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Oh the things you learn when you challenge your assumptions…

In late January, I co-led an interfaith service focused on resistance, which featured the support of the local AME Zion choir; thus, while music came from several sources, we did lean heavily on the gospel genre, and we chose this song as our sending call. I was surprised to hear the choir sing “stayed on Jesus” – because I had only ever heard “freedom” and I thought “huh” – I guess this is their adaptation of this spiritual to fit their religious needs. I was, in fact, pretty certain that the lyric was changed TO Jesus at some point.

When I opened the hymnal today, I again read “Words and Music: African American spiritual (1750-1875). Assumption confirmed.

Or not.

Even as I sang this, seeing it as a powerful song speaking to the call of freedom and justice through the ages, I wondered about that Jesus line. So… I trotted over to the internet, and discovered this: “Reverend Osby of Aurora, Illinois created this revamp of an old gospel song ‘I woke up this morning with my mind stayed on Jesus’ while spending time in Hinds County jail during the freedom rides.”

It was then spread and became a signature song of the civil rights movement (you can read more in Pete Seeger’s book Everybody Says Freedom: A History of the Civil Rights Movement in Songs and Pictures).

And so, while it might have roots as a spiritual (I can’t find anything to confirm or deny this at 8:15 on a Sunday morning), it is – as we have it today – a song of the civil rights movement.

Oh, I woke up this morning with my mind stayed on freedom.
Woke up this morning with my mind stayed on freedom.
Woke up this morning with my mind stayed on freedom,
Hallelu, Hallelu, Halleluia.

I was walking and talking with my mind …

I was singing and praying with my mind …

Oh, I woke up this morning with my mind …

And it’s a song we need today, because we are fighting the same fights and we can’t ever forget.

—

The image is of the Freedom Singers at a 1963 event.

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I was hoping Jacqui James would bail me out today.

I was really hoping there would be some long explanation of the origins of this song – that the lyricist, Ehud Manor, had written this in response to a particular moment/tragedy/event that I could expand upon, or that the composer, Nurit Hirsch, had discovered an ancient melody that he modernized in a unique way.  Something. ANYTHING to capture my interest as we come to the close of this seemingly endless section In Time To Come.

But no, in Between the Lines, James has written simply this:

Well hell.

Okay, so there’s no there there. It’s just another song expressing belief in a better tomorrow. In case we didn’t have enough of those already in the hymnal.

Now be clear: I like this one. I am fond of whatever quality it is that makes Jewish music distinctive, despite being not at all Jewish. It’s easy to sing, it’s got better than decent lyrics, and it’s going to be with me all day because of its prime ear worm qualities. I have used it and will used it. I just don’t have anything else to say about it. It’s a song. A good, decent, hopeful song.

Soon the day will arrive when we will be together,
and no longer will we live in fear.
And the children will smile without wondering whether
on that day thunderclouds will appear.

(Chorus)
Wait and see, wait and see what a world there can be
if we share, if we care, you and me.
Wait and see, wait and see what a world there can be
if we share, if we care, you and me.

Some have dreamed, some have died to make a bright tomorrow,
and our vision remains in our hearts.
Now the torch must be passed with new hope, not in sorrow,
and a promise to make a new start.

(Chorus)

I guess Freud was right. Sometimes a song is just a song.

—

(And sometimes a sunrise behind a tree is just a picture to use because no other images come to mind.)

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It feels a little like cheating that this was our closing hymn yesterday, and I’ve had it as an earworm for 24 hours – and it’s been on my mind since I first chose it for this service weeks ago.

And in this case, I don’t even care that only verse one is original, and that Eugene Navias, a Minister of Religious Education and 1977 winner of the Angus McLean Award for excellence in religious education, wrote the second and third verses for us. I don’t mind at all, because (a) the original invokes ‘Ebenezer’ (Hebrew for ‘stone of God’), which is referenced in Samuel 7:12 and is used to say it’s only because of God that we are able to do anything, which is very NOT Unitarian or Universalist in theology; and (b) Navias captures some of my own theistic humanism – namely, saying that which we look to (which some call God) reminds us to look to each other and work together and love together.

