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It is easier to write about things you care deeply about, whether for good or for ill, than it is to write about things that are, well, fine, and don’t really bother you one way or the other.

Such is the case here. This is a fine hymn. Sure. It works. It’s got decent lyrics but not ones I’m swooning over. Oddly, the tune sounds like an introit, and I can imagine using the last verse exactly that way. It’s a bit weirder singing it four times – I can’t imagine if we sang all six verses; for what it’s worth, the two verses omitted are inspired by the Lord’s prayer but certainly are not out of line for our theologies:

Hallow our love,
hallow the deaths of martyrs,
hallow their holy freedom,
hallowed be your name.

Your kingdom come,
your Spirit turn to language,
your people speak together,
your Spirit never fade.

So…yeah. Decent modern hymn from two Canadians; what’s funny is that in Between the Lines, James has a nice biography of the composer, Robert J. B. Fleming. And for the lyricist? “Francis W. Davis (1936-1976) was a Canadian.” So there’s that. Sorry.

Anyway, here’s our decent hymn, for which I have no real feeling one way or the other.

Let there be light,
let there be understanding,
let all the nations gather,
let them be face to face.

Open our lips,
open our minds to ponder,
open the door of concord
opening into grace.

Perish the sword,
perish the angry judgment,
perish the bombs and hunger,
perish the fight for gain.

Let there be light,
open our hearts to wonder,
perish the way of terror,
hallow the world God made.

(Disclaimer: I know all Canadians are not Doug and Bob McKenzie, but I just could not resist. Plus, it got you to click….)

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Y’all, this song brings up the same commentary about aspiration, and the same commentary about cultural appropriation, and the same commentary about gender inclusion, and the same commentary about zipper songs that I’ve offered before and will be compelled to offer again.

And the truth is, I’m too tired to make the same arguments again. I fear this is one of those times when “ditto” is exactly the right answer, resolving in a predictable “use it with care and caution” and, more often than not “I’m not inclined to use it.”

So… all that being said about this spiritual, let me share two thoughts:

First: There’s a different version of this song that is embedded in the old-time gospel tradition that has been covered by countless gospel singers and choruses. It’s rousing and cheery and definitely old school. This is one of my favorites:

Second: I was trying to read a bit about the imagery of Zion in spirituals, and while my first google search didn’t result in much, I did run across Thomas Wentworth Higginson’s piece for the June 1867 Atlantic Monthly, entitled “Negro Spirituals.” A Union officer (and a Unitarian minister), Higginson was instrumental in the success and survival of the Port Royal Experiment (Later the Penn School, now the Penn Center) which taught the three R’s and other skills to the runaway and later newly freed people.

Now if you read the article, you will, of course, be confronted with the attitudes of the time – even the most enlightened white person of the day still carried with them a tangible systemic racism. But if you can get beyond that, you’ll find something quite amusing:

Remember when I talked about the encoding of spirituals – that they carried important information about the Underground Railroad? It was key to their survival, even while the white ears who heard the songs just thought they were religious in nature. Well…. Good ol’ Thomas had himself a moment with one of these songs:

“O, Jordan bank was a great old bank !
Dere ain’t but one more river to cross.
We have some valiant soldier here,
Dere ain t, &c.
O, Jordan stream will never run dry,
Dere ain’t, &c.
Dere’s a hill on my leff, and he catch on my right,
Dere ain’t but one more river to cross.”

I could get no explanation of this last riddle, except, “Dat mean, if you go on de leff, go to ‘struction, and if you go on de right, go to God, for sure.”

For sure. Nothing to see here, white man. I know you’re on my side, but there’s nothing to see here. Move along now. For sure.

Heh heh.

Anyway… here’s the lyrics. Make of this song what you will, but be careful and cautious in its use.

I’ve got a new name over in Zion,
I’ve got a new name over in Zion,
I’ve got a new name over in Zion!
It’s mine, it’s mine, it’s mine,
I declare, it’s mine!

I’ve got a mother over in Zion,
I’ve gat a mother over in Zion,
I’ve got a mother over in Zion!
She’s mine, she’s mine, she’s mine,
I declare, she’s mine!

I’ve got a father over in Zion,
I’ve got a father over in Zion,
I’ve got a father over in Zion!
He’s mine, he’s mine, he’s mine,
I declare, he’s mine!

