So you know how yesterday I said I was coming up on the halfway point of this practice? I was at the halfway point three days ago! Can you believe it – I’ve gone through half the hymns already. What a wonderful gift it’s been so far, from the intimate spiritual practice I take up each morning and what that does for me ( a lot), to the knowledge I’ve been gaining about our hymns and hymnody (a lot), and the new friends I’ve made along the way (a lot!). And now, on to today’s hymn.

We have today another of our twofers – same lyrics set to different tunes. I wondered – indeed I did – why we have two tunes for this one, and I wondered if the Hymnal Commission was offering a familiar lyric as an object lesson on hymnody (and I’m certainly here for that). But in searching quickly for the original lyrics (by Episcopal minister Phillip Brooks) that we all know and love (more on that in a moment), I learned that the tune, by his organist, Lewis Redner, was quickly written for a Sunday morning, and as he noted later, “Neither Mr. Brooks nor I ever thought the carol or the music to it would live beyond that Christmas of 1868.” And while we are familiar with that tune (St Louis) here in the US, in the UK (and often, in American Episcopal churches), the words are sung to Ralph Vaughan WIlliams’ Forest Green (which we’ve already sung three times).

Which I find a little odd – the lyrics, to me, don’t imply a cheerful, bouncy air. They have always seemed like a lullaby lyric, with its emphasis on dark streets, deep sleep, silent nights, and mortals sleeping. Thus I prefer the hastily written original.

But now, on to the lyrics.

From our Christmas albums, we learned the original verses as follows (thanks again to Hymnary):

O little town of Bethlehem,  how still we see thee lie!
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep the silent stars go by.
Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting Light;
the hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.

For Christ is born of Mary, and gathered all above,
while mortals sleep, the angels keep their watch of wondering love.
O morning stars, together proclaim the holy birth,
and praises sing to God the King, and peace to all on earth.

How silently, how silently the wondrous gift is given!
So God imparts to human hearts the blessings of his heaven.
No ear may hear his coming, but in this world of sin,
where meek souls will receive him still the dear Christ enters in.

O holy Child of Bethlehem, descend to us, we pray.
Cast out our sin and enter in; be born in us today.
We hear the Christmas angels the great glad tidings tell;
O come to us, abide with us, our Lord Emmanuel.

I’m not a fan of a theology that centers “Jesus died for our sins”, especially when you consider that lets you ignore the man’s incredible ministry and message. In fact I think it’s wrong theology, and at the very least, it’s the wrong theology to be pushing at Christmastime.

And while I am always brought up short when we have rewritten lyrics, I was willing to compare, hoping these changes were not too conciliatory, attempting to make Christmas accessible to all. Now that’s not a bad thing, but sometimes we miss the point of a song when we tinker too much. I worried that we had taken the Christianity out of this carol, and by god, we need some good Christian Christmas Carols!

And this one isn’t a good Christian Christmas Carol.

I mean, look at the lyrics above – really look at them. The first two verses are fine – and our minor adjustment removes that tricky Empire stuff. But verses three and four of the original….blech.

So now let’s look at our verses, with really just a few lyric changes:

O little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie!
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep the silent stars go by;
yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting light;
the hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.

For Christ is born of Mary, and gathered all above,
while mortals sleep, the angels keep their watch of wondering love.
O morning stars, together proclaim the holy birth.
Let praises ring: from God they bring goodwill to all on earth.

How silently, how silently the wonder is made known,
when God imparts to human hearts the gift that is our own.
No ear may hear that coming, but in this worldly din,
when souls are truly humble, then the dear babe rests within.

Now we have removed empire, AND we have refocused on what the message really is. Sure, it’s not exactly Phillip Brooks’ message, but heck, he’s a 19th century Episcopalian and surely won’t notice. But I think the correction we’ve got here actually makes it a more Christian message. The one we should be singing on Christmas.

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Two quick postscripts:

First, sorry for the delay – feline complications. (She’s old and things get weird sometimes.)

Second, the photo is of modern-day Bethlehem.

