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This is the second of what I realize now are three times when the same lyrics are applied to two different tunes. Now in the case of Light of Ages and of Nations, and later, O Little Town of Bethlehem, they are actually two completely different tunes. But here, we have two distinct versions of the same tune – the one you all know and love.

The first is in 3/4 time, as we commonly sing it. The second is an expansion into 4/4 time, giving it a different sort of swing and feel. The first swings in an old timey sort of way. It feels comfortable and familiar, like an old shoe. The second offers some swing, to be sure, but also a little breathing room for that emotional swing and subsequent trills.

It’s a trick that’s used for a variety of reasons, this expansion of time signature. Perhaps most famously, it was used to highlight a beautiful voice at a momentous occasion, namely Whitney Houston singing the National Anthem at Super Bowl XXV in 1991.

The original is written in 3/4 – you can feel it as you being singing, right? Or if you need help, here’s Martina McBride singing it in 3/4 during the 2005 World Series, in St. Louis:

Beautiful, yes. Familiar. And pure, in its simplicity.

But now hear what Whitney did, by expanding it to 4/4:

While it’s true that this also came in the midst of a tense Gulf War, this rendition – giving space for leaning into the meaning and her beautiful voice – made this an instant classic.

Giving space – isn’t that what grace is all about anyway? And so I invite you to sing this both ways – to feel both its grounding and its expansive space.

Amazing grace! How sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me!
I once was lost but now am found, was blind but now I see.

‘Twas grace that taught my heart to fear, and grace my fears relieved;
how precious did that grace appear the hour I first believed!

Through many dangers, toils and snares, I have already come;
‘tis grace that brought me safe thus far, and grace will lead me home.

When we’ve been there ten thousand years, bright shining as the sun,
we’ve no less days to sing God’s praise than when we’d first begun.

I know there are some who hate the word “wretch,” but there is something grittier, more real, about it. Soul (the option offered in the hymnal) can be sweet and ambiguous. Wretch is clear and focused. And while I firmly believe humans are innately good (a very anti-Calvinist position), I believe that we can be easily sucked into despair, destruction, and evil – and grace, however you define it and wherever it comes from, is what saves us. For me, it’s an easy line to draw between this song and the not-very-old UUA slogan, “nurture our spirits, help heal the world.”

But however you sing it, it’s a comforting hymn that calls us back to ourselves and gives us room to let go of the fears and pains we carry.

Amazing grace, indeed.

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Before the hymn, I want to address a comment: On the Facebook comments for yesterday’s post, a colleague noted with  surprise that I actually liked one, as though I hate our hymns and this is a chore.

I’m surprised that this came up, and maybe that colleague is the only one who thinks that, but it is absolutely worth addressing in case that colleague is the only one who felt brave enough to say it.

Do I hate our hymns? Nothing could be further from the truth.

Yes, it is true there are hymns I am not fond of here, and occasionally one I out and out hate and would rip out of the book and sear from our memories if only I had that kind of power (and didn’t like the hymn on the next page). But there are many more I like, and yes, quite a few I adore.

And still, the ones I like and love may contain some problems, or quirks, or lead me to wonder about how others might perceive it. And yes, liking or loving or hating a song largely depends on the time of year, the news, external circumstances, or even just a mood. I am sure if I go back now to the morning songs I sang the week after the election, I might have different things to say. And if I knew how much people love Bring Many Names, I might not have been so harsh…no, wait, I really still dislike that one…

My point is this: if you only read this blog when I am critical, then you might think I hate our songs and this practice. But if you actually read the blog on a regular basis, then you know that I have a deep love for this practice,  our songs, and even the particular ones I hate I still have an affection for, because they are part of our expansive living tradition. I wouldn’t keep doing this practice if it didn’t do something for me, and frankly for many of my readers.

On the whole, I love our music. I love this critical evaluation from which incredible richness emerges – both my own and from those readers who comment here and on Facebook (and even a few times on Twitter). I definitely love this practice, as it brings focus – and music – to my days.  And I love the idea that something bigger may emerge from it.