I used this as the closing hymn for a sermon talking about how religious community can be and should be a place of sanctuary for our souls and spirits. As I say in the sermon,

At its best, religious community is a shelter from the storm. It is a space set apart where we can release our weltschmerz (world weariness) and breathe into the present moment. And yet it isn’t a place that simply holds the holy for us; rather, it helps us integrate our faith into the rhythm of our daily lives. It makes space for restoring loving and intimate connections with each other. It is the small rituals and gestures we undertake with each other in this sacred space that give everyday life its value and meaning, that comfort us, make us feel at home, rooted and generous. It is the safe space for learning and discussion that prepares us lovingly for the hard work of justice and compassion ahead. It is the ever-present invitation to stop, be still, and give thanks.

We sing this hymn in gratitude for the communities we intentionally create to support us, for the reminder that we are more than the sum of our parts, for the vision that we must remember to keep before us.

Come, thou fount of ev’ry blessing, tune our ears to sing thy grace.
Streams of mercy never ceasing, call for songs of loudest praise.
While the hope of life’s perfection fills our hearts with joy and love,
teach us ever to be faithful, may we still thy goodness prove.

Come, thou fount of ev’ry vision, lift our eyes to what may come.
See the lion and the young lamb dwell together in thy home.
Hear the cries of war fall silent, feel our love glow like the sun.
When we all serve one another, then our heaven is begun.

Come, thou fount of inspiration, turn our lives to higher ways.
Lift our gloom and desperation, show the promise of this day.
Help us bind ourselves in union, help our hands tell of our love.
With thine aid, O fount of justice, earth be fair as heav’n above.

I love this hymn. I love our words, plus I love the tune (Nettleton). It recharges me and sends me forth. It is, for me, a moment to be present with and among others, to stop, be still, and give thanks.

—

The photo is of Paint Branch UU (photo from the UUA site page for Welcoming Congregations), chosen because of the love and sanctuary this religious community is showing in this beautiful rainbow picture.

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My love/hate relationship with lyricist John Greenleaf Whittier continues.

As regular readers may remember, I have loved some of his lyrics; I loved the movement in No Longer Forward or Behind and the call to action hidden under Immortal Love… and I have hated others; I found the ‘people suck’ attitude of The Harp at Nature’s Advent frustrating and off-putting.

So – Whittier’s winning, 2-1, going into today’s hymn.

Aaaaaand we’re tied.

Okay, so I don’t HATE this one, but I am bored by it. First, it doesn’t go anywhere; it’s four verses of yay, let’s pretend love and peace have already won. And then let’s make some noise about it – a la Psalm 150 with all its cymbals and trumpets. For me, the entire hymn can be summed up in the first verse, so Johnny, why are you making us sing three more verses? I’m bored.

And that boredom sent me to Between the Lines, where I discovered the lyrics are from a poem Whittier wrote called “A Christmas Carmen.” (A carmen is a song or incantation.) The original poem is here – three longer verses, ABOUT CHRISTMAS. This is a very Christian poem about how Jesus brings peace to the land, because the Savior Is Born; it fits right in with the eschatological underpinnings of the Advent season, the whole Son of God/Son of Man thing (see the lyrics of Joy to the World ).

THIS IS A CHRISTMAS POEM PROMOTING A VERY PARTICULAR THEOLOGY.

And whoever set snippets of this poem to music decided to pull out the parts they like and hope we ignore the rest.

Okay, so maybe my beef isn’t with Whittier, it’s with whoever cobbled together this… this…. thing that sits opposite Spirit of Life in our hymnal (tomorrow’s hymn). It goes into the pile of hymns we sing whose original meaning has been sucked out/reversed/colonized. Ugh, ugh, ugh. This is a Christian poem about Christmas, not a ‘yay, peace, and we had something to do with it’ song.

So Johnny, I’m still not a fan, but I feel like I can’t blame you for this – let’s call it a draw; we now stand at 2-1-1.

Sound over all waters, reach out from all lands
the chorus of voices, the clasping of hands!
Rise, hope of the ages, arise like the sun,
all speech flow to music, all hearts beat as one!

