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This was rather unexpected.

I’ve never sung this one before – lyrics are by Thomas Mikelson, who wrote the magnificent lyrics to Wake Now My Senses and was my home congregation’s first interim minister. The tune is by another colleague, Fred Wooden, whose generosity means a few of his books (pictured) are now in my library.

So even though I know the writers of this hymn, I’ve never sung it before. And that’s a shame, because this is a terrific hymn.

First, let’s look at Mikelson’s lyrics:

Sing of living, sing of dying, let them both be joined in one,
parts of an eternal process like the ever-circling sun.
From the freshness of each infant giving hope in what is new,
to the wisdom of the aged deepened by a longer view.

Open to a deeper loving, open to the gift of care,
searching for a higher justice, helping others in despair.
Through the tender bonds of living in a more inclusive way
we are opened more to suffering from the losses of each day.

My only criticism is that it’s only about generational differences, in a time when we need to sing about other differences as well. But maybe this is the jumping off point for services about living inclusively and expansively, living as if we believe the first principle.

The tune is lovely – a bit unexpected in places, but that gives it depth. It’s interesting that it’s set in 3/2 with 2/2 measures to even it off; it could easily been done in a squarer 4/4, but then the song wouldn’t dance. And while some people flip away as soon as they see time signature changes, they come naturally here and allow the melody to pulse rather than plod.

That I’d never sung this before is a shame. But I’m grateful to sing it now, this lovely, unexpected hymn.

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I need the hope of possibility.

I need the promise of unanswered questions.

I need the assurance of unsealed revelation.

Especially today, as I conclude my ministry at First Universalist Church of Southold and begin a community ministry in the arts and worship – a ministry whose form is not entirely clear but whose call is – I need these things in large supply, in my professional life, my personal life, and most definitely in my spiritual life.

This hymn – one of a few serious poems by early 20th century humorist Don Marquis – holds none of these things for me. In fact, it strikes me as rather determined to close the door to possibility and question, even as it promotes questioning in its third verse.

And it’s the third verse I really have a problem with. The first two aren’t bad – they’re a rather decent retelling of the creation story that is evolution. But the third verse…

A fierce unrest seethes at the core of all existing things:
it was the eager wish to soar that gave the gods their wings.
There throbs through all the worlds that are this heartbeat hot and strong,
and shaken systems, star by star, awake and glow in song.

But for the urge of this unrest these joyous spheres are mute;
but for the rebel in our breast had we remained as brutes.
When baffled lips demanded speech, speech trembled into birth;
one day the lyric word shall reach from earth to laughing earth.

From deed to dream, from dream to deed, from daring hope to hope,
the restless wish, the instant need, still drove us up the slope.
Sing we no governed firmament, cold, ordered, regular;
we sing the stinging discontent that leaps from star to star.

The first two lines are great. yes! This is how many of us, whatever our particularities, think is true – humanity driven by some need, some hope, something possible. It’s at the core of our Unitarian Universalism.

But then, boom. Marquis shuts the door hard, never letting our drive find what some call God. Nope. We don’t sing about that. We’re discontented beings in a wide scary universe. Period. No possibility of a new revelation. No possibility of Mystery.

Is this what we want our humanists and atheists to think? That in fact, science has sealed possibility and hope and cut us off from mystery? Because that’s how I read this last verse, and it is most assuredly not what I want anyone to think. I want neither science nor religious belief to seal possibility. Instead, I want them to work together to show us how much more is possible, how much more mystery there is in the universe, how many more questions there are than we can ever imagine.

I appreciate that some would be comforted by this hymn. And I do like the first two verses as an alternative to hymns like Earth Was Given as a Garden. But I will never sing that third verse.

I need the hope of possibility.

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Dear STLT Hymnal Commission:

I love you, you know I do. I have been impressed with all you did to come up with this collection, and I have been honored to hear some of the stories from your chair, Mark Belletini. I know it was hard. I know it required a lot of sometimes unpopular choices in order to serve the greater good. I know you found some amazing songs to include and commissioned some amazing music that is now among our favorites.

But this one… well, I’m sure it makes someone happy, but lordy, it isn’t me.

First of all – this tune. Again with this tune. I was kinda hoping the commission from Thomas Oboe Lee was a one and done, getting it out of the way early in Songs of Spirit. But no. It shows up again. (I won’t go on about the tune here – I did a pretty fair job of expressing my opinion when it showed up the first time.)

And you know I generally like John Andrew Storey’s lyrics, but yowza, this pair of verses sets my teeth on edge:

Children of the human race, offspring of our Mother Earth,
not alone in endless space has our planet given birth.
Far across the cosmic skies countless suns in glory blaze,
and from untold planets rise endless canticles of praise.

Should some sign of others reach this, our lonely planet Earth,
differences of form and speech must not hide our common worth.
When at length our minds are free, and the clouds of fear disperse,
then at last we’ll learn to be Children of the Universe.