As I continue this practice (and actually find myself nearing the halfway point), I have become overall less critical of the Hymnal Commission that put together Singing the Living Tradition. I’ve grown to understand the reasons for decisions they were making at the time, even if we judge by different standards 25 years later.

(You were expecting a “but” here, right? So was I. I was three quarters of a way through an argument against the rewritten lyrics we have… and in the writing got turned around. So here’s my train of thought, beginning with a firm No on our adjusted lyrics.)

Here’s my problem: because the ones who decide these things realized that there’s no other place in the Christian liturgical calendar to examine the second coming of Christ, they plop readings from the Book of Revelation and other apocalyptic texts into these few weeks between Christmas Eve and Epiphany. Thus, the season is as much about the first coming as the second coming.

And the second coming, for those who aren’t hip to this stuff, is about predicting when the Messiah will come back to earth to rule as sovereign over all, to bring heaven back to earth, to build a new Eden. This is about the kingdom of heaven and the sovereignty of Christ.

Joy to the World, as we know it from our family Christmas albums, is very much about that moment. NOT about the birth of the baby, but about the return of the savior. Here are the familiar lyrics:

Joy to the world! the Lord is come: let earth receive her King.
Let every heart prepare him room,
and heaven and nature sing, and heaven and nature sing,
and heaven, and heaven and nature sing.

Joy to the earth! the Savior reigns: let men their songs employ,
while fields and floods, rocks, hills, and plains
repeat the sounding joy, repeat the sounding joy,
repeat, repeat the sounding joy.

No more let sin and sorrow grow nor thorns infest the ground;
he comes to make his blessings flow
far as the curse is found, far as the curse is found,
far as, far as the curse is found.

He rules the world with truth and grace, and makes the nations prove
the glories of his righteousness
and wonders of his love, and wonders of his love,
and wonders, wonders of his love.

In other words, “it’s the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine.”

And so, I do have some appreciation for the Hymnal Commission’s attempts to remove the language of Empire – rulership, lordship, sovereignty, etc. – because in general, it’s a bad thing and has led to millennia of bad behavior. You see, the language of Empire turns some people into other/foreigners/unsavory/worthy of subjugation; and while it’s rife in the Bible, we often can understand that language as reaction to political events on the ground (because let’s face it, the Israelites and Judeans had a lot of problems being oppressed and/or exiled by other nations)… and we can see that stopping that chest-beating in our modern language helps build bridges between our divisions.

All that being said, this entire song is about the idea that (Revelation 21:3b) “He will dwell with them; they will be his peoples, and God himself will be with them” means sovereignty and rulership.

And here’s the moment when I get turned around on this one.

You see, I was all set to finish up the argument saying “this second coming business is what the song means and that’s how we understand the second coming, this whole ruling the world stuff.” And then I read that entire passage from Revelation and realized that “they will be his peoples” is the only line in this passage that has any hint of empire – and that may not be what this means at all.

We have had centuries of interpretation that say the second coming will be Jesus Christ the King ruling over all that we forgot to look back at the text. He won’t rule over them, he’ll dwell with them.

Wow.

So… here are our adjusted lyrics, given that frame:

Joy to the world! The Word is come:
let earth with praises ring.
Let every heart prepare a room,
and heaven and nature sing, and heaven and nature sing,
and heaven, and heaven and nature sing.

Joy to the earth! Now gladness reigns:
let hearts their songs employ,
while fields and floods, rocks, hills, and plains
repeat the sounding joy, repeat the sounding joy,
repeat, repeat the sounding joy.

No more let sins and sorrows grow,
nor thorns infest the ground.
Let righteousness its glories show
as far as love is found, as far as love is found,
as far, as far, as love is found.

Suddenly that feels a LOT closer to the Revelation passage, as well as Psalm 98, which the lyric’s based on, and Psalm 8, which is often paired with the Revelation text in the lectionary.

So yeah.

And.

This still isn’t a Christmas song.

