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Gentle readers, I’m in an odd place with this one.

I am certain (and am glad) there are people who draw strength and inspiration from this text, a beloved  (anonymously translated) passage from “Buddha’s Farewell Address” – a passage from the Mahaparinibbana Suttana.

I don’t. I mean, I get what it’s about – it’s all over the place, this idea that it starts within and goes outward. It’s a lot of how we understand our rather individualistic faith.

But this idea doesn’t give me strength or comfort. As an extrovert and a theist, I process externally, with others and the Divine, in order to understand myself. My comfort comes from without, not within. And knowing myself, knowing truth, knowing the divine spark – for me, anyway – is informed and revealed only through my experience with others. I know myself in relation. And when my spark goes out, when I am not confident, when I am unsure what the truth is, well, I can’t be my own lamp if my pilot light is out.

Perhaps its my mood, or the season, or the events of the past few weeks, or the weltschmerz and general malaise of the world, but I feel sadder having sung this one.

Be ye lamps unto yourselves;
be your own confidence;
hold to the truth within yourselves
as to the only lamp.

If it brings you comfort, I am glad. Not every song has to work for every person, just as not every theology has to work for every person. I am certain for those who are internal processors, or non-theists, or just of a different temperament, this one inspires deeply – hurrah for you!

It’s just not my jam.

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It may be lack of coffee.

It may be lack of ease with Buddhism.

It may be lack of sleep.

But whatever it is I am lacking seems to be keeping me from understanding what the heck this lyric, written by Sarojini Naidu, the first female president of the Indian National Congress, is saying.

It feels mostly like it’s saying ‘life sucks and there’s nothing we can do so just give up already.’ Which I am certain isn’t true and maybe it’s in there but that’s not the point… but dammit, meaning is eluding me today.

So instead I’ll nitpick about bad rhymes, like ‘won’ and ‘throne’ and ‘flight’ and ‘infinite’ (grr) and wonder at the combination of a very Buddhist poem and a very German hymn tune.

The wind of change forever blown across the tumult of our way,
tomorrow’s unborn griefs depose the sorrows of our yesterday.
Dream yields to dream, strife follows strife, and death unweaves the webs of life.

For us the labor and the heat, the broken secrets of our pride,
the strenuous lessons of defeat, the flower deferred, the fruit denied;
but not the peace, supremely won, great Buddha, of the lotus throne.

With futile hands we seek to gain our inaccessible desire,
diviner summits to attain, with faith that sinks and feet that tire;
but nought shall conquer or control the heav’nward hunger of our soul.

The end, elusive and afar, still lures us with its beck’ning flight,
and our immortal moments are a session of the infinite.
How shall we reach the great, unknown nirvana of your lotus throne?

I’m missing something big here today…for which I apologize. Although I guess it’s okay if not every piece speaks clearly to every person – that whole pesky 4th principle thing, eh?

Now go have a day – stay dry if it’s raining, stay warm if it’s cold, cheer up if you’re a Gonzaga fan.

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I was expecting this to be a difficult song to learn – enough times, that “Irregular” at the bottom of the page signals complex rhythms and intervals.

Yet once I got into it, and I felt the 9/8 rhythm (which is really a glorious 3/4), the song suddenly felt familiar, in a way that makes me wonder if I’ve heard it or sung it before. I can’t identify the time or place, yet it feels familiar in my bones.

Perhaps this is the beauty of folk tunes – this one from the Philippines. Our hymnal says it is a Visayan, or indigenous Filipino folk tune. I believe that’s true, but I don’t want to discount that this tune might have some Western European influence, given the Spanish conquest in 1521, which didn’t end until the Spanish-American  War in 1898 (when the US took over until the end of World War II).

At any rate, what I know is that the tune has a familiar feel, and given that it was easy to sing (easier than expected), I reveled in the lyrics while I was singing – as we know, that rarely happens on the first go of a song.