Now understand, Hymnal Commission, I am both a theist and a humanist, and I’m a Star Trek fan, and I don’t think we’re alone in the universe. But I hate this philosophy of first contact that says we have to get our shit together before anyone will notice us. This hymn is scolding us (and making us cross for having to sing this terrible tune, too).

I love you, Hymnal Commission, but I’d personally recommend this one for the chopping block.

Sincerely,
Kimberley “thank all that is holy that there are great hymns coming up in the next few days” Debus

—

Image is a still from Star Trek: First Contact – the moment that humans on earth were first visited by a humanoid race from another planet.

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I’ve probably started this post eight or nine times so far. And nothing witty or insightful has shown up in any of those beginnings.

It’s not that this isn’t a lovely hymn – it is.

It’s not that this isn’t a good message for us to sing together – it is.

Maybe its that it goes on for five verses – perfect for a General Assembly crowd (written for the 1988 GA in Palm Springs, CA) because it takes five verses to get to the back of the hall, but a bit tiresome in a tiny room of 40.

Or maybe because I don’t know it well and as written seems sing-songy to me.

The fact of the matter is that Unitarian Universalist musician Grace McLaren has written a lovely hymn:

Touch the earth, reach the sky!
Walk on shores while spirits fly
over the ocean, over the land,
our faith a quest to understand.

Touch the earth, reach the sky!
Children ask the reasons why.
In our lives the answers show,
and by our love they learn and grow.

Touch the earth, reach the sky!
All are born and all shall die;
life’s the time left in between,
to follow a star, to build a dream.

Touch the earth, reach the sky!
Hug the laughter, feel the cry.
May we see where we can give,
for this is what it means to live.

Touch the earth, reach the sky!
Soar with courage ever high;
spirits joining as we fly,
to touch the earth, to reach the sky.

Don’t get me wrong – it’s a solid hymn. Good, earth-based and humanist-grounded lyrics. And in the event Wake Now My Senses, Make Channels for the Streams of Love, or With Heart and Mind suddenly disappear from the hymnal, the Life of Integrity section would still be well tended.

It just doesn’t sing for me. It doesn’t inspire me this morning. Again, maybe I need to sing it with a good accompaniment in a big congregation.

And I know I can’t expect every hymn to stir me, just as I can’t expect every spiritual practice to click either. I just wish this one did.

—

West Wing fans: you nearly got a picture of William Fichtner as Judge Christopher Mulready. I guess I finally found a moment of wit. 🙂

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As I’m going through this section, entitled The Life of Integrity, I realize I use (or should use) these hymns a lot – and somehow am not at all getting bored, like I have with other sections of our hymnal. (I’m lookin’ at you, Christmas…)

It’s not surprising, as our Universalism calls us to love the hell out of this world. And as I scan back through a few years of services, it seems that one of these hymns from this category shows up easily 75% of the time. I admit I am feeling a little guilty for using them too much. But maybe they are filled with the messages most worth repeating – they say we only really preach one sermon, after all.

What I like about this hymn (and the others in this section) is that there’s both an openness and an urgency to the message – that liberal religion has not just benefit but also responsibility:

With heart and mind and voice and hand may we this time and place transcend
to make our purpose understood: a mortal search for mortal good,
a firm commitment to the goal of justice, freedom, peace for all.

A mind that’s free to seek the truth; a mind that’s free in age and youth
to choose a path no threat impedes, wherever light of conscience leads.
Our martyrs died so we could be a church where every mind is free.

A heart that’s kind, a heart whose search makes Love the spirit of our church,
where we can grow, and each one’s gift is sanctified, and spirits lift,
where every door is open wide for all who choose to step inside.

These lyrics are by Alicia Carpenter (commissioned for a Service of the Living Tradition), who also wrote Just As Long As I Have Breath; it is any wonder these two make such a good pair? More than once they have bracketed a service – this one to welcome and set the stage, the other to send out with a call to action.

Regarding the tune – we’ve sung it before, awkwardly I think, in The Winds of Change. But the German tune Mach’s Mit Mir, Gott works extremely well here. I’d love to hear a recast in a different time signature, or played with a swing, because it can get a bit stodgy; perhaps a 6/4 (my new favorite time signature) would help it out? Lord, please send me an accompanist who can come over with a keyboard every day and play hymns with me (and maybe bring coffee)… that’s not too much to ask, is it?

—

The image is from UU World’s Flickr page – of Rev. Cheryl Walker preaching at the 2017 Service of the Living Tradition, asking us to decide if we’re trying to make a name or make a difference. I was honored to be one of the many on stage, recognized for the transitions in our ministries.

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It seems that every month or so there is a day I let my faithful –  and even not so faithful – readers down. Today is one of them. I’ll chalk it up to utter exhaustion after an amazing, if sleep-deprived, week at SUUSI, and a beautiful but long drive home from the Smoky Mountains of North Carolina to the foothills of the Adirondacks. And I’m not a kid anymore. This pace, while awesome in the moment, does take its toll. I slept in late, and even after two cups of coffee, I just can’t handle a new tune in four flats on my little keyboard app.

