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It’s 24 hours since nearly five dozen people died and nearly 600 were wounded by a single gunman wreaking terror in Las Vegas. And I still don’t have words, only the heaviness in my heart that is both sad and outraged.

That is, I suppose, why the Universe keeps doing this: putting cheerful, aspirational, hopeful songs in front of me when things seem at their worst. And I offer the Universe that annoyed chuckle that says, “I see what you did there, dammit.”

But then I started to think about personal tragedies that leave us sad and/or outraged, things that only one or two of us might bring into the sanctuary on a Sunday morning… and I wonder what it feels like to them when we start a service with a song like this. It must feel like you’re out of phase, and I suppose it can feel like either an invitation or an affront. I mean, it’s peppy and happy and just so damn….joyful.

Now let us sing, sing, sing                      Sing to the power of the faith within.
Now let us sing, sing, sing                      Sing to the power of the faith within.
Lift up your voice, be not afraid;             Lift up your voice, be not afraid;
sing to the power of the faith within.     sing to the power of the faith within.

Sing to the power of the hope within …

Sing to the power of the love within. …

Sing to the power of the joy within. …

What I hope, however, is that the penultimate line – “lift up your voice, be not afraid” – might offer some release.

Because while I am still sad and outraged, singing this (albeit with one part in my head), and singing “be not afraid” did change me a little. I took it slowly at first, with a quiet and almost contemplative feel; and yes, there is something to the power of the faith within.” and the hope, and the love. By the time I got to the joy, I was… okay. Not cured; nothing short of going back in time can cure this. But I was more okay than when I started.

May we all find things in the coming days to help us be okay so that we can do the work that our faith calls us to.

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I need to begin with a prayer for those harmed by the mass shooting in Las Vegas – I don’t have words yet for my sadness and rage. I only have this Kyrie. Please take a moment to listen with me:

Amen.

—

Okay. Now on to today’s hymn, which is a shocking juxtaposition: it is a cheerful alleluia.

So here’s a strange thing: why is it that on this page, the two parts are identified by gender, but on the next one, Now Let Us Sing (tomorrow’s hymn), the two parts are not identified at all?

I say you go to your hymnals and just gently cross out “men” and “women” and let people sing the part that fits their voices. In fact, I’ll show you how it’s done:

Lower Voices:   Allelu, allelu, allelu, alleluia!
Upper Voices:   Sing and rejoice.
Lower Voices:   Allelu, allelu, allelu, alleluia!
Upper Voices:   Sing and rejoice. sing and rejoice.
Lower Voices:   Alleluia!
Upper Voices:   Sing and rejoice
Lower Voices:   Alleluia!
Upper Voices:   Sing and rejoice
Lower Voices:   Alleluia!
All Voices:      Sing and rejoice.

See how easy that is?

Anyway – I first learned this as “praise ye the Lord” as a Girl Scout grace, but in my research it appears that the not-alleluia lines have had any number of words applied to it. And as there’s no clear source of where this came from (good ol’ Anonymous, writin’ our ditties), I’d say no one will care what we sing here.

It’s a fun, kid-friendly song to sing, and for some, memories of summer camps gone by will flood in. I’m glad this showed up here today, to ground me a little after too much horrific news this morning.

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This is an amazing alleluia that comes out of the Muscogee Creek hymn tradition – which appears to emerge from the congregational line singing tradition.

In a 2014 story on All Things Considered, Dr. Hugh Foley, a fine arts instructor and Native American history professor at Rogers State University in Claremore, OK, explains more about this unexplored tradition:

“We’re talking about a pre-removal music that happened in the early 1800’s and was a combination of African spirituals, Muscogee words and perhaps some influences from their ceremonial songs and then all that being started by the Scottish missionaries who bring in Christianity and their own singing style. All three of those merge into what we now know as Muscogee Creek hymns which are a unique musical product in American and world music history.”

In some ways, this is a continuation of the story that I started thinking about when I heard that great On Being interview with Bela Fleck and Abigail Washburn, when she spoke about the origins of the banjo. Here too is a story of people coming together out of heartbreak and loss and violence and still finding connection. Is it any wonder the music of America is so rich?

Listen to the entire story here.

And.. enjoy a recording of this wonderful piece here.

Heleluyan, heleluyan;
hele, heleluyan;
heleluyan, heleluyan;
hele, heleluyan.

I don’t have much more to say. I love this, and I love learning more about the Muscogee Creek hymn tradition. What a blessing to have this chance to dig deeper.

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Hey, now this one is interesting.

