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I need to begin with a prayer for those harmed by the mass shooting in Las Vegas – I don’t have words yet for my sadness and rage. I only have this Kyrie. Please take a moment to listen with me:

Amen.

—

Okay. Now on to today’s hymn, which is a shocking juxtaposition: it is a cheerful alleluia.

So here’s a strange thing: why is it that on this page, the two parts are identified by gender, but on the next one, Now Let Us Sing (tomorrow’s hymn), the two parts are not identified at all?

I say you go to your hymnals and just gently cross out “men” and “women” and let people sing the part that fits their voices. In fact, I’ll show you how it’s done:

Lower Voices:   Allelu, allelu, allelu, alleluia!
Upper Voices:   Sing and rejoice.
Lower Voices:   Allelu, allelu, allelu, alleluia!
Upper Voices:   Sing and rejoice. sing and rejoice.
Lower Voices:   Alleluia!
Upper Voices:   Sing and rejoice
Lower Voices:   Alleluia!
Upper Voices:   Sing and rejoice
Lower Voices:   Alleluia!
All Voices:      Sing and rejoice.

See how easy that is?

Anyway – I first learned this as “praise ye the Lord” as a Girl Scout grace, but in my research it appears that the not-alleluia lines have had any number of words applied to it. And as there’s no clear source of where this came from (good ol’ Anonymous, writin’ our ditties), I’d say no one will care what we sing here.

It’s a fun, kid-friendly song to sing, and for some, memories of summer camps gone by will flood in. I’m glad this showed up here today, to ground me a little after too much horrific news this morning.

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Hey, now this one is interesting.

Back in the 1920s, the humanist-theist battle was already taking shape, and much the same as now, worship becomes the battleground for such controversies. Charles Lyttle, minister and professor of church history at Meadville, wrote these lyrics for a doxology “as a bridge” between the two theological factions.

Praise God, praise God, the love we all may share.
Praise God, praise God, the beauty everywhere.
Praise God, the hope of good to be.
Praise God, the truth that makes us free.
Amen.

Knowing how much some of our modern UUs struggle with the word “God” and/or the word “praise” – I wonder how this would be received today. I like it, personally, but then, I’m a theist. And because it’s set to that rolling Doxology by Patrick Rickey, I think it’s gorgeous and welcoming.

But more, I think it’s interesting that the humanists would have been okay with “praise God” 100 years ago. Hmmm….things to ponder….

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WHY DON’T I KNOW MORE OF THESE PIECES?

This Alleluia, by Jacques Berthier, is just gorgeous. It is spirited. It encourages harmony – something we shouldn’t be surprised by, since Jacques wrote music for the Taize community. We have more of his work in Singing the Journey, which makes me very happy.

Alleluia. Alleluia. Alleluia.
Alleluia. Alleluia!

Anyway… not much to say. I learned it and sang it joyfully, even though I mistakenly ran the coffee without grounds the first time. Oops.

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I have no idea why I have never heard nor sung this song. It seems a shame, because it is lovely.

And I’m not sure what else to say. The music, by Patrick Rickey, is a lush, rolling piece in 12/8; it’s fairly easy to sing, but just tricky enough to keep you interested. And the lyrics, well…y’all know I love an alleluia. And y’all know I love some Belletini. So…Belletini writing Alleluias? Winner.

Alleluia! sang stars that gave us birth!
Alleluia! resounds our home, the earth!
Alleluia! shall echo ‘cross the skies.
Alleluia! when peace has shown us wise.
Amen.

The tune is called Doxology, but I don’t personally know any congregations that use this as such. I’d love to hear about them, though, and might suggest this as an alternative to Old 100th.

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It is said that into every hymnal a little cheesy, catchy, happy song must fall.

This one’s ours, folks.

And as far as cheesy, catchy, happy songs go, well, this one covers all the bases and then some. Because in the middle of some rather average invitations – “open your ears to the song” and “open your hearts, everyone” comes the zinger: “don’t be afraid of some change.”