I’ve got a new life over in Zion,
I’ve got a new life over in Zion,
I’ve got a new life over in Zion!
It’s mine, it’s mine, it’s mine,
I declare, it’s mine!

Photo is of a path near the Sea Islands, Georgia. No idea if it looked like that 150 years ago, but it’s awfully pretty.

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NO NO NO NO NO NO NO.

Holy cow this is a terrible hymn.

Technically, it’s not terrible – the tune is a favorite – Hyfrodol, made fresh by Peter Mayer in 1064, Blue Boat Home (which will get its day next January).  And the lyrics in terms of rhyme and meter are just fine.

But HOLY COW this is a terrible hymn.

Why? I’m glad you asked.

In the history of humankind, there has been a constant battle between Us and Them – we like Us, and we don’t like Them, so we’ll fight hard to make sure Us is protected from Them, even if we have to build walls and cities within those walls to keep Them out. And we have expected our cities to be beacons for both people who are Us and people who want to be Us. We see it played out throughout the Old Testament, with its understanding of the chosen people, and Zion, and the emphasis on building and protecting Jerusalem.  It’s here that we get all of the “shining city on a hill” imagery that my ancestor John Winthrop spouted in 1630 and which then President Ronald Reagan spouted in the 1980s.

And it’s terrible. It’s empire – meant to keep some people in and some out, meant to keep some people free and others enslaved, meant to separate and oppress.

So when I see “hail the glorious golden city” and “gleaming wall” and “banished from its borders” I scream NO. I mean, just look at these lyrics:

Hail the glorious golden city, pictured by the seers of old:
everlasting light shines o’er it, wondrous things of it are told.
Wise and righteous men and women dwell within its gleaming wall;
wrong is banished from its borders, justice reigns supreme o’er all.

We are builders of that city. All our joys and all our groans
help to rear its shining ramparts; all our lives are building-stones.
Whether humble or exalted, all are called to task divine;
all must aid alike to carry forward one sublime design.

And the work that we have builded, oft with bleeding hands and tears,
oft in error, oft in anguish, will not perish with our years:
it will live and shine transfigured in the final reign of right:
it will pass into the splendors of the city of the light.

There are other hymns that talk about building – in particular, I am thinking of 1017, Building a New Way. The difference is that a song like that is about building a path, a journey, a way for us to be better out in the world not just with Them but seeing Them and Us as useless constructs. I like the idea that we work together to build a path toward that kind of vision.

But when the establishing shot of the vision is “glorious golden city”? I’m tapping out.

Just…. no.

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Is it cheating to just say “ditto”?

Yesterday I talked about these aspirational hymns, that by and large (except for some tripping over language – today’s is the binary “sons and daughters”) are pretty good and visionary and all that we hope we, and Unitarian Universalism, and the world, can be. Then I talked about how really frustrated I am that we are on the brink of all this goodness and how can it be 2017 and we are still so seemingly far away?

Is it cheating to say I feel the same way after singing this hymn, and maybe the one after that too? Because I’m sensing a theme here.

Now…earlier this morning (when the cat awakened me before the crack of dawn), I looked briefly at social media, and an acquaintance reminded me of an episode of The West Wing, (“Hartsfield’s Landing”) where the president returns from a trip to India bearing gifts – namely, chess boards. He proceeds to set up a couple of games while the staff deal with an international crisis (and wait up for early primary results out of New Hampshire). One of the games is with Sam, who is let in on some of the international intrigue; as the situation is resolved, thanks to some pretty impressive global chess, Sam wonders aloud “how do you do it?” The president replies, “see the whole board.”

I mention this, in this rambling “ditto” of a blog post, because I think about how important it is for religious professionals to be holding the vision in the midst of crisis, to see not just the next move, but the move after that and ten moves after that. Things feel terrible right now, but there is a larger game being played, one that – if we see it – we can win.

This hymn – all of these hymns in this “In Time to Come” section – are us seeing the whole board.

Wonders still the world shall witness never known in days of old,
never dreamed by ancient sages, howsoever free and bold.
Sons and daughters shall inherit wondrous arts to us unknown,
when the dawn of peace its splendor over all the world has thrown.

They shall rule with winged freedom worlds of health and human good,
worlds of commerce, worlds of science, all made one and understood.
They shall know a world transfigured, which our eyes but dimly see;
they shall make its towns and woodlands beautiful from sea to sea.

