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This hymn, y’all.

First – we’re already into the Peace section; Labor and Learning was short, sweet, and to the point.

Second – I am not Finnish. Nowhere in my family’s known genealogy is there any Scandinavian blood; we’re all German and English, with a dollop of Dutch and a dash of Irish. Yet this tune, from a longer symphonic piece by Finnish composer Jean Sebelius and considered if not the national anthem then at least Finland’s most important song, makes me weep from its beauty and connection to the ineffable.

In our hymnal, this tune appears twice – with these lyrics, by Lloyd Stone, written as a prayer of peace – and later in our journey as We Would Be One. And every time we use it, whichever lyrics we use, I am literally moved to tears. Because not only does the tune reach something deep in our souls, the lyrics reach something deep in our hearts: the call of peace, the call of humanity.

I sometimes think of this lyric as the First Principle on the national/global level. If we affirm and promote the inherent worth and dignity of every person, we must also affirm and promote the inherent worth and dignity of every nationality – with the important caveat, of course, that governments regularly deny and oppress and stir up nationalistic jingoism in egotistical shows of empty bravado. (I’m lookin’ at you, 45.)

But this… this is the vision, the prayer, the call for peace.

This is my song, O God of all the nations,
a song of peace for lands afar and mine.
This is my home, the country where my heart is;
here are my hopes, my dreams, my holy shrine;
but other hearts in other lands are beating
with hopes and dreams as true and high as mine.

My country’s skies are bluer than the ocean,
and sunlight beams on cloverleaf and pine;
but other lands have sunlight too, and clover,
and skies are everywhere as blue as mine.
O hear my song, thou God of all the nations,
a song of peace for their land and for mine.

Amen.

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I think I know why white people don’t sing this song well.

I may be late to the party on this, but it dawned on me as I was singing: we don’t know what it’s like to NOT be free.

Sure, we get close if we’re female, or queer, or live with a disability, or trans. We know the hard, scary restrictions and compromises to our rights. But if we’re one or more of those things and we’re white, we get a pass. Because we don’t have, in our living memory, a deep, soul-rooted knowledge of what it means to be in chains. We just don’t.

We white people can sing this all day long, and groove to versions of this song by John Legend and the Roots, and Nina Simone, and Natalie Cole (who sang it at the White House in 2010), or even the original, by NYC jazzman Billy Taylor – but the truth is, we can only listen to the deep, soul-rooted longing of the African Americans for whom this is reality.

I wish I knew how it would feel to be free.
I wish I could break all these chains holding me.
I wish I could say all the things I could say,
Say ‘em loud, say ‘em clear for the whole world to hear.
Say ‘em loud, say ‘em clear for the whole world to hear.

I wish I could share all the love in my heart,
remove all the bars that still keep us apart.
I wish you could know what it means to be me,
then you’d see and agree everyone should be free.
Then you’d see, and agree everyone should be free.

I wish I could give all I’m longing to give.
I wish I could live like I’m longing to live.
I wish I could do all the things I can do,
though I’m way overdue I’d be starting anew.
Though I’m way overdue I’d be starting anew.

I wish I could be like a bird in the sky.
How sweet it would be if I found I could fly.
I’d soar to the sun and look down at the sea,
then I’d sing ‘cause I’d know how it feels to be free.
Then I’d sing ‘cause I’d know how it feels to be free.

For what it’s worth, I love the song, and I have sung it with gusto, because in my heart of hearts, I wish everyone could be free. But I can’t sing it the way it’s meant to be sung, because I can’t pretend for a second that I understand the longing in my deep, soul-root.

—

Picture of Billy Taylor, composer of this song.

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Y’all, this song brings up the same commentary about aspiration, and the same commentary about cultural appropriation, and the same commentary about gender inclusion, and the same commentary about zipper songs that I’ve offered before and will be compelled to offer again.

And the truth is, I’m too tired to make the same arguments again. I fear this is one of those times when “ditto” is exactly the right answer, resolving in a predictable “use it with care and caution” and, more often than not “I’m not inclined to use it.”