I mean, look at these words, based on a text from Bishop Toribio Quimada, who founded the Universalist (now Unitarian Universalist) Church of the Philippines:

O, the beauty in a life that illumines honor anew,
that models wise and gracious ways to every seeker;
that every day shall serve in joy and do the right.
O, praise the life whose beauty shows a justice true.

Let not service of the good be confined to great saints alone,
but every hour be part of all our daily living.
Set not the hope of wisdom’s grace beyond our ken;
how wide the path, how close the goal, which love has shown.

O, the beauty of a life that illumines care of the soul,
that knows a love that is for self as well as others,
that every day embodies praise for every good,
this is the faith to which we turn, our God and goal.

How glorious, this call to justice. How elegant, this call to beloved community. How joyful, this call to love and faith and good.

We need this today – to turn to our Faith and allow it to illumine our souls so that we might do the work we are called to.

—

The photo is of the UU Church of the Philippines in Doldol, in the Negros Islands region.

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Among the most meaningful compliments I’ve gotten so far about this series is from my colleague and mentor, Michael Tino, who told me about a month ago how he now turns to it when making hymn choices and how frustrated he was that I hadn’t gotten to #181 yet.  I’m here now; I have never sung this before, and you promised to tell me how the singing went, so here’s your chance!

Meanwhile, here’s how my singing went:  in a word, well. This is a lush, somber, beautiful Indian tune, set by Frederic Mathil. I’d love to hear the full harmonies, as I suspect it’s even more lush in its fullness.

The lyrics are timely; given all that our movement is facing, we need more than ever the reminder that “there is not one alive we count outside.” This sutta should be our mantra.

No matter if you live now far or near,
no matter what your weakness or your strength,
there is not one alive we count outside.
May deeper joy for all now come at length,
may deeper joy for all now come at length.

Let none among us lie or self-deceive;
nor cultivate a hatred all or part,
may never one of us live by our rage
nor wish another injury of heart,
nor wish another injury of heart.

Just as the goodly mother will protect
her children, e’en at risk of her own life,
so may we nurture an old mindfulness,
a boundless heart beyond all fear and strife,
a boundless heart beyond all fear and strife.

One note, however: the hymnal lists this as coming from the Sutta Nopata, but I can only find references to a “Sutta Nipata,” which is in fact the larger work of scripture, meaning literally “suttas falling down.” I suspect this is because, at  quick glance, they appear to be discourses (from sutra, meaning thread)  of deep consideration, and maybe even confession. Our lyrics come from one of the 72 suttas in this collection, the Metta Sutta.

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I wish…

I wish I lived with someone, because I would have made them sing this round with me so I could revel in the fullness of this beautiful piece. Although there’s a good chance I would have gotten the pre-coffee stink eye, so maybe it’s just as well.

I wish the hymnal indicated that it’s Arabic. Not because most won’t figure it out, but it feels a bit like erasure to me. Maybe I’m a little oversensitive these days, but I am keenly aware of subtle methods of cultural erasure.

I wish I was less keenly aware of the Christian liturgical calendar that says we don’t sing alleluias during Lent, but then I remembered that I am not a Christian, the round is not Christian, and anyway, all those choirs rehearsing for Easter Sunday have to sing it over and over and over…

I wish I could articulate why, after this week that has shaken our institution, we should sing praises to God (however we understand “God”), but we should.

Alhamdulillah, Alhamdulillah, Alhamdulillah,
Alhamdulillah, Alhamdulillah, Alhamdulillah.

I wish I could hug you all right now, my gentle, loving, funny, insightful readers. It means the world to me that you find something to keep your interest, and even more when you comment here or on social media.

(I wish I hadn’t used “I wish” as my hook, because now I will be singing that piece from Into The Woods all day. There’s nothing worse than giving yourself an ear worm.)

—

Today’s photo is by my friend, photographer Jeremy Garretson – of the Milky Way over Orient Point, Long Island. Maybe this is a good reason to sing praises to God.

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I have little to say this morning. In fact, most of what I have to say in this hurried morning will be below the lyrics.

