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Diving right in – I love this hymn. It’s joyful, it’s anticipatory, it’s hopeful.

The lyrics, by 19th century poet Eleanor Farjeon (best known for Morning Has Broken) are a wonderful exploration of the whole earth waiting to welcome the Christ child. Sure, there are two verses missing – but the third verse is not very good and I applaud the hymnal commission for omitting it. The final verse, well, it would have been nice but I get why it’s not in there. Here are the lyrics we have in the hymnal:

People, look east. The time is near of the crowning of the year.
Make your house fair as you are able, trim the hearth and set the table.
People, look east and sing today: Love the Guest, is on the way.

Furrows, be glad. Though earth is bare, one more seed is planted there.
Give up your strength the seed to nourish, that in course and flower may flourish.
People, look east and sing today: Love, the Rose, is on the way.

Stars, keep the watch. When night is dim, one more light the bowl shall brim,
shining beyond the frosty weather, bright as sun and moon together.
People, look east and sing today: Love, the Star, is on the way.

And here are the two omitted verses – first, verse 3, which I am not at all a fan of:

Birds, though you long have ceased to build,
Guard the nest that must be filled.
Even the hour when wings are frozen
God for fledging time has chosen.
People, look east and sing today:
Love, the bird, is on the way.

And verse 5, which I wish was included:

Angels, announce with shouts of mirth
Christ who brings new life to earth.
Set every peak and valley humming
With the word, the Lord is coming.
People, look east and sing today:
Love, the Lord, is on the way.

I do think, if I were to use this to frame a month of Sundays, I’d add in that final verse – it provides a beautiful opening to talk about coming of the Messiah.

And omissions or not, I love this hymn. Again, it’s a perfect marriage of lyric and tune – this time an ancient French carol from Besançon in western France. It is a light, joyful tune, with joyful lyrics. And while Advent is often a time of quiet anticipation, there’s a joyfulness in the waiting for this gift…we’re not waiting for the world to end, we’re waiting for the world to be reborn.

And that’s worth singing joyfully about.

—

The image is of the old city of Besançon, on the Doub River in France. Looking east, of course.

 

 

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We have seen recast lyrics before, but this section of Advent and Christmas songs will include some of the most obvious-to-us recasts, for those who grew up listening to Christmas carols on the radio, in shopping malls, and on albums.  In some cases, the changes feel conciliatory, in order to make some folks more comfortable. But in others, they are beautiful and bring a new or stronger meaning to the carol. So that we can compare, I’ll include “original” lyrics as well – although what is original is always up for grab with songs like this. But I’ll do my best. (Unless they seem far off from my memory, I’ll use lyrics from hymnary.org.)

Anyway, I consider this one to be in the beautiful with stronger meaning category. This carol finds it origins as early as the 9th century as a lush Latin text that was turned into an English lyric in the 19th century by John Mason Neale, and then set to an 11th century Franciscan plainsong chant.

Neale’s lyric begins familiarly, like this:

O come, O come, Immanuel,
and ransom captive Israel
that mourns in lonely exile here
until the Son of God appear.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Immanuel
shall come to you, O Israel.

…and continues for a total of seven verses, most of which highlight the prophesies found in the Old Testament and expounding on the names for the Messiah:

“Emmanuel” (Isaiah 7:14, Mt 1:23) means “God with us”
“Adonai” (Exodus 19:16) is a name for God, the giver of the law
“Branch of Jesse” (Isaiah 11:1) refers to Jesus’ lineage
“Oriens” (Malachi 4:2, Luke 1:78-79) is the morning star or daystar
“Key of David” (Isaiah 22:22) again refers to Jesus’ lineage

Our version expands the scope beyond the children of Israel to all people, grounded in the Universalist understanding that hope and salvation is for all souls, and that the appearance of a messiah would bring broader help and healing to us all. I love the expansiveness of this recast, and I don’t find myself upset at all that the particulars are expanded. I believe the intent of the carol remains, and it becomes – for me at least – a richer hymn.

O come, O come, Emmanuel, and with your captive children dwell.
Give comfort to all exiles here, and to the aching heart bid cheer.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come within as Love to dwell.

O come, you Splendor very bright, as joy that never yields to might.
O come, and turn all hearts to peace, that greed and war at last shall cease.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come within as Truth to dwell.

O come, you Dayspring, come and cheer our spirits by your presence here.
And dawn in every broken soul as vision that can see the whole.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come within as Light to dwell.

