strike, A Day Without Women, I recognize that actually striking is a privileged position, and most women will not be able to completely strike, even if it’s just their work at home for family. For me, I signed up for events before the strike was announced that I cannot back out of, nor should I. Instead, I will wear red, and I will remember that at my worst I have more freedom than most, and that my work must be in part to ensure all who identify as women are free.

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This is a great piece – best sung a capella, with three strong song leaders to help fill in the rich harmony.

I often forget about it, this sweet song written by cantor Linda Hirschhorn, and I’m not sure why. So when it comes up in conversation or I hear a snippet of it, I go ‘oh yeah, that’s a good song.’ And then promptly forget it again.

I don’t have much more to add today – still fighting off the crud. But I like it and I wish we sang it more… it’s a beautiful sung prayer. You can hear it here, courtesy of the Church of the Larger Fellowship and the Oakland Chancel Choir:

Circle ‘round for freedom, circle ‘round for peace,
for all of us imprisoned, circle for release,
circle for the planet, circle for each soul,
for the children of our children, keep the circle whole.

Amen.

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Today’s post will be very short, as I have succumbed finally to the respiratory crud going around. But I do have a thing or two to say about this song, which I could not sing, physically or emotionally.

First, I am glad we have a chance to see some of the less cheerful, less hopeful spirituals – this more than any other song that I’ve encountered shows the realities and cruelty of slavery, and the sadness of all who died because of it.

But also, this is more evidence that the hymnal isn’t a book of songs to sing, it is a collection of music that speaks to our living tradition, some of which are preserved (I suspect) for historical purposes. This song speaks to the dark realities of slavery, which some Unitarians and Universalists fought against and some Unitarians and Universalists fought for. Ours is an ugly and complicated history around slavery, colonization, and race relations.

This song sits in our hymnal as a stark reminder.

No more auction block for me. No more, no more.
No more auction block for me, many thousand gone.

No more driver’s lash for me. No more, no more.
No more driver’s lash for me, many thousand gone.

No more peck of corn for me. No more, no more.
No more peck of corn for me, many thousand gone.

No more pint of salt for me. No more, no more.
No more pint of salt for me, many thousand gone.

But for god’s sake, unless you have a very particular context and very particular performers, don’t sing this. Let it speak without singing.

—

Illustration from Harper’s Weekly, July 1861.

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Oh the things you learn when you challenge your assumptions…

In late January, I co-led an interfaith service focused on resistance, which featured the support of the local AME Zion choir; thus, while music came from several sources, we did lean heavily on the gospel genre, and we chose this song as our sending call. I was surprised to hear the choir sing “stayed on Jesus” – because I had only ever heard “freedom” and I thought “huh” – I guess this is their adaptation of this spiritual to fit their religious needs. I was, in fact, pretty certain that the lyric was changed TO Jesus at some point.

When I opened the hymnal today, I again read “Words and Music: African American spiritual (1750-1875). Assumption confirmed.

Or not.

Even as I sang this, seeing it as a powerful song speaking to the call of freedom and justice through the ages, I wondered about that Jesus line. So… I trotted over to the internet, and discovered this: “Reverend Osby of Aurora, Illinois created this revamp of an old gospel song ‘I woke up this morning with my mind stayed on Jesus’ while spending time in Hinds County jail during the freedom rides.”

It was then spread and became a signature song of the civil rights movement (you can read more in Pete Seeger’s book Everybody Says Freedom: A History of the Civil Rights Movement in Songs and Pictures).

And so, while it might have roots as a spiritual (I can’t find anything to confirm or deny this at 8:15 on a Sunday morning), it is – as we have it today – a song of the civil rights movement.

Oh, I woke up this morning with my mind stayed on freedom.
Woke up this morning with my mind stayed on freedom.
Woke up this morning with my mind stayed on freedom,
Hallelu, Hallelu, Halleluia.

I was walking and talking with my mind …

I was singing and praying with my mind …

Oh, I woke up this morning with my mind …

And it’s a song we need today, because we are fighting the same fights and we can’t ever forget.

—

The image is of the Freedom Singers at a 1963 event.

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Hurrah for the Hymnal Commission, who noted at the bottom of the page that this was a code song used by the Underground Railroad, much like Wade in the Water and Swing Low, Sweet Chariot, to communicate the map to freedom.

I won’t go through the whole song – there are plenty of sites that do that for you. Of course, the drinking gourd is the big dipper, ‘when the sun comes back and the first quail calls’ is springtime; the second two verses are remarkably explicit.

The question, of course, is whether they’re too explicit, and was this version written after the Civil War? There’s some evidence to suggest that might be the case, although it’s also possible that it’s not at all contradictory to have some lyrics codified in various forms long after the original was sung, thanks to oral tradition.

(Chorus)
Follow the drinking gourd,
follow the drinking gourd,
for the old man is awaiting for to carry you to freedom,
follow the drinking gourd.

When the sun comes back and the first quail calls,
follow the drinking gourd.
The old man is awaiting for to carry you to freedom,
follow the drinking gourd.

(Chorus)

Now the river bank makes a mighty good road,
the dead trees will show you the way.
Left foot, peg foot, traveling on,
follow the drinking gourd.

(Chorus)

Now the river ends between two hills
follow the drinking gourd.
There’s another river on the other side,
follow the drinking gourd.

(Chorus)

Whether or not we believe that exactly these verses are what was sung in 1860, this song is a potent reminder of the bravery of Harriet Tubman and those – white and black – who worked the Railroad. It’s a potent reminder of the strength and power of music. And it’s a tribute to the enduring heart and soul of the oppressed.

Again, we must sing it with care. Of course. But I think we have been left enough breadcrumbs that we’re unlikely to enter this one without some care.