Now, on to the hymns….

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Where has this hymn been all my life?

Wow. It’s gorgeous. It is a loving, comforting song in a gentle, minor key. It’s pretty easy to pick up, singing wise, And I can imagine it being used in any number of situations, especially when some contemplation or gentleness or simply rest after a lot of busy-ness is called for (which is every Sabbath, really).

The lyrics alone, from Rabbi Gustav Gottheil, a leader in the Reform Judaism movement in the late 19th century, are amazing – a wonderful prayer to offer in the morning or evening (as noted by the optional ‘rising’).  But for me, the tune, by Abraham Binder, is what gives the lyrics a fullness and completeness.

Come, O Sabbath day and bring peace and healing on thy wing:
and to every weary one let a word of blessing come:
thou shalt rest. Thou shalt rest.

Welcome Sabbath! Let depart ev’ry care of troubled heart.
Now the daily task is done, let a word of comfort come:
Thou thalt rest. Thou shalt rest.

Work and sorrow cast away! Sabbath is for prayer and play.
With the setting* of the sun, let a cheering message come:
thou shalt rest. Thou shalt rest.

*or “rising”

If you use this already, huzzah! If you haven’t, please try it – I will be, for sure.

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Sometimes all you really have to say is YES!

I love this Hymn. I love that we sing this joyful alleluia to the earth and all its inhabitants, and that we use an Easter Hymn to sing this joy.

(Edit 4/24/17: In my sleep-deprived state, I called this an Easter hymn, but research by my colleague Aaron Stockwell reveals this is actually a shorter version of a Christian classic, All Creatures of our God and King, adapted from words of Francis of Assisi. Why I think of this as an Easter song, I’m not sure, but I do, but maybe I should stop that. Or maybe this is next year’s Easter sermon…)

Now I realize I have complained before about hymns that don’t really do anything except say yay to a litany of things. It happens frequently in songs connected to nature, because there is so dang much of it that’s so varied.

So what makes this different?

I am not sure, but I think it’s the alleluia. This is a praise song, pure and simple, and there’s an exuberance that comes in moments of praise.

I also think it’s different because the final verse serves as a reminder that we are part of this creation too, and by golly, we have a responsibility.

All creatures of the earth and sky,
come, kindred, lift your voices high,
Alleluia, Alleluia!
Bright burning sun with golden beam,
soft shining moon with silver gleam:

(Chorus)
Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia!

Swift rushing wind so wild and strong,
white clouds that sail in heav’n along,
Alleluia, Alleluia!
Fair rising morn in praise rejoice,
high stars of evening find a voice:

(Chorus)

Cool flowing water, pure and clear,
make music for all life to hear,
Alleluia, Alleluia!
Dance, flame of fire, so strong and bright,
and bless us with your warmth and light:

(Chorus)

Embracing earth, you, day by day,
bring forth your blessings on our way,
Alleluia, Alleluia!
All herbs and fruits that richly grow,
let them the glory also show:

(Chorus)

All you of understanding heart,
forgiving others, take your part,
Alleluia, Alleluia!
Let all things now the Holy bless,
and worship God in humbleness:

(Chorus)

I will end with two notes:

First, I had a last minute request to be present at a youth con, and I’m exhausted.  I have not done much research, by which I mean no research…

Second, what a perfect song to sing on Earth Day Weekend, a day after tens of thousands marched for science.

Yay!

Alleluia!

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I wonder how many denominations have Duke Ellington in their hymnals?

A hat tip to our hymnal commission for finding a place for this piece. And, as I’ve talked about before, this fits in the ‘not every song in the hymnal is meant for the congregation to sing’ category – although I would love to be present in a congregation that knows how to sing jazz together.