O come, you Wisdom from on high, from depths that hide within a sigh,
to temper knowledge with our care, to render every act a prayer.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come within as Hope to dwell.

I also find it a lot easier to preach to a Unitarian Universalist crowd. I have used this carol as a frame for an Advent service, which I conducted in four movements. I call it What to Expect When You’re Expecting, and the link goes to the version I led at the First Universalist Church of Southold.

I am a fan. I like the original, but I love our version.

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Gentle Reader,

You have had such patience with this practice, knowing that the hymns, sung in order starting in early October, would create some odd seasonal juxtapositions. You’ve read about summer songs in winter, evening songs in morning, happy songs in the darkness following the election. But nothing has prepared us for what’s coming now. Not even a smattering of Hanukkah songs have prepared us for the onslaught that is our Advent and Christmas section.

For the next 34 days (35 if you count our Epiphany song), we will be singing our way from Advent through Christmas. Every single one of them. The ones we love and the ones we hate. The ones we never sang as kids so we never sing as adults. The ones we wish we had known before now. The ones that get stuck in our heads – which will elicit odd glances at the Memorial Day picnic.

Are you ready? Here we go.

Of course we start with Advent, with this delicate lyric by Unitarian minister John Hanly Morgan. It is a sweet invitation, gentle as the falling snow, inviting serenity and love.

Let Christmas come, its story told,
when days are short and winds are cold;
let Christmas come, its lovely song
when evening’s soon and night is long.

Let Christmas come, its great star glow,
on quiet city, parks of snow;
let Christmas come, its table gleam,
love born again: the truth of dream.

And its setting is perfect: this Ralph Vaughan Williams tune ends in anticipation, without resolving its final chord. It holds open musically the thoughts Morgan’s lyrics hold – that something beautiful, gentle, and meaningful is coming, so wait for it….

This is a perfect match of music and poetry, one complementing the other.

And while the other Advent songs in our hymnal are more familiar and more explicit, this is, for me, the perfect song for the season.

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I’ve been staring at the screen, sipping coffee, for longer than is entirely comfortable, feeling empty and lacking in anything of substance – humorous, snarky, historic, theological, musical, or otherwise – to say.

Perhaps in a different time and place, when there is a sense of pride in who we are as a nation, this might feel a little more inspiring. And even then, I might find this somewhat frustrating – inasmuch as I find any kind of nationalism and belief in chosenness frustrating.

This hymn, with its very German folksongy tune, celebrates the military victory of a nation and a temple at the hands of a strong-armed god. I know it is popular in many synagogues around the world, and there is biblical precedent for singing a song of victory – see Exodus 15, a song of victory led by Moses and the guys after the Egyptians die in the Reed Sea.

But, well… I don’t know. It feels strange to follow up Light One Candle and Mi Y’Malel, with their broader vision of justice for all, with this song of Maccabean military triumph.

Rock of Ages, let our song praise your saving power;
you amidst the raging foes were our sheltering tower.
Raging they assailed us, but your arm availed us,
and your word broke their sword when our own strength failed us.

Kindling new the holy lamps, priests, unbowed by suffering,
purified the nation’s shrine, brought to God their offering.
And in lands surrounding hear the joy abounding,
happy throngs singing songs with a mighty sounding.

Children of the prophet’s word whether free or fettered,
wake the echoes of the songs where you may be scattered.
Yours the message cheering that the time is nearing
which shall see nations free, tyrants disappearing.

I suspect some of my gentle readers will have a different perspective on the hymn, which I wholeheartedly welcome. I suspect they’ll put this in context, they’ll talk about right over might, they’ll see this as celebration of truth and freedom.

And perhaps if we weren’t bingewatching this bizarre thing that’s part House of Cards, part Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, and isn’t fiction at all but actual international crisis and possible treason, I might feel willing to celebrate a bit more.

To say “I have nothing interesting to say” – which has happened – is a misnomer. I have something interesting to say…it’s just not very happy or perhaps even helpful.

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It is apparently old folky week here at the Far Fringe… because I first learned this song a million years ago through a recording by The Weavers:

Yessiree, that’s Pete Seeger on the banjo, along with the incredible Ronnie Gilbert on lead vocals, along with Lee Hays and Fred Hellerman. I remember once in my twenties hearing Holly Near, whose music I had learned at Girl Scout camp, singing with Ronnie Gilbert, and it was an embarrassingly long time before I connected Gilbert as the female singer in the Weavers.