Back in the 1920s, the humanist-theist battle was already taking shape, and much the same as now, worship becomes the battleground for such controversies. Charles Lyttle, minister and professor of church history at Meadville, wrote these lyrics for a doxology “as a bridge” between the two theological factions.

Praise God, praise God, the love we all may share.
Praise God, praise God, the beauty everywhere.
Praise God, the hope of good to be.
Praise God, the truth that makes us free.
Amen.

Knowing how much some of our modern UUs struggle with the word “God” and/or the word “praise” – I wonder how this would be received today. I like it, personally, but then, I’m a theist. And because it’s set to that rolling Doxology by Patrick Rickey, I think it’s gorgeous and welcoming.

But more, I think it’s interesting that the humanists would have been okay with “praise God” 100 years ago. Hmmm….things to ponder….

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WHY DON’T I KNOW MORE OF THESE PIECES?

This Alleluia, by Jacques Berthier, is just gorgeous. It is spirited. It encourages harmony – something we shouldn’t be surprised by, since Jacques wrote music for the Taize community. We have more of his work in Singing the Journey, which makes me very happy.

Alleluia. Alleluia. Alleluia.
Alleluia. Alleluia!

Anyway… not much to say. I learned it and sang it joyfully, even though I mistakenly ran the coffee without grounds the first time. Oops.

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I have no idea why I have never heard nor sung this song. It seems a shame, because it is lovely.

And I’m not sure what else to say. The music, by Patrick Rickey, is a lush, rolling piece in 12/8; it’s fairly easy to sing, but just tricky enough to keep you interested. And the lyrics, well…y’all know I love an alleluia. And y’all know I love some Belletini. So…Belletini writing Alleluias? Winner.

Alleluia! sang stars that gave us birth!
Alleluia! resounds our home, the earth!
Alleluia! shall echo ‘cross the skies.
Alleluia! when peace has shown us wise.
Amen.

The tune is called Doxology, but I don’t personally know any congregations that use this as such. I’d love to hear about them, though, and might suggest this as an alternative to Old 100th.

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We have now entered (and rejoiced, and came in) a new phase in this practice – the short songs. The rounds, the doxologies, the introits, the chalice lightings, and the benedictions.

I have no idea how this section will feel. I admit that this morning it feels a little disappointing, as there’s not much to grab on to here. I worry that the spiritual practice will become thin because the songs are, and I wonder how sustaining this very different level of engagement will be. I may very well be falling into the loving, complex arms of Jason Shelton’s Morning Has Come on November 20, heaping loads of praises upon the return to hymn forms and loads of lyrics and page turns, not just the hymn I adore (spoiler alert).

But for now, we enter this time of short songs with this chalice lighting. The words are from an anonymous source, and the melody is by Praetorius.

Rise up, O flame,
by thy light glowing,
show to us beauty,
vision, and joy.

So… I never use words or music for lighting the chalice, because I think it draws attention from the lighting of the chalice. We have really just one symbol, one object, that binds Unitarian Universalists together, and it isn’t because the mothership told us to, but because the image of the chalice and the meaning of the chalice spread from congregation to congregation, from gathering to meeting to assembly, and organically it has become the one ritual object that features in – as far as I know – all UU congregations. The only object. (We can talk about all the other things that feature in our congregations at some point, like coffee, fake fights, and white people – but that’s outside the scope of this particular moment.)

To me, lighting a chalice with a song or spoken words emphasizes that which gets plenty of play throughout the rest of the service – words and music. But lighting the chalice in silence, with our attention on the flame, puts our intention into the flame and sets the space apart. It is a signal that this isn’t business – or busy-ness – as usual, but rather a time out of time. And whether our chalices are big metal masterpieces, like our GA chalice, or a small bowl with a candle, or somewhere in between, it is that moment of lighting our chalice that calls together a group of Unitarian Universalists into worship like no other.

And that deserves all the attention we can give it.

 

Image by Del Ramey, from First Unitarian – Louisville.

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It is said that into every hymnal a little cheesy, catchy, happy song must fall.

This one’s ours, folks.

And as far as cheesy, catchy, happy songs go, well, this one covers all the bases and then some. Because in the middle of some rather average invitations – “open your ears to the song” and “open your hearts, everyone” comes the zinger: “don’t be afraid of some change.”

Very sneaky, Louise Ruspini (our composer). I like it a lot. Sure, I suspect Ruspini is thinking about inner change, and that’s important, of course. But I know I’m not the only minister who’s used this one on a day when some change in the system is introduced. Because change is going to come whether you welcome it or not, so you might as well welcome it, right?

Enter, rejoice, and come in.
Enter, rejoice, and come in.
Today will be a joyful day;
enter, rejoice, and come in.