I need to begin by noting with sadness that Jim Key, former moderator of the UUA Board of Trustees, who resigned his position a few weeks ago due to health issues, has passed away. I note it because what was going to be a righteous “we actually do rock” declaration now seems frivolous and less important today.

I know that life does not stop when someone dies. I know that the work must continue, especially when that someone has been a champion of equal rights. But while life does not stop, it often must pause. And so we pause today for Jim Key, and send prayers of comfort and love to his family and close friends.

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As I am not necessarily feeling the impetus to write much, I will instead say simply that it’s nice when a famous song is written by one of ours (Unitarian minister Edmund Hamilton Sears)…. and because of that, the lyrics are nearly intact (just the “good will to men” wisely changed to “to all good will”).

Here are the lyrics, and then instead of typing what Jacqui James wrote about the carol (which was to be the impetus for my cheering declaration), I’ll share a screenshot and link to the source.

It came upon the midnight clear, that glorious song of old,
from angels bending near the earth, to touch their harps of gold:
“Peace on the earth, to all good will, from heaven the news we bring.”
The world in solemn stillness lay to hear the angels sing.

Still through the cloven skies they come, with peaceful wings unfurled;
and still their heavenly music floats o’er all the weary world.
Above its sad and lowly plains they bend on hovering wing;
and ever o’er its Babel sounds the blessed angels sing.

But with the woes of war and strife the world has suffered long;
beneath the angel-strain have rolled two thousand years of wrong;
and we who fight the wars hear not the love song which they bring.
O hush the noise of battle strife, and hear the angels sing.

For, lo! the days are hastening on by prophet bards foretold,
when with the ever-circling years comes round the age of gold:
when peace shall over all the earth its ancient splendors fling,
and the whole world give back the song which now the angels sing.

I should note one more thing, and that’s the first line. I always sang it as a kid as “it came upon A midnight clear” but the original is “THE midnight clear.” Interesting semantic difference there.

Anyway, here’s the informative snippet from Between the Lines – a fascinating insight into both the lyrics and tune:

This is a sweet little carol, which I have used for the children’s message at Christmas.

It’s earthy, it’s sweet, it’s an old French carol set to an old French melody. It works. And for kids, it is a creative way to enter the story of the nativity, especially if you have a crèche with these animals in it.

Jesus, our, brother, kind and good,
was humbly born in a stable rude,
and the friendly beasts around him stood,
Jesus, our brother, kind and good.

“I,” said the donkey, shaggy and brown,
“I carried his mother uphill and down,
I carried her safely to Bethlehem town;
I,” said the donkey, shaggy and brown.

“I,” said the cow, all white and red,
“I gave him my manger for his bed,
I gave him hay to pillow his head;
I,” said the cow, all white and red.

“I,” said the sheep with curly horn,
“I gave him my wool for his blanket warm,
he wore my coat on Christmas morn;
I,” said the sheep with curly horn.

“I,” said the dove, from the rafters high,
“I cooed him to sleep that he should not cry,
we cooed him to sleep, my mate and I;
I,” said the dove, from the rafters high.

And all the beasts, by some good spell,
in the stable dark were glad to tell
of the gifts they gave Emmanuel,
the gifts they gave Emmanuel.

I’m sorry I don’t have much  more to say about this one this morning – it neither repels nor inspires.  It is just a sweet little carol.

This is a beautiful hymn.

The tune is just lovely, and I have heard dozens of lush arrangements. And sure, unless you grew up with this hymnal, this is not the version you know. But the good news is that according to Hymnary, pretty much every denomination has changed the words of Christina Rossetti’s poem, so we’ve got that going for us.

Here’s her original:

In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,

Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;

Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,

In the bleak midwinter, long ago.

Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him, nor earth sustain;

Heaven and earth shall flee away when He comes to reign.

In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed

The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ.

Enough for Him, whom cherubim, worship night and day,

Breastful of milk, and a mangerful of hay;

Enough for Him, whom angels fall before,

The ox and ass and camel which adore.

Angels and archangels may have gathered there,

Cherubim and seraphim thronged the air;

But His mother only, in her maiden bliss,

Worshipped the beloved with a kiss.