But I will say WOW, these this song is timely. I appreciate it when this spiritual practice meets the times, even I grumble going through it – because it always has something to say to me.

Today’s lyrics, based on a text by Bishop Dr. Adedeji Ishola, who founded the Unitarian Brotherhood of Lagos, Nigeria in 1919 – and set to a traditional Yoruba tune – speak volumes to us today. “What will undo us is not our friend.” and “when we are raging, needing to mend, show us, O spirit, how to befriend.” Wow.

This is a beautiful, prayerful, important song for us today.

Words that we hold tight won’t let us go.
Paths we don’t follow will haunt us so.
What will undo us is not our friend.
Show us, O spirit, how to befriend.

(Chorus)
Show us how to forgive.
To all who live, show us forgiveness
that we may live.

To speak of loving is not to love.
Lies move among us, below, above.
When we are raging, needing to mend,
show us, O spirit, how to befriend.

(Chorus)

When love is doubtful, choice is not clear,
we turn to worship to cast out fear.
Teach us forgiveness, make love our end.
Show us, O spirit, how to befriend.

(Chorus)

I have a lot of opinions about the events of the past week, but I’m unfortunately running late due to a very sleepless night; thus, I will just share my edited version of something my colleague Cynthia Landrum wrote to offer some explanation for what the heck has been going on and why there’s a sea change happening in our movement:

On Thursday, two very different — and separate — pieces of painful news happened in the UU sphere:

The first issue is that a UU minister was arrested on charges of child pornography. He was a respected and well-connected colleague, and this is sending a shock wave through our association. I know him a little bit personally, and always found him to be a true pastor, living our our call to love our neighbor – his congregation is part church, part food bank. There seems to be little doubt to his guilt, as he has made admissions to the police. My heart goes out to his congregation and family, and to close colleagues of his, all of whom I’m sure are dealing with pain, grief, and shock.

The second issue is that in recent days our Unitarian Universalist Association has been in a crisis as we come to grips with the painful reality of our own racism, classism, and sexism and how that has affected hiring practices in our association, among other issues.

Not surprisingly, there have been many public statements on this from various groups and individuals in our association over the last week, seeking a systemic review of our policies and practices and calling our leadership back into covenant with the members of the denomination and our reflow religionists around the country.

Our UUA President, Peter Morales, had responded to the situation in an open letter that unfortunately escalated the situation. Today, despite his not being the decision maker in the hire that cause the controversy, Morales resigned, effective April 1, from his term that was to end in June, after the election of our next president at General Assembly. You can read more about this story here, here, and here.

It has been a hard few days leading up to Thursday, and definitely a hard day Thursday. It is a day fraught with anger, hurt, sadness, and frustration.

Our faith will remain strong. We will do the tough work to keep our leadership accountable and to examine how systemic racism, classism, and sexism have harmed us from the top of the denomination to our smallest congregations. And we will hold those in pain as they navigate the distrust and distress.

But it has been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day for Unitarian Universalists.

—

No real meaning for the image today. It reflects peace and insight, something I pray for today.

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This morning’s practice started as it normally does, with me flipping to the page and meeting my first reaction – depending on the song, it might be one of joy, apathy, annoyance, or curiosity. Having never sung or heard this one before, curiosity won the day.

Because it’s in an unfamiliar language and set to an unfamiliar tune, I turned to the trusty old YouTube to have a listen.

Video after video, offering me something near to what was on our page, but often with different lyrics (no biggie) and usually with differences in the melody (confusing). Video after video, each offering wildly different takes on the song, from the woman in a garden trying to be floaty and ethereal and failing, to the Bollywood mashup, to the westernized sitars, to the Indian marching band, and everything in between. To be honest, I went down the rabbit hole, listening to all these different versions.

At first, I was frustrated. “I just want to learn the song!” I shouted to the now already brewed coffee. (It didn’t answer back.) Click to the next video. Grrr. Click to the next video. Hmmmm. Click to the next video. Huh…. Click to the next video. Oh.