For a spirit then shall move them we but vaguely apprehend —
aims magnificent and holy, making joy and labor friend.
Then shall bloom in song and fragrance harmony of thought and deed,
fruits of peace and love and justice — where today we plant the seed.

Our moves today affect what happens next…and what happens after that. Let us work today, but see the whole board.

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We now enter what we might call “The New Eden” section but which we actually call “In Time To Come” – this section is very aspirational, very “kingdom of heaven.” Which, I suppose, is needed, and helpful – goodness knows Dr. King’s “I have a dream” motivated people to reach for it, to believe in something better. Even Barack Obama’s “yes we can” was similarly hopeful and visionary. And when we compare it to the backward thinking “make America great again” it’s a needed corrective and comfortable reframing.

Here are the lyrics – and don’t get tripped up by the word “race” in the first line – our lyricist John Addington Symonds was writing from a Victorian English literary perspective, where the word was used instead of “humanity” or worse, “mankind.” (I really don’t know what he was talking about in the first line of verse 3 – maybe one of you has a clue?)

These things shall be: a loftier race
than e’er the world hath known shall rise,
with flame of freedom in their souls,
and light of science in their eyes.

Nation with nation, land with land,
unarmed shall live as comrades free;
in every mind and heart shall throb
the pulse of one humanity.

High friendship, hitherto a sin,
or by great poets half-divined,
shall burn a steadfast star within
the calm, clear spirit of the mind.

New arts shall bloom of loftier mold,
and mightier music thrill the skies,
and every life a song shall be
when all the earth is paradise.

My biggest problem with this hymn is not the vision – I’m cool with it. (And the tune feels a little cheery, but this is the same tune as used in #12, O Life that Maketh All Things New, another aspirational song.)

No, problem is not with the hymn at all. My problem is that we should already BE HERE, and how are we not? What the hell happened?

I know there are a lot of answers, and it doesn’t change the reality that we face which is not at all this vision. I don’t feel particularly energized to go look for all the reasons why we’re in a pickle. We just are, and we can’t change the past.

What we can change is the future, and so keeping this peaceful, creative, intelligent, reality based vision of one world in the forefront like a carrot dangling before our eyes may help us remember what it is we’re fighting for.

—

The image is of the Peter Wenzel painting, “Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden.” I just couldn’t resist.

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An open letter to Chris Hardwick, founder of The Nerdist and host of The Nerdist Podcast (and @midnight and The Talking Dead and who knows what else because he’s doing so much as he follows his bliss):

Dear Chris,

I want to thank you for the impact The Nerdist Podcast has made on me.

Like many GenXers, I have done several things professionally – retail, teaching, singing, acting and directing, arts management, editing and publishing – always feeling that there was something more I could do, and definitely feeling rather like Salieri in Amadeus, second best, never getting the breaks. Thus it was something of a surprise when I realized I was called to ministry and am now in the first few years of my career as a Unitarian Universalist minister. When I first discerned the call to ministry, I was very clear that I didn’t want to be a congregational minister – I was clear that my call had something to do with the arts. But Salieri syndrome kicked in again, because I am not a great actor, or an instrumentalist, or a composer or playwright – and because others in my denomination are more creative and out there doing amazing things.

I tell you this because about a year ago, having resigned myself to congregational ministry, I started listening to the podcast. Sure, some of them are simply hysterical, and I am so grateful for that – I listened to your first podcast with Wil Wheaton about a week after the election and it was the first time I had laughed since that horrible day, so much so I had to pull off on the side of the road because tears were streaming down my face.

But alongside the humor, especially in the podcasts from the last year or two, you have engaged in incredibly thoughtful conversations with incredibly bright and thoughtful people about creativity, inspiration, temperament, process, and the philosophy of art. Episode after episode, you are tapping into a deep truth about our impulse as humans to create and express ourselves, and the ways in which those impulses define our attitudes and character.

Those conversations have mattered – on a larger scale, of course, but also to me personally. Your call to us to find that thing and do it has helped me realize that I don’t have to be Mozart to be effective, and useful, and needed. Your call to us to find that thing and do it has helped me see that my call to ministry isn’t about being the best artist but rather to inspire others to create, to do, to use the arts to find truth, to understand the world, to connect with others, to let our spirits play. And goodness knows we need it – more than ever, when the political and social landscape seeks to crush us, we need to create art and be inspired by art in order to survive.