Very sneaky, Louise Ruspini (our composer). I like it a lot. Sure, I suspect Ruspini is thinking about inner change, and that’s important, of course. But I know I’m not the only minister who’s used this one on a day when some change in the system is introduced. Because change is going to come whether you welcome it or not, so you might as well welcome it, right?

Enter, rejoice, and come in.
Enter, rejoice, and come in.
Today will be a joyful day;
enter, rejoice, and come in.

Open your ears to the song…

Open your hearts ev’ryone…

Don’t be afraid of some change…

Enter, rejoice, and come in…

Anyway, if you don’t know the tune, there are a bunch of videos on YouTube. Or ask a random Unitarian Universalist, who will groan, sing it to you, and then share their parody lyrics. Mine – co-written with Randy Becker – are below:

Exit, go out, go away
Exit, go out, go away
Go enjoy the rest of your day
Exit, go out, go away.

—

I was going to share a cheerful pic of ceramic frogs, but I thought it wouldn’t be a bad time to share our message of welcome – thanks to Ellen Rocket and the UUA for these signs of resistance.

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Welcome to Pinocchio’s favorite hymn.

I can’t deny making Diana wonder what this hymn practice as actually done to my sanity, because I am sitting next to her on the couch, drinking coffee and cackling manically as I ponder why we ever doubted that children might not be real, unless we are surrounded by Geppetto’s marionettes.

I mean, I get where lyricist Carl Seaburg is going – he’s trying to say that children have little pretense and experience the world openly and honestly. But “real” is just awkward and frankly stopped me in my tracks.

Odd lyric aside, this is a lovely piece. The tune – the Sussex Carol – gets a nice not-at-all-Christmas-related treatment here (fyi, another gorgeous Ralph Vaughan Williams setting), and yes, I could see this being used at Yuletide anyway, when we adults get so overwhelmed and jaded by the commercialization and possible sadness of the season. But it also speaks to that beginner’s mind, that childlike wonder that we all long for.

I seek the spirit of a child, the child who meets life naturally,
the child who sings the world alive, and greets the morning sun with glee.
Children are real beyond all art. May I see: Joy’s a gift to our heart.

I seek the freedom of a child, a child who loves instinctively,
who lights our day with just a smile, and shines that light on all we see.
Children are real beyond all fears. May I see: Hope’s a gift to our tears.

I seek the wonder of a child, a child who sees delightfully,
now clowns in cloud, now gold in sun — imaginations true and free.
Children are real beyond all lies. May I see: Faith’s a gift to our eyes.

If I can get past giggling about “children are real” I could see using it.

But it might be a while.

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When I say “Beethoven” I bet most of you think “da da da DUM” and the strikingly innovative opening to the Fifth Symphony. But for me, it’s this – Ode to Joy.

I first waxed poetic about it on November 1st, noting the joy of the music and the lyrics by Henry Van Dyke. And while Van Dyke’s lyrics are more well know. it is these lyrics, by German dramatist, poet, and historian Friedrich Schiller, that Beethoven included in the Ninth Symphony.

Joy, thou goddess, fair immortal, offspring of Elysium,
mad with rapture, to the portal of thy holy fane we come!
Fashion’s laws, indeed, may sever, but thy magic joins again;
humankind is one forever ‘neath thy mild and gentle reign.

Joy, in nature’s wide dominion, mightiest cause of all is found;
and ‘tis joy that moves the pinion, when the wheel of time goes round;
from the bud she lures the flower, suns from out their orbs of light;
distant spheres obey her power, far beyond all mortal sight.

Freude, schóner Götterfunken, Tochter aus Elysium,
wir betreten feuertrunken, himmlische, dein Heiligtum.
Deine Zauber binden wieder, was die Mode streng geteilt,
alle Menschen werden Brúder, wo dein sanfter Flúgel weilt.