Now I will admit, I only kinda knew this one before I got to it, which is a surprise, as my parents were huge fans of jazz from the big band era and the Harlem renaissance, and I am fairly sure this song was on one of the Ellington albums they owned. But maybe not – as I learned from reviewer Ken Dryden at All Music,

“Come Sunday” was the spiritual movement of Duke Ellington’s extended work “Black, Brown & Beige,” but after the longer piece was lambasted by critics attending its premiere at the 1943 Carnegie Hall concert, Ellington performed the complete work just once more before reworking it into a smaller suite.

So it’s possible this song only later found its way into collections. But either way, it’s not that familiar to me.

That’s not to say I don’t appreciate it now…wow, do I. I even appreciate its connection to Easter. I wondered, when I read that, why this wasn’t in the Easter section, but then I thought that would limit this amazing piece. But look at these words:

Oo Oo Come Sunday, oh, come Sunday, that’s the day.

(Refrain)
Lord, dear Lord above,
God Almighty, God of love,
please look down and see my people through.

I believe that God put sun and moon up in the sky.
I don’t mind the gray skies, ‘cause they’re just clouds passing by.

(Refrain)

Heaven is a goodness time, a brighter light on high.
(Spoken) Do unto others as you would have them do unto you,
(Sung) and have a brighter by and by.

(Refrain)
I believe God is now, was then, and always will be.
With God’s blessing we can make it through eternity.

If that’s not a prayer for resurrection, I don’t know what is.

Now I can’t let this one go by without sharing a few versions. The first is from a church choir in Nebraska, whose version isn’t the most inspiring but helped me learn the song so I could sing it this morning.

This one is the incomparable Mahalia Jackson, singing with Sir Duke himself:

There are, of course, as many covers as there are jazz musicians. But I wanted to close with this little gem by Abbey Lincoln, complete with pops and scratches from the well-worn LP, that moved me to tears:

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I have stared at the screen for probably twenty minutes, unsure how to start today’s post.

Do I talk about how joyful this song is, in the midst of crisis? And how joy comes out of pains, sorrows, and troubles?

Do I talk about how the notes on this are so sketchy we really can only call it “traditional” in the hymnal and Between the Lines and it’s only in the internet age that we learn it is indeed a spiritual from slave times? And how seeing “Traditional” today feels like whitewashing?

Do I talk about how our General Assembly theme is “Resist and Rejoice” and this song seems to fit right in with that theme? (And do I talk about how hard General Assembly and Ministry Days might be?)

Or, do I take a moment and share some things I just learned about Sojourner Truth, for whom this tune was named?

Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Since I laid my burden down.
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Since I laid my burden down.

Feel like shouting, “Hallelujah!” …

Life is sweeter, so much sweeter. …

Feel like dancing, hallelujah! …

Love is shining all around me, …

Yeah, let’s do that.

Sojourner Truth was born Isabella Baumfree in 1797; her father had been captured in his native Ghana and sold into slavery while her mother was the daughter of people captured in Guinea.

She spoke only Dutch until she was 9 years old. Why? Because she was a slave just south of Kingston, NY, which at the time was almost entirely inhabited by the Dutch.

While New York went through an abolition process starting in 1799 and ending in 1827, Isabella’s owner reneged on a promise to release her early, and so she left early anyway, with her baby daughter Sophia. “I did not run off,” she said, “for I thought that wicked, but I walked off, believing that to be all right.”

After conversion to Methodism, she heard a message from God that told her to go forth and speak the truth about slavery, and she adopted the name Sojourner Truth in response.

She spoke widely about slavery and suffrage throughout the Northeast. In 1850 her memoirs were published under the title The Narrative of Sojourner Truth: A Northern Slave. Truth dictated her recollections to a friend, Olive Gilbert, since she could not read or write, and William Lloyd Garrison wrote the book’s preface.