You see, because this was Gandhi’s favorite hymn, which he used in his morning devotionals, it became a favorite across India and the Hindu world. And just as there are probably thousands of recorded versions of Amazing Grace across the Christian diaspora, there are easily that many or more across the Hindu diaspora. Each one a different take, with differences reflecting the particularities of time, place, genre, belief…reflecting the universality of this simple hymn.

(Chorus)
Raghupati, Raghava, Raja Ram.
Patita Paban, Seeta Ram.

Seeta Ran jai, Seeta Ram. Patita Paban, Seeta Ram,
Seeta Ram jai, Seeta Ram, Patita Paban, Seeta Ram.

(Chorus)

Eeswara Allah tere nam Sabko sanmoti de bhag wan.
Eeswara Allah tere nam Sabko sanmoti de bhagwan.

(Chorus)

Seeta Ram jai, Seeta Ram. Patika Paban Seeta Ram,
Seeta Ram jai, Seeta Ram, Patika Paban, Seeta Ram.

(Chorus)

And it is simple. It’s prayer to Ram, the seventh (of 12) incarnation of Vishnu, asking for, among other things, peace between Hindus and Muslims.

And ultimately, while I may not have the tune as written in our hymnal in my head, I do have the tune, so if I sang it to a Hindu, they’d recognize it – and probably correct my articulation, as Indian music has a particular vocal articulation we aren’t trained for in the west.

It’s a beautiful hymn. I hope there are those congregations who have found a way to use it, because its call for peace never gets old.

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I had the opportunity to sing this once, as a solo, to commemorate Hiroshima Day. While set on a pentatonic scale, it is in what musicologists call Phrygian Dominant Minor Mode – which is another term for “very unfamiliar but striking intervals that are at once difficult and haunting.” It was not easy for me to learn, but I have never forgotten it.

The song is, at its heart, a simple and very popular Japanese folk song from the Edo period (17th century). It’s so popular that it’s used by the Japanese at international events, and it’s well known in Japan that it’s used in some electronic crosswalks as ‘guidance music.’

And the original translation is simply a celebration of spring. YAY SPRING!

 Sakura, sakura,
yayoi no sorawa.
Miwatasu kagiri.
Kasumika kumo ka.
Nioi zo izuru.
Izaya, izaya,
mini yukan.

You see that sentiment in the English text by Edwin Markham:

Cherry blooms, cherry blooms,
cherry blooms are ev’rywhere,
like a cloud from out the sky!
Mists of blossoms fill the air,
cherries, cherries blossoming!
Come and see, come and see;
let all now see and sing.

Cherry blooms, cherry blooms,
all the world their beauty sees!
Yoshino is cherry land;
tatsuta for maple trees;
karasaki for the pine.
Let us go, let us go —
where pine trees greenly shine.

Yay spring!

And then sometime after World War II, to mark the anniversary of the dropping of the bomb on Hiroshima, William Wolff wrote these alternative lyrics:

Cherry blooms, cherry blooms,
pink profusion everywhere,
like a mist of gossamer rain
cherry blossoms fill the air,
covering Hiroshima’s plain.
Come and see, spring is here,
it will not long remain.

Cherry blooms, cherry blooms,
when we die as we surely must,
why not under yonder tree?
And when we return to dust,
falling flowers our wreaths will be.
Come and see, come and see,
the fine Hiroshima tree.

Wow.

So… at Easter, I am preaching a sermon called Earth Teach Us Resurrection – with a nod to Linda Hoddy, whose sermon of the same name a decade ago has remained with me. The central metaphor of both sermons is the surprising and almost defiant return of life on Mt. St. Helens, which leads to a consideration of the Easter story with its surprising and almost defiant return of Jesus, and what such surprising and almost defiant returns to life can mean for us today.

And when I read these Hiroshima lyrics, I am struck by the same spirit. The unthinkable set out to destroy life, yet we witness the surprising and almost defiant return to life of the Japanese people – much like their cherry blooms… and it is that life that honors the dead in wreaths and falling flowers.