Freude heiefst die starke Feder in der ewigen Natur.
Freude, Freude treibt die Ráder in der grossen Weltenuhr.
Blumen lockt sie ausden Keimen, Sonnen aus dem Firmament,
Spháren rollt sie in den Raumen, die des Sehers Rohr nicht kennt.

I love that we have to verses of the German, along with two English verses. The first line, “Freude, schóner Götterfunken” translates directly as “Joy, beautiful spark of God, daughter of Elysium” – the English translation we use appears to be uncredited (at least according to my Google search).

I could talk more about the theology of this versus Joyful, Joyful – and I’m sure it’s worthy of analysis. But today, in the midst of the Goldmine Youth Leadership School (with incredible youth and their incredible minds and enthusiasm), I don’t have the energy for deep thought. I do also wonder about attributing gender to an abstract – but I am not sure how I feel about it. Maybe someday.

Meanwhile, JOY! In a big, famous, broad, triumphant German way.

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This hymn knocks me out.

Frequent readers know I am a theist, with a sense of the Divine that is creator and creating. And what a creation we are! How wondrous is the human mind and its infinite capacity! That we are able to learn and explore and think new things, that we are adaptive and adaptable, that we can imagine not only all manner of things beyond ourselves – that is wondrous indeed.

I have these moments every now and then when I am taken completely aback by something a human has created or thought. Sometimes it’s amazement at the spectacle of skyscrapers on Fifth Avenue. Sometimes it’s awe as I video-chat  on my phone – my phone! – with a friend in Australia. Sometimes it’s realizing that an operation that once caused 8-inch scars and weeks in the hospital is now an outpatient procedure with a one-inch incision.

I recently listened to a podcast about Charles Darwin, and it got me thinking: Darwin was definitely a man of his age – like many upper class Victorians of the time, he was interested in art, nature, and science. But in 1859, Darwin made a rather simple observation that has absolutely changed how we perceive the world. That observation, of course, is evolution by natural selection. What struck me, however, is not the awesomeness of the theory that has since been proved as fact by biology, anthropology, paleontology, and other sciences. No, it is the fact that the human brain is so amazing that it can incorporate positively new ideas and actually adapt to new technologies.

Our minds are so adaptive that how we learn, how we use new tools, how we process even more and more information is evidence of a mind that is constantly seeking to extend itself, to grab on to new tools it has never experienced before and merge with them.  It is stunning when you think that we constantly incorporate life-shaping ideas such as evolution and heliocentrism… we take space travel as fact, not fantasy… we have spent centuries developing cars and combines and phones and lasers … we construct buildings that scrape the sky … we come up with ingenious ways to adapt to our changing climate… we know thousands more words and absorb more information in a year than we did in a lifetime just 100 years ago… and yet we are still human, in human communities, in human relationships, propagating the species and adapting to the world.

We really are something – and the activist and radical political lyricist Malvina Reynolds captures it perfectly:

O what a piece of work are we,
how marvelously wrought;
the quick contrivance of the hand,
the wonder of our thought,
the wonder of our thought.

Why need to look for miracles
outside of nature’s law?
Humanity we wonder at
with every breath we draw,
with every breath we draw!

But give us room to move and grow,
but give our spirit play,
and we can make a world of light
out of the common clay,
out of the common clay.

I’ve been waiting for this one to come around. I mean, it’s the pinnacle of humanist hymn, and it’s my favorite of these hymns. And the dance that is our tune, Dove of Peace (one of the Southern Harmony tunes) is a perfect match. This is a celebration of the best that humanity is and can be.

And yes, of course, human minds have created a lot of terrible things. That hell is on earth is of absolutely no question. Human minds have created hate, and oppression, and violence, and all the things that make life untenable.

Which is all the more reason to celebrate the goodness of humanity as well. If we didn’t believe in our inherent goodness, our inherent potential to do better, be better, help one another, learn and do and teach and discover more and more, then what is life for?

And so today, and every time we sing this hymn, it’s worth pausing to remember that we are amazing creatures, marvelously wrought.