And now, here’s the real shame, as explained in a piece about her at biography.com,

In May of 1851, Truth delivered a speech at the Ohio Women’s Rights Convention in Akron. The extemporaneous speech, recorded by several observers, would come to be known as “Ain’t I a Woman?” The first version of the speech, published a month later by Marius Robinson, editor of Ohio newspaper The Anti-Slavery Bugle, did not include the question “Ain’t I a woman?” even once. Robinson had attended the convention and recorded Truth’s words himself. The famous phrase would appear in print 12 years later, as the refrain of a Southern-tinged version of the speech. It is unlikely that Sojourner Truth, a native of New York whose first language was Dutch, would have spoken in this Southern idiom.

Lord have mercy. Not only did this woman have to stand up to white women and argue that they were ignoring women of color (something that still happens, much to our shame), but she also had been turned into a caricature. So much so that in 1861, when Harriet Beecher Stowe wrote for The Atlantic what editors of that magazine now call a “hyperbolic portrait of Truth [that] romanticized her in contemporary racial tropes and popularized an enduring nickname, the “Libyan Sibyl,” Stowe even cast her as having been a Southern slave.

Lord have mercy, what we did to this woman’s history and legacy. Because she was amazing, without all of the BS that was layered on her both during and after her life.

I am so sorry this happened.

And dammit, this kind of BS keeps happening.

In 2017.

Lord have mercy.

 

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Happy Two Hundredth Hymn-by-Hymn Post Day!

Only 290 more to go. Gulp.

That seems daunting, but then, holy cow, how are we 200 in already? Time does fly, friends, even through hard, dark days. Thanks to my regular, rather frequent, and occasional readers. And if you’re just discovering this today, welcome to my daily spiritual practice, which might become something more if the stars align properly.

And while I am still talking about things that aren’t actually today’s hymn, I am conjuring up an idea for a Hymn by Hymn event at General Assembly…stay tuned.

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Now, on to the hymn – and it’s a doozy!

I can’t say I wasn’t a little excited about today’s hymn. While there are things about Martin Luther’s theology and personal beliefs I’m not keen on (that anti-Semitic thing was just awful, y’all), I do have a bit of affection for the guy. I mean, here’s someone who stood up and said to his superiors “Eine Minute, bitte…. there’s something wrong with how we’re doing things.” Which made the establishment mad. Which made Luther say “well, I’m so right I’m gonna do my own thing,” which, by the way, includes translating the Bible into his mother tongue and essentially creating Modern German, along with putting the scriptures in the hand of every day people.

And yeah, sure, some of them did strange things with it when they got their hands on it, and because of this, our guy Michael Servetus butts heads with John Calvin, who winds up burning Servetus at the stake (and yeah, Servetus was warned not to come back at Calvin, but ….Calvin did dare him, so…). And yes, the Bible in the hands of everyday people meant that some radicals who wanted a stricter interpretation than the newly formed Church of England would allow decided they couldn’t live there, so they left from Plymouth, and landed in…Plymouth, and yeah, they thought they’d discovered a new world and in their arrogance took over inhabited lands because, I don’t know, by then western Europeans were already chock full of white privilege and what else would they do. And yes, our guys – two separate groups of guys – got their hands on the Bible too and said “yeah, not so much with this three-god thing” and ‘really, a loving God would punish you? Not buying it” and the Unitarians and Universalists were born, and now five hundred years after our buddy Martin decided to air his grievances (the first Festivus?), we have modern Unitarian Universalism.

Phew.

So all that by way of saying, I’m kinda hip to Luther. If not for him, who knows what we’d be or where we’d be.

And this, likely his most famous hymn (because he wrote hymns along with massive volumes of books and that Bible translation), appears in our hymnal. For me, it’s a connection to our UU pre-history.

And it’s a pretty cool tune – an old drinking song that can swing, or be as stalwart as the lyrics. (Which aren’t half bad for those times you need a good muscular, strong divinity.)

A mighty fortress is our God, a bulwark never failing;
our helper sure amid the flood of mortal ills prevailing.
For still our ancient foe doth seek to work us woe;
with craft and power great; and, armed with cruel hate,
on earth is not an equal.