So… all that being said about this spiritual, let me share two thoughts:

First: There’s a different version of this song that is embedded in the old-time gospel tradition that has been covered by countless gospel singers and choruses. It’s rousing and cheery and definitely old school. This is one of my favorites:

Second: I was trying to read a bit about the imagery of Zion in spirituals, and while my first google search didn’t result in much, I did run across Thomas Wentworth Higginson’s piece for the June 1867 Atlantic Monthly, entitled “Negro Spirituals.” A Union officer (and a Unitarian minister), Higginson was instrumental in the success and survival of the Port Royal Experiment (Later the Penn School, now the Penn Center) which taught the three R’s and other skills to the runaway and later newly freed people.

Now if you read the article, you will, of course, be confronted with the attitudes of the time – even the most enlightened white person of the day still carried with them a tangible systemic racism. But if you can get beyond that, you’ll find something quite amusing:

Remember when I talked about the encoding of spirituals – that they carried important information about the Underground Railroad? It was key to their survival, even while the white ears who heard the songs just thought they were religious in nature. Well…. Good ol’ Thomas had himself a moment with one of these songs:

“O, Jordan bank was a great old bank !
Dere ain’t but one more river to cross.
We have some valiant soldier here,
Dere ain t, &c.
O, Jordan stream will never run dry,
Dere ain’t, &c.
Dere’s a hill on my leff, and he catch on my right,
Dere ain’t but one more river to cross.”

I could get no explanation of this last riddle, except, “Dat mean, if you go on de leff, go to ‘struction, and if you go on de right, go to God, for sure.”

For sure. Nothing to see here, white man. I know you’re on my side, but there’s nothing to see here. Move along now. For sure.

Heh heh.

Anyway… here’s the lyrics. Make of this song what you will, but be careful and cautious in its use.

I’ve got a new name over in Zion,
I’ve got a new name over in Zion,
I’ve got a new name over in Zion!
It’s mine, it’s mine, it’s mine,
I declare, it’s mine!

I’ve got a mother over in Zion,
I’ve gat a mother over in Zion,
I’ve got a mother over in Zion!
She’s mine, she’s mine, she’s mine,
I declare, she’s mine!

I’ve got a father over in Zion,
I’ve got a father over in Zion,
I’ve got a father over in Zion!
He’s mine, he’s mine, he’s mine,
I declare, he’s mine!

I’ve got a new life over in Zion,
I’ve got a new life over in Zion,
I’ve got a new life over in Zion!
It’s mine, it’s mine, it’s mine,
I declare, it’s mine!

Photo is of a path near the Sea Islands, Georgia. No idea if it looked like that 150 years ago, but it’s awfully pretty.

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We now enter what we might call “The New Eden” section but which we actually call “In Time To Come” – this section is very aspirational, very “kingdom of heaven.” Which, I suppose, is needed, and helpful – goodness knows Dr. King’s “I have a dream” motivated people to reach for it, to believe in something better. Even Barack Obama’s “yes we can” was similarly hopeful and visionary. And when we compare it to the backward thinking “make America great again” it’s a needed corrective and comfortable reframing.

Here are the lyrics – and don’t get tripped up by the word “race” in the first line – our lyricist John Addington Symonds was writing from a Victorian English literary perspective, where the word was used instead of “humanity” or worse, “mankind.” (I really don’t know what he was talking about in the first line of verse 3 – maybe one of you has a clue?)

These things shall be: a loftier race
than e’er the world hath known shall rise,
with flame of freedom in their souls,
and light of science in their eyes.

Nation with nation, land with land,
unarmed shall live as comrades free;
in every mind and heart shall throb
the pulse of one humanity.

High friendship, hitherto a sin,
or by great poets half-divined,
shall burn a steadfast star within
the calm, clear spirit of the mind.

New arts shall bloom of loftier mold,
and mightier music thrill the skies,
and every life a song shall be
when all the earth is paradise.

My biggest problem with this hymn is not the vision – I’m cool with it. (And the tune feels a little cheery, but this is the same tune as used in #12, O Life that Maketh All Things New, another aspirational song.)

No, problem is not with the hymn at all. My problem is that we should already BE HERE, and how are we not? What the hell happened?