Open your ears to the song…

Open your hearts ev’ryone…

Don’t be afraid of some change…

Enter, rejoice, and come in…

Anyway, if you don’t know the tune, there are a bunch of videos on YouTube. Or ask a random Unitarian Universalist, who will groan, sing it to you, and then share their parody lyrics. Mine – co-written with Randy Becker – are below:

Exit, go out, go away
Exit, go out, go away
Go enjoy the rest of your day
Exit, go out, go away.

—

I was going to share a cheerful pic of ceramic frogs, but I thought it wouldn’t be a bad time to share our message of welcome – thanks to Ellen Rocket and the UUA for these signs of resistance.

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Now this is an entrance song. Welcoming in all kinds of ways, with nothing for us to …wait…nothing for us to be upset… oh … Dammit.

It’s not as good as I’d hoped. “We of all ages, women, children, men, infants and sages, sharing what we can” reads the second verse. It uses binary language for gender. (And it’s repetitive.) So of course I sat here for a time trying to rewrite this one couplet of an otherwise good song by Alicia Carpenter (set to Old 124th).

But then I realized that I don’t have to rhyme anything with ‘men’ because ‘men’ doesn’t rhyme with ‘can’ anyway. IT DOESN’T RHYME. Sure, there’s an internal rhyme, but that can be taken care of with a less awkward phrase than “infants and sages” too. (See, y’all made fun of me about my rhyming rule, but you see how handy it can be?)

Not that I know what the replacement couplet is, of course. I am, indeed coming to you with half a thing.

But here are the lyrics – maybe they’ll inspire you:

Here we have gathered, gathered side by side;
circle of kinship, come and step inside!
May all who seek here find a kindly word;
may all who speak here feel they have been heard.
Sing now together this, our hearts’ own song.

Here we have gathered, called to celebrate
days of our lifetime, matters small and great:
we of all ages, women, children, men,
infants and sages, sharing what we can.
Sing now together this, our hearts’ own song.

Life has its battles, sorrows, and regret:
but in the shadows, let us not forget:
we who now gather know each other’s pain;
kindness can heal us: as we give, we gain.
Sing now in friendship this, our hearts’ own song.

And seriously – if you come up with a replacement couplet, let me know. I want to use this in an upcoming service and I’d like to not exclude people I love from being welcomed.

Update January 16, 2018:

Jason Shelton just texted me this possible replacement couplet:

We of all ages, living out our span
Infants and sages, sharing what we can

I like it a lot. Plus, it rhymes better. Thanks, Jason.

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When it comes to film, there are genres and directors I am a fan of, those I dislike, and those I appreciate. For purposes of today’s post, I will say that I dislike horror and appreciate the director Robert Rodriguez – especially his masterful work on Sin City.

Now, if you ever saw his film From Dusk to Dawn (written by Quentin Tarantino) … (am I supposed to add a spoiler alert for a film that is over two decades old?), you know that the first half of the film is very much a Tarantino-style film, with a gallery of rogues and a slew of seedy deals. And then halfway through, in the blink of an eye, it stops being a roadhouse film and begins being a horror film, complete with vampires.  I don’t exactly know what happens in the first ten minutes of that crossover, because I spent the entire time shocked, repeating “what the hell? what the hell?” I felt like I got suckered into one kind of film, which I appreciate, only to be handed a film whose genre I seriously dislike.

What does this have to do with today’s hymn, you ask?

Look at these lyrics, by Grace Lewis-McLaren:

When we are gathered for a time of worship and of song,
let none forget the joys and griefs that mark each path of life,
and thus we reach for those who love, we reach for those who love.

For youth shall pass and time is wise, and countless seasons turn,
so day by day our years increase until at last by life released
our spirits shine like stars, our spirits shine like stars.

Here we go, tripping along, being gathered, grateful for the time of sharing and the community of love that surrounds us. And then suddenly, the sun sets and You Are Going To Die.

This song gives me the same whiplash that From Dusk Till Dawn did. I didn’t spend 20 minutes staring at the screen, but I did feel like I got suckered into singing one kind of song only to be handed another.

Which then begs the question: if this a time passes, life is impermanent kind of song, why is it in the Entrance Songs section?

And just as I’m still not quite sure about whether I like, appreciate, or dislike From Dusk Till Dawn, I’m not quite sure what I think of this one. It’s a lovely, light tune (Repton), and it has a lot to appreciate, but I really don’t think I like it, because I’m not sure how I would use a piece that’s part ‘welcome to this loving community’ and, part ‘to dust you shall return’.

 

Image is a still from the film From Dusk Till Dawn.