God’s word above all earthly powers, no thanks to them, abideth;
the spirit and the gifts are ours, through God who with us sideth.
Let goods and kindred go, this mortal life also;
the body they may kill, God’s truth abideth still;
whose kingdom is forever.

So happy 200th post and happy Reformation.

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I’ve been to church this mornin’.

Not literally, of course, and yet…

When I was in seminary, I joined the gospel choir – I was tentative at first, not only because I am white but because I am not a Christian. But I was assured that this gospel choir was indeed open to all, and yes, I found it exactly that way: a mix of people, a mix of beliefs, even a mix of talents. Yet our conductor, M. Roger Holland (who now teaches and conducts at the University of Denver), made everyone feel welcome as we both sang and learned a great deal about the wide expanse of the gospel milieu – from the old spirituals (and Moses Hogan’s influence) to the old timey gospel songs, to modern grooves and swings, and everything in between. We learned the history, the compositional complexities, and the vocal techniques.

And, we talked about the theologies. Some of us struggled, especially when the song was grounded in a ‘washed in the blood’ theology. We talked a lot about inclusive language and expansive meanings, and we wrestled a lot with the word “Lord” with its connotations of empire.

Which brings me to today. “Precious Lord, take my hand.” How very unlike us to sing a song of surrender to a “Lord” … and yet, here we are. Maybe we need a little surrender. Maybe we need a prayer to get through the night, to get through the hard times.

(Chorus)
Precious Lord, take my hand, lead me on, let me stand,
I am tired, I am weak, I am worn;
through the storm, through the night, lead me on to the light,
take my hand, precious Lord, lead me home.

When my way grows drear, precious Lord, linger near,
when my life is almost gone,
hear my cry, hear my call, hold my hand lest I fall;
take my hand, precious Lord, lead me home.

(Chorus)

When the darkness appears and the night draws near,
and the day is past and gone,
at the river I stand, guide my feet, hold my hand;
take my hand, precious Lord, lead me home.

Is this really any different than Spirit of Life? If we say we’re good with a range of metaphors for the Divine, then Precious Lord should fit in next to Spirit of Life. And if we’re good with asking for that Spirit of Life to come, to change us, to offer comfort and insight, then maybe we can be okay with asking Precious Lord to come, to change us, to offer comfort and insight.

And thus, it’s in that spirit that I sing this song. Lord knows we could use it right now.

Of course, that is only half of why I went to church this morning. The other half was because of my YouTube search for a good rendition to share.

I began with this fairly simple, albeit country-fied version that helps folks new to the song learn it.

And then I clicked on this one:

And then this one:

And this one by Mahalia Jackson, which doesn’t allow embedding but is worth the click.

And amen, halleluiah, I have been to church.

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Photo is of the one and only Mahalia Jackson.

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Artists of all stripes have a signature style, a turn of phrase or brush or pen or finger that marks them as distinctive, a common theme or mood that repeats throughout a body of work.

If we are seeing a representative sampling of Brian Wren’s hymns, then his signature is a propensity for expanding the labels we use for the Divine, in a Christian milieu. And while I don’t always like his hymns (much to the dismay of some of my colleagues), it is good that we have in musical arts (as with all art) a propensity to challenge the norms.

In this hymn, Wren goes a step beyond lists and offers an actual point: hush, shout, sing! Do a thing! Don’t just wax poetic (or is that pedantic?) about God, worship! Proclaim!

And because of this, I can forgive Wren his predisposition for lists.

God of many names, gathered into one,
in your glory come and meet us, moving, endlessly becoming:
God of hovering wings, womb and birth of time,
joyfully we sing your praises, breath of life in every people,

(Chorus)
Hush, hush, halleluia, halleluia!
Shout, shout, halleluia, halleluia!
Sing, sing, halleluia, halleluia!
Sing God is love, God is love!