Sing bridal of nations, with chorals of love!
Sing out the war vulture and sing in the dove!
With glad jubilation sing hope for the world;
the great storm is ending, the clouds are all furled.

Sound trumpets of triumph for marches of peace,
east, west, north, and south, let the long quarrels cease!
Sing songs of great joy that the angels began,
give glory to children, to woman and man!

Hark! Joining the chorus the heavens resound!
The old day is ending, a new day is crowned!
Rise, hope for the ages, arise like the sun,
all speech flow to music, all hearts beat as one!

For the curious, here’s the poem in its original form, found at Poem Hunter (and by the way, in the second verse, the meaning of ‘bridal’ is unclear – it might relate to the Christian idea that we are brides of Christ, but it might also be a riff from the old English word meaning a feast (Merriam-Webster tells us that it implied a feast where a lot of alcohol was consumed, and the word ‘ale’ comes from the same root meaning.):

Sound over all waters, reach out from all lands,
The chorus of voices, the clasping of hands;
Sing hymns that were sung by the stars of the morn,
Sing songs of the angels when Jesus was born!
With glad jubilations
Bring hope to the nations!
The dark night is ending and dawn has begun:
Rise, hope of the ages, arise like the sun,
All speech flow to music, all hearts beat as one!

II.
Sing the bridal of nations! with chorals of love
Sing out the war-vulture and sing in the dove,
Till the hearts of the peoples keep time in accord,
And the voice of the world is the voice of the Lord!
Clasp hands of the nations
In strong gratulations:
The dark night is ending and dawn has begun;
Rise, hope of the ages, arise like the sun,
All speech flow to music, all hearts beat as one!

III.
Blow, bugles of battle, the marches of peace;
East, west, north, and south let the long quarrel cease
Sing the song of great joy that the angels began,
Sing of glory to God and of good-will to man!
Hark! joining in chorus
The heavens bend o’er us!
The dark night is ending and dawn has begun;
Rise, hope of the ages, arise like the sun,
All speech flow to music, all hearts beat as one!

Postscript: I had absolutely no idea what image to use today, so I offer you a big cat in a box. Because it delights me a hell of a lot more than this hymn does. So there.

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This is traditionally a cheery piece – one of the few songs Unitarian Universalists feel comfortable clapping to. Everybody knows it and harmonizes to it and it feels sweet and simple and fun.

This morning, after a Saturday full of the unreasonable ban against some of our Muslim neighbors – which, despite a stay from a federal judge, is still being enforced; the dire predictions of war from China; and this morning’s news that the National Security Council no longer has any military members but only ideological sycophants… this morning, “This Little Light of Mine” is a call to arms.

It can be so easy to hide under the covers in fear, or be paralyzed by the overwhelming need, or sit back and say “my days of activism are over.” But we cannot. To quote Bernice Johnson Reagon, “we who believe in freedom cannot rest.”

And this song – again from the African American spirituals tradition – reminds us to show up. Despite the pain and fear and anger, we have to let our light shine – a light of freedom, justice, equality, openness, courage, compassion, peace, love.

Let us turn this song from a sweet, light, happy song to a song of defiant protest and resistance.

(And if you really want to get inspired, listen to this version, sung by Sweet Honey in the Rock.)

This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine.
This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine.
This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine.
Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.

Ev’rywhere I go, I’m gonna let it shine…

Building up a world, I’m gonna let it shine…

Amen.

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I don’t know where to begin with this one – while it is a joyful song of determination to sing, there are so many layers of complexity, and as a middle-aged white woman, I feel uncomfortable making any assumptions or proclamations about the things that make me go “hmm” here. So I’ll pose some questions and let those be my reflection.

According to Jacqui James in Between the Lines, the Hymnal Commission decided to rename the tune “Ethelred” to honor pioneering African American minister Egbert Ethelred Brown. Yet this is a traditional spiritual. So… cool? Not cool because it is still white people making a change to a song of the enslaved? Shortsighted but decent? Or totally excellent? (I know a member of that commission reads this blog, so I hope he’ll jump in with some insight.)