I know I’m hardly writing about the songs these last few days, because I suddenly find myself swimming in the deep blue waters of memory. I suppose some of it is that I’m at the end of a ministry and ready to launch a new one, some of it is that I’m just a couple of weeks away from my ordination, but certainly some of it is that the Hymnal Commission had the good sense to include in our Living Tradition music that resonates beyond its immediate meaning. For just as Light One Candle is about Hanukkah but so much more, so is Mi Y’Malel. And these songs carry with them lyrical meaning but also the meaning of a time, when folk exploded in the American consciousness as a gentle, familiar form to help us enter the difficult sideways.

Anyway, this is a traditional Hebrew song for Hanukkah, given life by our familiar and beloved folkies, and now preserved with all its meaning and memory for us.

Mi y’malel g’vurot Yisrael Otan mi yimneh?
Henb’chol dor yakum hagibor, Goel Haam.

Sh’ma! Bayamin hahem baz’man hazeh.
Makabi moshia u fodeh,
Us v’ya menu kol am Yisrael,
Yitached, yakum v’yigael.

Mi y’malel g’vurot Yisrael Otan mi yimneh?
Henb’chol dor yakum hagibor, Goel Haam.

—

Who can retell the things that befell us? Who can count them?
In every age a hero or sage came to our aid.

Ah! At this time of year in days of yore
Maccabees the Temple did restore,
and today our people, as we dreamed,
will arise, unite, and be redeemed.

Who can retell the things that befell us? Who can count them?
In every age a hero or sage came to our aid.

Who can retell the things that befell us? We must preserve the stories and write the histories and make sure future generations – and we in the present – know what happened. This is important, certainly today in this weird time of alternative facts and fake news. Who will be our heroes and sages….and bards?

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The first time I remember knowing who Peter, Paul, and Mary were, I was about 8 and was watching my brother and his first wife singing the song “Lemon Tree.” Karen had long chestnut brown hair and a rich alto voice, and while I often associated her with another alto brunette named Karen – Karen Carpenter – my sister-in-law had the Mary Travers sound down too, and the song sounded great to my young ears.

Peter, Paul, and Mary – along with so many other folksingers – became part of the rich tapestry of music that filled my childhood, and they are in part why I pick up on harmonies so easily and tend to blend my voice well with whoever I am singing with. But it wasn’t until adulthood, really, that I learned about the political meaning behind their (and so many other folksingers’) lyrics.

I wonder in part if that’s because I liked so much music I didn’t pay attention to it, or if my growing up the child of Rockefeller Republicans kept me from that analysis, or – as I realized in my undergraduate course on Vietnam – the issues were so current and so present there wasn’t language or resources to teach it. I remember sitting in that college class in my early 30s with the professor doing the first-session litany of “of course you know” facts; and while the students 12-15 years younger nodded at basic information, those my age sat with puzzled looks. We recalled to the class that history went up to the Korean War and we talked about current events only after Watergate – thus shining a light into a significant gap in our knowledge.

And it was only in that class that I really came to study and understand the anti-war, civil-rights, social justice meanings of so many songs from the folksingers I had loved throughout childhood.

Which brings me to today’s hymn – written by Peter Yarrow. Sure, it’s a Hanukkah song… sort of. But wow, is it really an anti-war, pro-civil-rights song.

(A quick musical note here – please, for all that is holy, please use guitars when singing this! It just clunks along on piano, and it needs the sense of urgency and freedom that guitars provide. )

Light one candle for the Maccabee children with thanks that their light didn’t die.
Light one candle for the pain they endured when their right to exist was denied.
Light one candle for the terrible sacrifice justice and freedom demand.
But light one candle for the wisdom to know when the peacemaker’s time is at hand.

(Chorus)
Don’t let the light go out, it’s lasted for so many years.
Don’t let the light go out, let it shine through our love and our tears.

Light one candle for the strength that we need to never become our own foe.
Light one candle for those who are suff’ring the pain we learned so long ago.
Light one candle for all we believe in, that anger won’t tear us apart.
And light one candle to bring us together with peace as the song in our heart.

(Chorus)

What is the mem’ry that’s valued so highly we keep it alive in that flame?
What’s the commitment to those who have died when we cry out they’ve not died in vain?
Have we come this far always believing that justice would somehow prevail?
This is the burden and this is the promise and this is why we will not fail.