God of Jewish faith, Exodus and Law,
in your glory come and meet us, joy of Miriam and Moses:
God of Jesus Christ, rabbi of the poor,
joyfully we sing your praises, crucified, alive forever,

(Chorus)

God of wounded hands, web and loom of love,
in your glory come and meet us, Carpenter of new creation:
God of many names gathered into one,
joyfully we sing your praises, moving, endlessly becoming,

(Chorus)

I will also say this is one of the more interesting tunes I’ve heard his lyrics set to – where Name Unnamed can feel very dull and pedestrian after half a verse, this melody by William Rowan has some interest, and the chorus has energy. It requires a bit of teaching/modeling before letting a congregation sing it, but it has definite potential, especially this week, as we have just celebrated Easter. (And maybe it is an Easter song?)

One final note: This is the first song of a new section, Jewish and Christian Teachings, under the heading Worship. Thus, I might have had a bit of whiplash, given that the congregation I serve is working through Buddhism this month in our Conversation with World Religions, and given that yesterday’s final hymn of the “Common Ground” section was a Hindu song of devotion. I thought to myself, after singing through,  “God of many names, eh? Well… God of many CHRISTIAN names…” because that’s what it is.

Anyway, lo and behold, a Brian Wren song that I don’t despise! Halleluiah!

 

Image; “A Heart So Big” by Jason Cianelli.

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It’s Disconnected Thoughts Day here at the Far Fringe!

Disconnected Thought number one: the words and melody were written by Rabindranath Tangore, whose poetry we also find in Your Mercy, O Eternal One and Now I Recall My Childhood. That we also now have one of his melodies here I think is cool.

Disconnected Thought number two: did anyone else think this was a love song at first? I mean, it’s not surprising – this is another in a line of devotional poems from the Hindu traditions. But my first thought was “wedding song.”

Disconnected Thought number three: I had a moment of anxiety when I got to the word “smite” because I thought this was heading in the direction of some of the Psalms from the Old Testament – “I love God, God loves me, now go smite my enemies” (which I oddly just sang to the tune of “This Old Man”).

Disconnected Thought number four: is this a Diwali song?

(Refrain)
There are numerous strings in your lute,
let me add my own among them.

Then when you smite your chords,
my heart will break its silence,
and my heart will be one with your song.

(Refrain)

Amidst your numberless stars,
let me place my own little lamp.

(Refrain)

In the dance of your festival of lights
my heart will throb and my life
will be one with your smile. (Refrain)

Disconnected Thought the final: I don’t really like this one. For all of my love of art/music metaphors, this doesn’t work for me. I thought at first that it might have been the oddly somber tone of the melody, but really, I think it’s the idea that I’m not one of the strings in the Divine’s lute already, like I have to work to become part of this creation.

Meh.

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Of the many metaphors we use for the Divine, I think Singer of Life is my favorite.

This metaphor taps into something we know about the earth, that it has its own vibrational hum…and when you add all of the living things that have their own hums (and voices and chirps and growls and sighs), not to mention all of the machines humans have built that have their own hums (and chugs and whistles and crunches and rumbles), well, the earth is a noisy place that responds to sound.

And – if quantum mechanics are right and it’s the waves and motion, not the matter, that is the stuff of the universe, then of course we need a Singer to bring us into resonance with ourselves, each other, and the divine.

This lyric, from a poem written in Nahuatl, from the Texcoco region of Mexico, elegantly captures this idea, reminding us to look to the earth to see ourselves.

Singer of Life, all flowers are songs, with petals do you write.
Singer of Life, you color the earth, dazzling the eye with birds red and bright.
Joy is for us! The flowers are spread! Singing is our delight!

Mortal are we, with all living things, with eagles in the sky.
Even all gold and jade will not last; singing alone, I know, cannot die.
Here in this house of springtime bestow songs that like birds can fly.

It is set to a tune from the Dakota tribe, which is haunting and intriguing and offers a level of mystery the text only hints at. It’s got a few intervals Western singers might find unusual, and again, it’s one I would introduce slowly to a congregation.

However, I find the metaphor and the connection to the interdependent web rather appealing, inspiring, and yea, even comforting today.

Singer of life – joy is for us!

Amen.