Also curious: many of the spirituals in our hymnal are called “spiritual” but this one is called “folk tune” – and I wonder why it’s parsed that way.

A question for ministers and music directors – how freely do you change/shift zipper songs like this to be more inclusive? We’re coming up on some more soon that sing to brothers and sisters, which reinforces a gender binary we now know to be incomplete. So do you add a verse? Change a verse and leave out another? Sing it as is to honor its origins (not knowing for certain what the original words are anyway)?

And then, if you do make changes, are you colonizing another’s music, or following a time-honored folk tradition? Can a folk musician like Reggie Harris change it because he is black, but not Joe Jencks because he is white? What are the rules? Are there rules?

I guess my questions come up in my attempts to be better as an ally but not treat it all so preciously either. I know that no matter what your place of privilege, you never get allyship 100% right, but I’d like to always be doing a little better, and music is one place where I can tangibly enter the work.

I’m on my way to the freedom land.
I’m on my way to the freedom land.
I’m on my way to the freedom land.
I’m on my way, great God, I’m on my way.

I asked my sister, come and go with me..

I asked my brother, come and go with me….

If they say no, I’ll go anyhow….

I’m on my way, and I won’t turn back…

And… as a song for our times, this certainly is one. We’re taking up the call to resistance, and asking those around us to come with us, to resist oppression and be free. And for people with marginalized identities, it is a matter of life and death. Yet: I hesitate to use this song for a new purpose without interrogating it first.

Yeah, this work is hard. But it’s a good hard.

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Happy Hundredth Hymn! Thanks, readers, for being here, commenting, engaging, and occasionally educating.  Only 390 more to go!

Now… this song is a unquestionably a zipper song. It is highly repetitive and easy to learn. What’s fun about it is when people start harmonizing – it turns it from ‘dear god make it stop’ (with flashbacks to 60 prepubescent campers on a bus singing ’99 Bottles of Beer’ until you die a little inside) to fun, communal sing-along. And the lyrics move – joy and sorrow intertwined.

And here’s a little bit of fun that I discovered this morning quite by accident while waiting for the coffee to brew: “She’ll Be Coming Round the Mountain” is a perfect countermelody. I’m not sure what the point of the mashup would be, but it’s a reminder of how similar songs can be when the appear to come from the same root, the same locale, the same peoples.

There’s not much else for me to say musically. That being said, I am always surprised when a simple song like this suddenly gets to something deep. Because emotionally, this song reflects what I suspect many of us long for these days – moving, active, forceful peace, joy, love – to help us through the pain and tears – to help give us towering strength. There are a lot of hard days ahead, and we need peace, not like a stagnant pond but like a moving, thriving, ever-changing river.

I’ve got peace like a river,
I’ve got peace like a river,
I’ve got peace like a river in my soul. (2x)

I’ve got joy like a fountain…

I’ve got love like an ocean…

I’ve got pain like an arrow…

I’ve got tears like the raindrops …

I’ve got strength like a mountain …

May we have all we need.

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I feel like I have been nothing but critical lately – which may be connected to my general mood or just because I hit some hymns that don’t work for me. But this morning – this weird morning that on Long Island is disturbingly warm (53 degrees) and blustery and elsewhere is bitterly cold and icy – I will dwell on the positive.

Well, for starters, the tune (Was Gott Thut – “what does God do?”) is a sweet German melody. It’s easy to sing and isn’t boring at all.

The lyrics suggest this would make a great sung grace at a big event like Thanksgiving – at least the third stanza. And, if for any reason For the Beauty of the Earth can’t fulfill its duties, we can call in this one as a substitute.

What’s interesting is that this was also in Songs for the Celebration of Life (the previous [blue] hymnal) – so Unitarian Universalists for a while have felt it necessary to have one and a spare when it comes to thanking the divine for nature with a hymn that features a repeating chorus.

So yay. It’s a spring hymn of thanks. Five days before Christmas during a terrible cold snap. Yay!

For flowers that bloom about our feet,
for tender grass so fresh and sweet,
for song of bird and hum of bee,
for all things fair we hear or see: Giver of all, we thank thee.