And so I thank you – for helping me discern my need to leave the congregation and work as a “freelance” minister working with communities to inspire and enrich their lives with art – for continuing this vital conversation about creativity – and for making us laugh so hard I can’t drive.

Thank you.

Enjoy your burrito…

Image by Jimiyo at Deviant Art – free for use under Creative Commons License

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I’m not sure I have much to say on this one today, short of what I muttered as I finished singing, and as poured my coffee, and I walked up the stairs to the office, and as I opened up this page: “Hmmm. Well.. okay.”

I hoped for more insight from Jacqui James – but all I learned is that Fred Kaan, a congregational minister in England, wrote this for the opening service for the Christian World Conference on Life and Peace in 1983. I suppose that explains the “for children unborn” line… and the cold war sentiment of “energy wasted on weapons of death.”

The tune is unfamiliar but not difficult, although there are some intervals that challenge a pre-coffee, pre-warm-up voice.

I’m not sure why I am so ambivalent about this one – I mean, short of the annoyance I have at the idea that “life” and “death” would rhyme (except metaphorically). Maybe it’s because I don’t need another prayer – I need action and answers. I guess I’m finding this a bit unsatisfactory today. Oh well. Here are the lyrics:

We utter our cry: that peace may prevail!
That earth will survive and faith must not fail.
We pray with our life for the world in our care,
for people diminished by doubt and despair.

We cry from the fright of our daily scene
for strength to say “no” to all that is mean:
designs bearing chaos, extinction of life,
all energy wasted on weapons of death.

We lift up our hearts for children unborn:
give wisdom, O God, that we may hand on,
replenished and tended, this good planet earth,
preserving the future and wonder of birth.

Hmmm. Well… okay.

—

The picture today is another unrelated image because nothing came up for me visually. Instead, here’s a beloved covered bridge in Arlington, Vermont, which I was reminded of during a conversation with my friend and colleague Elizabeth Assenza. It’s pretty, isn’t it?

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I would bet I am not the only person who has looked at the bottom of the page of a hymn, seen words like “traditional Asian melody” and flipped past. Not because we don’t appreciate music from other cultures, but because the scales are sometimes unfamiliar and the intervals are tricky for unrehearsed singers. I know that the times I have been asked to learn a song not composed on the pentatonic scale, it’s been a delightful mixture of challenging, surprising, and pleasing.

And… seeing it noted as the source on a hymn when your office administrator is not so patiently waiting for your submission on the order of service and the accompanist really just wants to know what you want the congregation to sing… well, that note makes it easy to flip past, in favor of a more well known but perhaps less perfect choice.

Well, flip no more, my friends, past number 136! I sat down with my little keyboard app and counted out the 6/4 time, and discovered that while there are a couple of surprising intervals, they make sense to our western-trained ears. But what’s really interesting is that just the melody, without knowing the accompaniment, this could have been in one of the shape note books (Southern Harmony, Union Harmony, etc.). Its 6/4 lends itself to a gentle, rolling hint of a lilt; the four-line structure follows a traditional pattern; and each phrase is remarkably predicable in that “we’ve sung a lot of hymns just like this” way. Of course, I don’t know what the accompaniment is like, and it’s possible that all of my ‘gee, this sounds like Appalachian shape note’ flies out the window. But seriously, flip no more, because it’s highly singable.

Of course… I say flip no more, unless the lyrics do you in.

Where gentle tides go rolling by along the salt sea strand,
the colors blend and roll as one together in the sand.
And often do the winds entwine to send their distant call.
The quiet joys of humankind, when love embraces all.

Where road and wheat together rise among the common ground,
the mare and stallion, light and dark, have thunder in their sound.
The rainbow sign, the blended flood still have my heart enthralled,
the quiet joys of what we share where love embraces all.

But we have come to plow the tides, the oat lies on the ground.
I hear their fires in the field, they drive the stallion down.
The roses bloom, both light and dark, the winds do seldom call.
The running sands recall the time when love embraces all.

Maybe it’s just me, but I had to look twice while singing to make sure of what section I was in – yep, still Love and Compassion. I kept getting distracted by the horses, and definitely the whole light and dark business. I also stumbled on what lyricist Richard Farina meant with the reference to Genesis (“The rainbow sign, the blended flood still have my heart enthralled”) – blended flood? I know it stopped me singing, and I bet I’m not the only one. And seriously, what’s all this light and dark business? And that third verse is really just word salad at this point.