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Now THIS is a humanist hymn I can get behind.

What a glorious celebration of that creating, created, creative spark within each of us that is greater than the sum of us and that in the living evokes Mystery.

Earth is our homeland: a song of stars, a grace
wrought of the ages, an opal spun in space!
Dawn’s far blue hill, soft nighttime still, dark ocean depth, smooth stone —
for gifts sublime that hallow time we’ll sing, making deep thanksgiving known.

Word is our glory, our breath of air, our cry!
Parables, letters, or star names in the sky,
or myths that play as poets pray bring meaning to our lives.
For ev’ry praise that hones our days we’ll sing, till the final day arrives.

Music is wonder, an alchemy of art,
love’s pure enchantment, communion for the heart!
From chants to Psalms, from jazz to Brahms, no soul may stay at rest.
For starry choir in sky afire we’ll sing, joined with them in anthem blessed.

Hope is our high star, the certitude love brings;
silence our center, our living water’s spring.
Though aching heart know self apart from Whole and Mystery,
for gatherings of strengthening we’ll sing, throughout human history.

If you detected some Belletini here, you’ve got a good eye (or ear). He wrote this with fellow Hymnal Commission member Helen Pickett (whose husband Eugene served as UUA president). I love the patterns of poetry, the metaphors, and frankly, the fact that they set it to the Brahms hymn tune Symphony – and by the way, in verse three, we see what you did there.

I haven’t sung it much – I wonder if its length puts some people off. Or maybe we don’t preach about creativity and the arts enough – because this is a perfect hymn for that. Or maybe – as regular reader Kaye would agree – using the first line as a title is misleading. You really wouldn’t know that past the first verse it’s about creativity and process theology from the words “Earth is our homeland” – would you? (And here’s the real shame – I have preached a sermon called The Art of Meaning a couple of times, but never when I could use three hymns, so this never made the cut. I’m preaching it tomorrow, and I had the perfect opportunity to use it, and I plum forgot. Dammit.)

Anyway – I love this piece and highly recommend writing services for which this is the perfect hymn to sing. Partly because I love the hymn, but partly because we need to talk about creativity, the arts, and humanity’s connection to both Earth and Mystery a whole lot more.

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One of the advantages of doing this practice is that I’m beginning to know more hymn tunes by name. I flipped to the page this morning, thought “I don’t know this one” and the looked to the bottom, saw the tune was Mach’s Mit Mir, Gott (which we last sang only last week in With Heart and Mind), and thought “well now, I’m going to think of this tune as a most unusually named humanist hymn.” (Because the title translates to “deal with me, God”…)

As I sang, I thought to myself “huh… this is a good one for a building dedication:

The blessing of the earth and sky upon our friendly house do lie.
The rightness of a master’s art has blessed with grace its every part.
The warmth of many hands is strewn in human blessing on this stone.

The wind upon the lakes and hills performs its native rituals.
The worship of our human toil brings sacrament from sun and soil.
With words and music, we, the earth, in nature’s wonder seek our worth.

Here we restore ancestral dreams enshrined in floor and wall and beam,
a monument wherein we build that their high purpose be fulfilled,
be tool to help our children prove an earth of promise and of love.

And thus it was with a bit of triumph that I turned to Between the Lines and learned that yes, indeed, Kenneth Patton wrote these words for the dedication of the new building of the First Unitarian Society of Madison, Wisconsin.

As that building was designed by Frank Lloyd Wright in the mid-20th century, it’s not surprising that Patton included a line like “the rightness of a master’s art has blessed with grace its every part” or calls the place “a monument” – while he was in some aspects, one of our Unitarian scoundrels, Wright was indeed a master of architecture, and it’s meaningful to have one of his designs in our fold, as it were.

And now, because of that clear association, I’m not sure I would use this hymn outside of a dedication of a building or worship space. I can’t see it beyond its bricks and mortar.

And wow, isn’t that a hell of a metaphor for some of our problems.

Hmm….