Yes, I might have written part of my sermon just now – at least some bones of it. In this time of rebirth and regrowth, we need every example we can find of surprising and almost defiant returns to life, so we can learn and accomplish our own.

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I suspect most of us have flipped past this a thousand times. I suspect the combination of Hindi language, no translation, and fear of the unfamiliar keeps us away.

And it’s too bad. Because not only is this a beautiful lyric, but it’s a beautiful and catchy melody. Take a listen:

Isn’t that great? It’s got such life and spirit.

I did struggle to find a translation until I realized that Jacqui James provided one in Between the Lines:

Chorus:
Please bestow upon us O Supreme Soul, the gift of devotion
please bestow upon our souls [the gift of] purity.

Come in our meditation, O God, reside in our eyes.
Come into our dark hearts, arouse the Supreme Light.

Flow the river [Ganges] of love in the hearts, O Ocean of Love,
Teach us, O God, to live together in harmony.

Let service be our creed, let service be our action,
Make us earnest servers whose service is ever honest.

That is amazing.

Sure, it uses the spiritual imagery of Hinduism, and some of those ideas are harder for UUs to wrap their minds around than others (we’re great with service being our creed but struggle with devotion and purity). But that’s okay. I think it’s a blessing for us to challenge our notions of religious concepts when engaging a conversation with other religions. Learning the language of reverence from other faiths helps us better understand our own.

Plus, yanno, “let service be our creed” is a place where we can connect.

Here are the Hindu lyrics:

(Chorus)
Daya kar daanot bhakti ka, hame paramatma dena,
Daya karna hanari aatma me shuddh ta dena.

Hanare dhya n me aao, prabhu aan khon me bas jao,
andhere dil me aa kar ke, pa ram jyoti jaga dena.

(Chorus)

Bahade prem ki ganga, dilo me prem ka sa gar,
hame aapas me miljulkar, prabhu rehna sikha dena.

(Chorus)

Hamara dharm ho seva. Hamara karm ho seva,
sada eeman ho seva va sevak char bana dena.

(Chorus)

I recommend you give it a listen and try to sing along. It’s catchy and beautiful, and I can’t think of a better prayer to start my day with today.

—

The photo was taken at a Holi festival – a spring festival of color, renewal, life, and a bit of wild spirit.

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Sometimes a hymn sits next to our principles, or waves from across the room at them, or bumps into them in the hallway as they’re rushing to a committee meeting, or left a cryptic email, or BS’d its way through an essay about them in an ethics class.

Sometimes a hymn is a principle, embodied.

Welcome to the seventh principle, in song.

Sure, we’ll come across others of a similar bent; but if you asked me to pick one hymn for our seventh principle, ‘the interconnected web of which we are all a part’, this would be my winner. And it’s entirely possible that this was the charge to Alicia Carpenter, whose lyrics were commissioned for Singing the Living Tradition.

To Alicia I say a hearty “Well Done!” Plus, she set it to what might be described as an old Lutheran hymn, Christus Der Ist Mein Leben by German composer Melchior Vulpius, who wrote this, oh, a little over 500 years ago. I say it’s a plus because it’s a lovely tune – spirited but majestic, given a fresh look with these fresh lyrics. (Bonus: no cankerworms! Seriously, that’s still stuck in my craw…)

We celebrate the web of life, its magnitude we sing;
for we can see divinity in every living thing.

A fragment of the perfect whole in cactus and in quail,
as much in tiny barnacle as in the great blue whale.

Of ancient dreams we are the sum; our bones link stone to star,
and bind our future worlds to come with worlds that were and are.

Respect the water, land, and air which gave all creatures birth;
protect the lives of all that share the glory of the earth.

Yep, I’m a fan, and I try to use this when I preach on climate justice, stewardship and appreciation of the earth, and the immanent divine.

Despite a gloomy, chilly, foggy morning, and despite a hard night full of fear-filled dreams, this hymn brings me some solace and joy today.

—

Yes. That pic is of a quail next to a cactus. You’re welcome.