What can I give Him, poor as I am?

If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;

If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;

Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart.

In the bleak midwinter frosty wind made moan,
earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone,
snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
in the bleak midwinter long ago.

Christ a homeless stranger, so the gospels say,
cradled in a manger and a bed of hay;
in the bleak midwinter, stable-place sufficed
Mary and her baby, Jesus Christ.

Once more child and mother weave their magic spell,
touching hearts with wonder words can never tell;
in the bleak midwinter, in this world of pain,
where our hearts are open love is born again.

And here’s a question: what happens if every now and then we DO give our hearts to that which we know to be Divine? Why are we so adamant about keeping control, which limits God and limits Love?

In my ordination, I was certain to include a poem by Edward Hays that includes these words:

I tremble at the thought
of you consuming those things that I love
and even my prized image of who I am.

Yet, I also want to know you more fully;
help me to embrace the awesome implications
of my inviting you to enter my life.

What happens when we actually open ourselves to love, giving our hearts to someone or something that would teach us compassion, expansiveness, righteousness, forgiveness? I think Unitarian Universalists sometimes sell that which some  call the Spirit of Life really short, and we don’t do anything to shift our thinking.

Rossetti’s poem asks us to not sell ourselves short – and not to sell the expansive, healing Love that Jesus’ birth signifies short either. Love, healing, forgiveness, creativity, energy, curiosity, generosity, compassion – it’s all there if we let go of our prized images of who we are.

Whether you believe in the Divinity of Christ or just appreciate the teachings that remain, we are being asked to open ourselves up to those gifts. You don’t even have to open up specifically to Jesus, or God, but just be open to all that is.

What can we give in return? Our hearts.

As Hays concludes in his poem,

Enlarge my half-hearted love
with the ageless truth
that if I seek your kingdom first,
seek to be fully possessed by you,
everything I need shall be given me,
and happiness beyond my wildest dreams
shall be mine.

Amen.

What a beautiful, bittersweet song. And, as you’ll see, somewhat appropriate for today, Memorial Day.

It is one of my go-to carols when I am feeling especially sad about the death of my own father, Richard, whose birthday was December 23 and who died on December 17, 1984. When it’s hard to remember the joy of Christmas, this carol reminds me that it’s okay to feel sad, to feel angry at the world, to recognize the complexities of life…and to still hold out hope for peace and joy.

It’s such a Universalist sentiment, reflected by a Unitarian – our more famous Longfellow, Henry. (This tells me that while the journey toward consolidation was a long one, they were at least singing from the same songbook for generations.)

This poem is witness to Longfellow’s personal loss and despair: In 1861, his wife tragically died in a fire. Then in 1863,  his oldest son, Charles, joined the Union cause as a soldier without his father’s blessing. Longfellow was informed by a letter dated March 14, 1863, after Charles had left; just a few months later, Charles was wounded in battle. That Christmas, Longfellow wrote the poem that became our beloved lyric:

I heard the bells on Christmas Day their old familiar carols play,
and wild and sweet the words repeat of peace on earth, to all good will.

I thought how, as the day had come, the belfries of all Christendom
had rolled along the unbroken song of peace on earth, to all good will.

And in despair I bowed my head: “There is no peace on earth,” I said,
“for hate is strong and mocks the song of peace on earth, to all good will.

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep: “God is not dead, nor doth God sleep;
the wrong shall fail, the right prevail, with peace on earth, to all good will.”

Till, ringing, singing on its way, the world revolved from day to day,
a voice, a chime, a chant sublime of peace on earth, to all good will.

A couple of lyric notes: first, our Hymnal Commission changed “peace on earth, good will to men” in an affirmative nod to gender inclusivity. It feels unfamiliar but I’m glad they did it. Second, there are a couple of verses of Longfellow’s poems we never sing, which refer directly to the war, and which are more than reasonable omissions (and have been since this was first set to music).

And now, on to the music.