I’m not entirely sure if I’m baffled because I’m not feeling especially metaphorical today or because the lyrics really don’t work. Either way, I really love the melody of this hymn and now need to find another 8.6.8.6.8.6 lyric to set to it.

So… flip as you will, but don’t let it be because of a hesitation on the melody.

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It is hard to sing this hymn and not see an indictment of the character of the person who currently occupies the White House. The person this hymn describes is the person we want as our president – strong, self-reliant, truthful, not swayed by the attractions of fame, power, and wealth.

And I think about this man who took the oath less than four weeks ago, and I realize how unhappy he probably is, and I feel a sense of pity. I’m sorry that he was brought up in an environment that likely prized winning over loving, acquisition over compassion, self-promotion over self-knowledge. I am sad for the little inner child that cries at night to be seen and loved, because I doubt the man has ever given his inner child one iota of thought, or love, or grace, or apology.

Our first principle calls us to affirm and promote the inherent worth and dignity of every person – we don’t have to like them, but we have to affirm their inherent worth. In our brighter moments, this is easy. In our darker moments, it’s a struggle. But I’d like to think that we who value the self-possessed and compassionate character defined in this hymn can open our hearts to include some sadness for the boy who never learned this and thus became the man we alternately fear and revile.

How happy are they born or taught,
who do not serve another’s will;
whose armor is their honest thought,
and simple truth their highest skill;

Whose passions not their rulers are;
whose souls are still, and free from fear,
not tied unto the world with care
of public fame or private ear;

Who have their lives from rumors freed,
whose conscience is their strong retreat,
whose state no flattery can feed,
nor ruin make oppressors great.

All such are freed from servile bands
of hope to rise, or fear to fall;
they rule themselves, but rule not lands,
and, having nothing, yet have all.

On a musical note – the tune suits the lyrics, but the lyrics don’t always scan well, meaning I sometimes tripped over which syllable goes where or figuring out exactly what word I was singing over several notes (“ruin” and “happy” especially tripped me up in the singing).

I think it’s a decent hymn and would use it now that I’ve discovered it. In fact, it might be spawning a sermon idea… yeah, that’ll preach.

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Until recently this has seemed rather a cheery hymn – a warm, confirming, gentle reminder of the butterfly effect. Yay, our world is one world, we’re all connected, our optimism matters.

Right now, this feels largely like a warning that the Osmond Brothers were wrong, and one bad apple CAN spoil the whole bunch. I’m not saying that the one bad apple will absolutely ruin it all for us, but that even his words and actions affect us. This hymn, by Cecily Taylor, is a warning: how one person thinks, sees the world, seeks power and riches at all costs – all these things affect us all. We need to make sure that we are many, thinking differently, loving, giving, sharing, so that perhaps our way affects more and builds bridges.

In “Last of the Time Lords” from the third season of Doctor Who, the Doctor learns that he is not the only Time Lord left, and the one they call The Master is still alive and desiring to take over earth – and destroy the Doctor in the process. While the Doctor is held captive and powerless, his companion, Martha Jones, travels the globe, telling the Doctor’s story, and getting them all to think one thing at one moment in time. When Martha confronts the Master, the Master is dismissive – he has, he thinks, managed to control everyone’s minds, to brainwash them into paying fealty only to him. Yet the secret, that Martha reveals, is that even that power can backfire if everyone is thinking the same regenerative thought at the same time, focusing on and thinking the same thing all at once: “Doctor.” As the moment arrives and everyone thinks about the Doctor, the Master’s power is vanquished and the Doctor is released and revived.

Imagine if we could harness that kind of power to vanquish hate, greed, and fear.

Our world is one world:
what touches one affects us all:
the seas that wash us round about,
the clouds that cover us, the rains that fall.

Our world is one world:
the thoughts we think affect us all:
the way we build our attitudes,
with love or hate, we make a bridge or wall.

Our world is one world:
its ways of wealth affect us all:
the way we spend, the way we share,
who are the rich or poor, who stand or fall?

Our world is one world:
just like a ship that bears us all:
where fear and greed make many holes,
but where our hearts can hear a different call.

What touches one does affect us all. May we be well warned and well prepared.

—

Photo is a BBC still from the episode, featuring the incredible Freema Agyeman as Martha Jones, and David Tennant as the Doctor. (Martha has always been my favorite companion – sad she was given such short shrift by showrunner Stephen Moffat.)