For blue of stream and blue of sky,
for pleasant shade of branches high,
for fragrant air and cooling breeze,
for beauty of the blooming trees: Giver of all, we thank thee.

For this new morning with its light,
for rest and shelter of the night,
for health and food, for love and friends,
for everything thy goodness sends: Giver of all, we thank thee.

Okay, so I really actually like that last verse. I’d sing that for grace on Christmas Day. In fact, I might.

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Let’s just tuck right in, shall we? This is a pretty and light tune (albeit with an odd harmonic choice in the second phrase), and it accompanies pretty and light lyrics, almost.

Because while everything is lovely and wonderful in nature, from star to sea, from earth to sky, apparently our lyricist, John Greenleaf Whittier, thinks people are terrible: “nature’s signs and voices shame the prayerless heart within.”

REALLY? You’re shaming me and my alleged prayerless heart? Seriously? Is this supposed to be a wakeup call to humanity? Is this “consider the lilies of the field” taken to its cynical conclusion? Or is this another of those gross misinterpretations of Thoreau? There is a negative attitude about humanity in that last verse that really gets under my skin.

I’m not saying we’re the best and screw the earth – not that at all. We have a sacred duty as earthlings to care for the planet and all that lives on it. But we are here, and we have developed to have these creative, emotional, innovative, self-reflective, self-saving and sometimes self-destructive minds. We are here, with hearts that are full of prayers whether we name them such or not. We have hopes and dreams and wishes and worries. To indict us as prayerless in a paradigm where nature is both separate from us and better than us? Not having it.

The harp at Nature’s advent strung has never ceased to play;
the song the stars of morning sung has never died away.

The prayer is made, and praise is given, by all things near and far;
the ocean looketh up to heaven and mirrors every star.

The green earth sends sweet incense up from many mountain shrines;
from folded leaf and dewy cup now pours the sacred wine.

The blue sky is the temple’s arch, its transept, earth and air;
the music of its starry march, the chorus of a prayer.

So nature keeps the reverent frame with which all years begin;
and nature’s signs and voices shame the prayerless heart within.

Seriously not having it.

(I am willing to concede there may be another interpretation, but I’m really struck by that final phrase and how turned off I am by it, so even a well-intentioned corrective won’t lead me to use it. I’m just not with this hymn.)

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And with one turn of a page, we enter the sublimely ridiculous.

Yes, it’s time, in these last days of autumn, as the nights grow dark and cold, to begin singing our Spring and Summer songs. Because if spiritual practice teaches us anything, it’s to expect bizarre coincidences and juxtapositions. Plus, this is what I get for starting this project on my early October birthday. If I’d started on January 1st, like a normal person might have done, we’d be in the start of March right now and all this singing about spring might make sense. But no, I started on October 4th, which means we’re stuck with spring tunes here in Advent.

I’d say I’m sorry, but if you’re like me, you’re enjoying the juxtaposition too, delighting in my fake misery, and maybe a little relieved that I am giving you a break from the constant cacophony of carols this season brings. (Just remember this feeling when it’s May and we’re working through the aforementioned cacophony of carols.)

I will say this: I am glad we start with this hymn, a beloved and familiar tune, and more lyrics from our man Sam (Samuel Longfellow, that is).

Lo, the earth awakes again — Alleluia!
From the winter’s bond and pain.
Alleluia! Bring we leaf and flower and spray — Alleluia!
to adorn this happy day. Alleluia!

Once again the word comes true,
Alleluia! All the earth shall be made new. Alleluia!
Now the dark, cold days are o’er, Alleluia!
Spring and gladness are before. Alleluia!

Change, then, mourning into praise, Alleluia!
And, for dirges, anthems raise. Alleluia!
How our spirits soar and sing, Alleluia!
How our hearts leap with the spring! Alleluia!

As I sang this – especially the second verse, I thought about how it’s maybe not so bad to sing a spring hymn in autumn, as it reminds us that the dark, cold days we’re facing now will not last – even though at some point it feels like we will never see light and feel warmth again.

I like this one. And because it’s a catchy tune, I will probably be singing it all day. Thank god the only one I will annoy with that is my cat.