If your childhood was filled with Christmas albums, the melody you are probably most familiar with is that of Johnny Marks – a version performed by Bing Crosby, Ed Ames, Harry Belafonte, The Carpenters, Fred Waring and the Pennsylvanians, Burl Ives, Sarah McLachlan, Frank Sinatra, Kate Smith, and others.  Here’s the one I hear in my head, from Ed Ames:

If you sang it in church, you might have sung it to the Waltham tune, sung here by the Heritage Choral of UMKC:

I had never heard it set to Herongate before, yet that’s the setting we have in STLT. Here’s the tune:

It’s beautiful in this setting, for sure. I’m not sure why the shift, when this is not the more familiar tunes, but I do like it. It’s just a surprise when you get to the page and open your mouth and the notes don’t go on the page where you expect. Especially before coffee.

Anyway – since those, there have also been other arrangements of this moving lyric.

It’s an amazing poem, and I am glad it is in our pantheon.

So this is weird.

I know a verse of this song so well that when I started singing this morning and saw it wasn’t there, I got annoyed. It’s the one that goes

When I was a sinner, I prayed both night and day
I asked the Lord to help me, and he showed me the way

Yet when I looked, well, pretty much everywhere, that verse isn’t a real verse to this song.  It shows up in some campfire song compilations, but nobody in the hymnody business thinks that is real.

What they do think is real is the lyrics below, which we carry unabridged:

(Chorus)
Go tell it on the mountain, over the hills and ev’rywhere;
go tell it on the mountain that Jesus Christ is born!

While shepherds kept their watching o’er silent flocks by night,
behold throughout the heavens there shone a holy light.

(Chorus)

The shepherds feared and trembled when lo! above the earth rang out
the angel chorus that hailed the baby’s birth.

(Chorus)

Down in a lowly manger the humble babe was born,
and God sent us salvation that blessed Christmas morn.

(Chorus)

What we know about this carol is that it predates 1865 but was first written down then by John Wesley, Jr. who, like others (including Unitarian minister and fierce abolitionist Thomas Wentworth Higginson) collected the rich music of the enslaved peoples in the south.

I will admit this isn’t one of my favorites, but it certainly has its place in our canon.

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I also have to admit that I kinda wrote another chorus to it, just for today:

Go tell it on the mountain,
over the Sound and ’round the bend
Go tell it on the mountain
That Kimberley’s a reverend.

Okay, it doesn’t quite scan, but you get the picture…

Oh my goodness.

It’s the morning of my ordination. Just think – tomorrow, you’ll be reading the words of The REVEREND Kimberley Debus… how about that?

Anyway, on to today’s carol, which is a light little lyric set to a light little tune. I spoke about the tune back in February, where I found it odd to have this tune connected to words celebrating Kwanzaa; here, however, it seems appropriate – with a thought that this might be the original lyric.

It’s not an earth-shattering lyric by any stretch; if anything, it’s a sweet response to the Sophia Lyon Fahs poem “For So the Children Come.” And it’s definitely a modern UU take on the whole Christmas thing.

Within the shining of a star
we catch a glimpse of who we are;
in every infant born we see
the hope of our nativity.

The miracle of each new birth
can shake and save the stony earth;
triumphantly the newborn’s cry
strikes echoes from the waiting sky.

And to be honest, today, I’m not so much in a mind to soften the whole Christmas thing. That’s not to say I don’t, or won’t, when it comes to the season. But today, in late May, I am more inclined to say we should be honoring the belief of millions of Christians, and surely hundreds of UU Christians, who draw inspiration and meaning from one special birth of one special child.

It’s not my intention to be cynical here, but rather to be more open and affirming rather than conciliatory and diminishing. I think one of the lessons we should be drawing from our inclusion of so many sources is not that they can be watered down or put into a context our most skeptical members find palatable. Rather, the lesson we should be drawing is that in the richness, the unbelievable-ness of story and myth and miracle, lies the meaning. We should be approaching the complexities of our sources with awe and wonder.

And whether it’s December 25 or May 27, I’m always up for some awe and wonder.