I know there are a lot of answers, and it doesn’t change the reality that we face which is not at all this vision. I don’t feel particularly energized to go look for all the reasons why we’re in a pickle. We just are, and we can’t change the past.

What we can change is the future, and so keeping this peaceful, creative, intelligent, reality based vision of one world in the forefront like a carrot dangling before our eyes may help us remember what it is we’re fighting for.

—

The image is of the Peter Wenzel painting, “Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden.” I just couldn’t resist.

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So many choices this morning…

Do I talk about the person for whom this tune is named, Steve Biko, the South African activist who spearheaded the Black Consciousness movement and died from injuries sustained while in police custody?

Do I talk about the handy term zipper song, which indicates a song, often sung a capella, with nearly identical lyrics and one word or phrase changed for each verse?

Do I talk about how this song was the one that led me to another (1002, Comfort Me – which we’ll get to in November), which led me to hear the voice of the Divine calling me to this path?

Or do I talk about how a song like this is incredibly radical, suggesting that what’s in front of us isn’t everything, and there’s always more for us to do, explore, resist, and open ourselves to?  Do I talk about how this song is a song of resistance, from the time of slavery?

There is more love somewhere.
There is more love somewhere.
I’m gonna keep on ‘til I find it.
There is more love somewhere.

There is more hope somewhere…

There is more peace somewhere..

There is more joy somewhere…

Maybe I talk about those things, but what I really want to talk about is the problem of white Unitarian Universalists changing the lyric of this spiritual to “there is more love right here.” It shifts this from a song of lament and aspiration to a song of declaration, and that’s both frustrating and just plain wrong. Peter Boulatta say it best in his blog post “More Love Somewhere: The Unedited Hymn”:

These songs give theological voice to those who endured slavery, making meaning and spurring resistance as they are sung. When (in my case) white people ask for word changes in such a song, my alarm bells start ringing.

Are white Unitarian Universalists not capable of identifying with Black experience? Not willing, perhaps, to imagine the context out of which this song originated?

Glibly rewriting a slavery-era African American expression of hope and determination should give us all pause.

There’s an air of hubris in this wordsmithing, and a lack of insight.

Joining together to sing “there is more love right here” to me smacks of self-satisfaction and self-centredness.

Go read the whole thing – because he’s absolutely right. Now I have sung it in groups with the changed lyrics, and when I have, the entire mood of the room shifts, perhaps more comfortably than I realized. Sure, there’s something to be said for saying “and all that stuff you’re looking for? You might find it here.” But in my experience, that sets up groups, congregations, and individuals for failure – because what if they don’t find it here? And the truth is, even in a loving community, there is ALWAYS more love, peace, hope, and joy to be found, as long as there is hate, oppression, war, and injustice in the world. There are so many other good songs to sing, why change this one?

Let us be careful about what we do with music, especially when it is not our own.

 

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I’ve been watching the series The Crown on Netflix – it’s the story of the first few years of the reign of Queen Elizabeth II, told in that predictably sweeping BBC style that endears to us such shows as Downton Abbey and Call the Midwife. It’s full of beautiful scenery, palace intrigue (literally in this case), and lots of traditional music intertwined with the glorious score written for the show. As expected, several scenes happen in religious settings (state funerals, royal weddings, coronations – just regular stuff), and thus the familiar English hymns make prominent appearance.

And so it is with this mental backdrop that I approach this hymn today. It is set to a tune called “St George’s Windsor” – which made me think immediately of the Royal Family, knowing that in the House of Windsor there have been a couple of Georges (although I doubt many would consider them saints). And sure enough, the composer George Elvey was the organist at the Windsor Chapel, hence the name. (Elvey also wrote “Crown Him with Many Crowns” – which is another staple in mainline Protestant churches).

This is, as the Psalter Hymnal Handbook describes, “a serviceable Victorian tune.”

Talk about damning with faint praise.

Come, ye thankful people, come, raise a song of harvest home:
fruit and crops are gathered in, safe before the storms begin;
God, our Maker, will provide for our needs to be supplied;
come to God’s own temple, come, raise a song of harvest home.

All the world is but a field, given for a fruitful yield;
wheat and tares together sown, here for joy or sorrow grown:
first the blade, and then the ear, then the full corn shall appear;
God of harvest, grant that we wholesome grain and pure may be.