(Chorus)

What’s amazing to me, reading this the day after FBI Director James Comey was summarily and indelicately fired, just how resonant these lyrics are to Literally Today. “Light one candle for the strength that we need to never become our own foe.” Holy cow. “Have we come this far always believing that justice would somehow prevail? This is the burden and this is the promise and this is why we will not fail” – not “must not”, by the way – “WILL NOT”.

Wow do we need this song today.

Don’t let the light go out.

 

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I am such a geek.

After singing this hymn (and loving it), I looked to see who wrote the lyrics, and I wondered to myself, in the pattern of our Universalist forebear Hosea Ballou: Do I love this lyric because Mark Belletini wrote it, or did Mark Belletini happen to be the person who wrote a lyric I love?

I can say in true Universalist fashion that it is the latter, and, it’s awfully wonderful to have then seen it written by Mark, whose words I adored from afar for years and who now is a friend and frequent reader of the Hymn by Hymn series. Additionally, Mark was on the Hymnal Commission, and he often offers a perspective about the hymns they included. I hope that once the flurry of spring is past and General Assembly is under our belts, I can find some time to visit with him and get more stories and insight about the curation of Singing the Living Tradition.

But I digress.

This hymn, y’all. Set to a joyful (and somewhat familiar) Hebrew folk song, Mark’s lyrics make a strong and poetic connection between the Exodus story and the reasons we tell it today during Passover. And… when you look at the verses closely, it could have been written for 2017:

(Chorus)
Bring out the festal bread, and sing songs of freedom.
Shout with the slaves who fled, and sing songs of freedom.

What modern pharaohs live in arrogance crownéd?
Who shall be sent to challenge folly unbounded?

(Chorus)

Chains still there are to break; their days are not finished.
Metal or subtle-made they’re still not diminished.

(Chorus)

Still does resentment bind each brother and sister.
Still do the plagues affect us red as the river.

(Chorus)

Long be our journeying, yet justice is worth it;
dance, sister Miriam, and help us to birth it.

(Chorus)

O people, lift your heads and look to the mountains;
bushes aflame still call us, rocks still gush fountains!

(Chorus)

Now I’m sure if we asked nicely, Mark would be willing to adjust the “brother and sister” line to something like “family and neighbor” since we weren’t hip to the gender spectrum in the early 1990s, but otherwise, wow.  And thanks for naming Miriam – she who gets little notice but who was a pretty wise partner in this journey when brother Aaron was, well, the worst brother in the Bible after those awful siblings in Genesis.

And while this is meant for the Passover season, I think it’s okay to sing outside of then, because we always need to sing songs of freedom and remember the systems Moses & Co. were escaping – especially since we see them played out in living color every day.

We must lift our heads out of the horror and look to the mountains, seeing the bushes aflame still calling us.

And then bring out the festal bread and sing songs of freedom.

Lord knows we need them.

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I am writing this from the dining room of a sweet, retired director of religious education who has provided home hospitality for me and colleague Amy Zucker Morgenstern in Peterborough, New Hampshire, where yesterday we celebrated the installation of Diana McLean.

It’s entirely possible the sweetness of this woman, and of Amy, and of Diana, and of yesterday’s celebration, has infected me… and as I finished singing this hymn, I thought, “wow, what a sweet hymn.”

Now I admit that some of the sweetness is in the tune – it is a delightful dance by Polish violinist Leon Lewandowski, so seemingly familiar that I was sure we had other hymns set to it.

But are the lyrics really so sweet?

O hear, my people, hear me well: “I have no need for sacrifice;
but mercy, loving kindness shall alone for life and good suffice.”

Then source of peace, lead us to peace, a place profound, and wholly true.
And lead us to a mastery o’er drives in us that war pursue.

May deeds we do inscribe our names as blessings in the Book of Life.
O source of peace, lead us to heal. O source of peace, lead us from strife.

These words, from Rabbit Nachman of Bratzlav, reflect his ministry during the late 1700s, which was informed by both in-depth study of the Torah and the esoteric Kabbalah. It is a prayer of self-knowledge, searching, spiritual deepening, and deep care of each other.

So, yeah. Despite the declarative “o hear, my people”… this is a sweet hymn.

Sweet.