Now here’s the truth for me: it’s not a hymn that gets my blood moving or my spirit soaring. It’s not a hymn that comforts me or inspires me. And yet, I really like it. It appeals to that part of me that cries every time I hear Holst’s Planets, or the English hymn Jerusalem (click on that link – it’s a stunning rendition). It is a lovely English melody tinged with pomp and circumstance, and for some reason, that works for me. As unstuffy as I am, I very much appreciate this tune.

I realize I haven’t talked lyrics today. It’s not that they’re not interesting – they are. The metaphor of harvest for human goodness is an intriguing one worth unpacking some day. I don’t know that I’ve actually read the lyrics before (because it’s possible to sing the words but not actually read the lyrics), but I’m intrigued. I have no conclusions yet… but there’s something aspirational about “grant that we wholesome grain and pure may be”…and maybe a little unattainable. But just as we will never get close to the crown by watching The Crown, we will never get to pure by singing about it. But it sure is nice to think that we’re working on it.

—

Update, November 15, 2017:

A few days ago, my colleague Kendyl Gibbons offered this new set of lyrics. She wrote, “It occurs to me that a re-do of the traditional Thanksgiving hymn Come Ye Thankful People that I have been using for a while may be of use to others as we plan for the next few weeks.  The adaptation is mine; please use freely.”

Come, ye thankful people, come;
Raise the song of harvest home.
All is safely gathered in
Ere the winter storms begin.
Earth is bounteous to provide
For our wants to be supplied;
Come, in glad thanksgiving, come;
Raise the song of harvest home.

These our days are as a field
Sweet abundant fruit to yield;
Wheat and tares together sown,
Unto joy or sorrow grown.
First the bud and then the ear,
Then the full corn shall appear.
Live so that at harvest we
Wholesome grain and pure may be.

Field and furrow, heavy grown;
Yours to tend but not your own.
Bread of life shall ye restore
To your neighbors evermore.
Gather all the nations in,
Free from sorrow, free from sin.
Let the world in gladness come;
Share the joy of harvest home.

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O Life that maketh all things new,
the blooming earth, our thoughts within,
our pilgrim feet, wet with thy dew,
in gladness hither turn again.

From hand to hand the greeting flows,
from eye to eye the signals run,
from heart to heart the bright hope glows,
the seekers of the light are one:

One in the freedom of the truth,
one in the joy of paths untrod,
one in the soul’s perennial youth,
one in the larger thought of God;

The freer step, the fuller breath,
the wide horizon’s grander view,
the sense of life that knows no death,
the Life that maketh all things new.

This hymn feels extraordinarily aspirational to me today. It’s been a hard, heavy, trauma-laden week, thanks to our national flirtation with the collective Id. There doesn’t seem to be much in the way of truth, or freedom, or joy, or any space at all to have larger, wider, fuller thoughts about anything, let alone the Divine.

Yet here it is, this project’s gift to me today, lyrics by 19th century poet Samuel Longfellow, set to a familiar hymn tune many might know as “I Know My Redeemer Lives” – which in itself is similarly aspirational and hopeful. Easy and comfortable to sing, cheerful but not sentimental, strong but not defiant.

O Life that maketh all things new … not worn, not reused, not tired. New.

the blooming earth, our thoughts within … even as the seasons cycle through, so will – or should – our thoughts.

our pilgrim feet, wet with thy dew … we are always searching, seeking, mo

in gladness hither turn again … and thank god Life DOES make all things new, because we need it to be that way, for our sanity. We need to be refreshed, renewed, revived, and clearly – at least today – reminded that this does happen. It does get better. It does get easier. Today’s heaviness and worry will morph and change and sometimes become harder and sometimes turn into joy, but Life is here to remind us that it all happens to all of us and there is newness always because that is the very nature of Life.

And here’s the truth: I felt a little better after I sang this. Not because I sang (although singing does feel good physically and emotionally), but because I sang this song despite feeling rather worn and emotionally exhausted. I feel a little better because I caught a glimpse of the aspirational. Sometimes the aspirational feels too precious. And sometimes – like today – the aspirational is a balm.