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As with any art form, the more you engage it, the more familiar you become with those who practice it – sometimes it’s easy, like discerning Picassos in the Modern Museum of Art. Sometimes it’s less so, requiring some familiarity – signature dance moves mark the difference between Jerome Robbins and Bob Fosse, signature word patterns mark the difference between David Mamet and Aaron Sorkin, and signature guitar licks mark the difference between Eric Clapton and Stevie Ray Vaughn.

(Good lord, they’re all white men up there… well, sorry, y’all. Sometimes white men happen.)

But back to my point… such is the case too with choral music. There are some choral composers and arrangers that have signatures – I would bet many Unitarian Universalists could pick out a Jason Shelton piece in a heartbeat. Ralph Vaughn Williams has a signature sound (as we’ve talked about many many times already and probably will again because we’re not done with him), as do other modern and more classical arrangers/composers. If we’re singing as a soloist or chorister, we cheer (or groan) at the name on the score. But sometimes, we hear a piece and a few measures in can tell “this is a Moses Hogan arrangement” or “dear god, more Benjamin Britten.”

And when it comes to 20th century sacred music from the Jewish tradition, every single time I hear a piece and fall in love instantly, it’s Max Janowski.

An opulent “Akeinu Malkeinu” sung by Barbra Streisand? Max Janowski.

A lush “Sim Shalom” sung by the Zamir Chorale of Boston? Max Janowski.

This  gorgeous prayer? You guessed it. Max Janowski.

Every single time I find a beautiful piece of Jewish sacred music, it’s Janowski. Now I’m sure thre are other great composers of Jewish sacred music, and I’m fairly certain I have sung and loved singing them. but just the opening measures of this simple song, based on an English translation of the Hebrew prayer Yih’yu’l’ratzon,” screams Janowski to those who know his work.

The prayer, said at the end of the silent prayer portion of a service, is an incredible prayer of repentance and renewal.

Who can say, “I am free, I have purified my great heart?”
There are none on earth. There are none on earth.
A new heart I will give, not stone, but one that frees.
A new heart I will give, and one that frees.

May this day make us strong like a tree of life with good fruit.
Bless us now, amen. Bless us now, amen.
May we now forgive, atone, that we may live,
may we now forgive that we may live.
Amen.

“A new heart I will give.” Wow. As my colleagues are wont to say, “that’ll preach.” And I could, but I already waxed far too poetically about white men whose artistic endeavors I know and love (except for Britten – blech. I’ve only liked one of his pieces, a song from A Wealden Trio, but that may be more because of who I sang it with).

But the truth is, this piece moves me deeply, from the tips of my toes to beyond the top of my head. I feel this piece – the music and the prayer – deeply in my body. I have only ever sung it or heard it sung as a solo, and I think there is something about the solo voice on this that highlights the purity of this prayerful plea. And it’s possible I’ve gone on and on about Britten and Janowski because this almost doesn’t need any more words.

Amen.

Postscript: Listen to that Aveinu Malkeinu – you will weep from its beauty. I do, every. single, time.

—

Image is of the Flame Nebula.

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I’m glad my voice is back, so I could sing this hymn. I love it, and just as there are those who long for Christmas carols throughout the year, I sometimes wish this hymn could be used outside of the Days of Awe.

I also wish it was less… draggy. It’s meant to be sung slowly (♩ = 48, which is a snail’s pace) but that bugs me a bit. I mean, it’s not for me to say, as I didn’t write the tune (Abraham Binder did); but a hymn mostly based on Psalm 150, the most cheerful and joyful psalm of them all shouldn’t seem like a dirge. I want this to be a dance, because even though the prayers in the verses are serious, they are cause for joyful hallelujahs.

O sing hallelujah: O sing hallelujah.

All praise be to you
through the high arch of the heavens,
and praise be by sun, moon, and stars.

(Chorus)
By trumpet, harp, and lute,
with cymbals and strings and flute,
with dancing, singing,
and music we praise you.
Sing hallelujah.

O sing hallelujah:
O sing hallelujah.
Our father and mother
and sov’reign of all mercies,
we wish to be quit of all war.

(Chorus)

O sing hallelujah:
O sing hallelujah.
Our father and mother and
sov’reign of all mercies,
inscribe us on pages of life.

(Chorus)

Anyway. I love this hymn and am always glad when we can mark the Jewish New Year with this song.

Even better when I can actually sing it.

—

As a harbinger of things to come, our image is appropriate to the hymn’s holy day but not to when this is published (early May). In other words, expect a lot of Christmas images soon.