I’m sorry to say this tune, by composer Dede Duson and commissioned for this hymnal, seems like it is beautiful; but I just can’t get a handle on it. And as it turns out, the last time I encountered one of Duson’s tunes, I was also letting you all down, finding the tune too hard to manage through less-than-perfect conditions. Perhaps I need to find an accompanist I can call on mornings such as this to play tunes for me.

Anyway. Having not sung the tune – thus letting you and my practice down – I turn to the lyrics, by our old friend John Andrew Storey.

The star of truth but dimly shines behind the veiling clouds of night,
but ev’ry searching eye divines some partial glimmer of its light.

The certainty for which we crave no mortal ones can ever know;
uncharted waters we must brave, and face whatever winds may blow.

Though for safe harbor we may long, we must not let our courage fail,
and, though the winds of doubt blow strong, upon the trackless ocean sail.

From honest doubt we shall not flee, nor fetter the inquiring mind,
for where the hearts of all are free, a truer faith we there shall find.

I love this lyric. Every single line of it. The idea that we not only are able to have our answers questioned but that we can engage the search together, and that our hearts will open wide in the search? Sign me up.

I wish I was familiar with the tune and could teach it – I could have used this hymn several times in the last year. I mean, I could have us sing it to a different tune, like Winchester New (also used for As Tranquil Streams), but I would really like to use the new tune written for us.

So I ask: anyone willing to sign up to be on the other end of a Dial-A-Pianist Hotline?

—

Anyone know the artist of this image of safe harbor? Google is also failing me today.

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Here at SUUSI, we have a yearly theme; this year’s is “Blessed Is the Path,” and the resulting worship services have explored the many ways we are on our path, what we may encounter on the path, and what it means to say ‘yes’ to the path.

Of course, my mind has spent a little energy thinking about the path I’m heading down; a path that’s mine and mine alone. Friend and colleague Karen Armina (formerly Quinlan) reminded us of these words from Joseph Campbell:

If you can see your path laid out in front of you step by step, you know it’s not your path. Your own path you make with every step you take. That’s why it’s your path.

Our hymn today is about the paths we make. It’s not about looking back at our accomplishments (for which we do also give praise) but about looking forward to the next step – the untilled field, the open sea, the roads ahead.

Our praise we give for harvests earned,
the fruits of labor garnered in;
but praise we more the soil unturned
from which the yield is yet to win.

Our praise we give for harbor’s lee,
for moorings safe in waters still;
but more the leagues of open sea,
where favoring gales our canvas fill.

Our praise we give for journey’s end,
the inn, all warmth and light and cheer;
but more for length’ning roads that wend
through dust and heat and hilltops clear.

Soren Kierkegaard is famously quoted as saying “Life is lived forward but understood backward.” The path ahead – unturned, unsailed, untraveled – makes sense only because we look back and know that what we do creates a life well lived.

Now I know I’m waxing poetic this morning and not saying much about the hymn itself. So let me pause to say the tune is a gorgeous piece by Percy Carter Buck, and the lyrics are part of a longer piece written by Unitarian minister John Coleman Adams.

It is a lush and lovely hymn, one I would definitely use at an ingathering or a sending off. Or maybe another time of the year – because our journey never ends until we do, and the time we are on the path is a lot longer than the preparation or reflection.

As I and my colleagues across denominations are wont to say, that’ll preach.

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So… I’m not sure about this one.

On the one hand, it’s a wonderful piece about our first source – our personal experience of awe and wonder, singing praise to the “star of truth”  – which is a wonderful name for that which some call God.

On the other hand, there seems to be a bit of humanist snark in the second verse – ‘though ancient creed and custom may point another way’ – which seems to point away from anything which some call God.

I guess my uncertainty lies in not being entirely sure who or what it is that lyricist Minot Judson Savage (who also wrote Seek Not Afar for Beauty) thinks we are singing praises to and why.

O star of truth, downshining through clouds of doubt and fear,
I ask beneath thy guidance my pathway may appear:
however long the journey, however hard it be,
though I be lone and weary, lead on, I follow thee.

I know thy blessed radiance can never lead astray,
though ancient creed and custom may point another way;
or through the untrod desert, or over trackless sea,
though I be lone and weary, lead on, I follow thee.

I’m prepared for dozens – baker’s dozens! – of you to have a clearer view of this hymn (set to a sweet Finnish melody called Nyland). I admit I’m a bit sinus foggy and headachy this morning, which never helps with clarity. And I’d welcome a discussion about the hymn.

The good news is that even headachy, the tune is sweet and it was a lovely song to start my day with. I sometimes have to remember that the experience of this spiritual practice does matter as much as the words I put on the page. And that experience was sweet.

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I don’t wanna do this any more if it means I have to be eloquent and insightful about hymns like this one.

Now I am sure there were good reasons for the Hymnal Commission to include it. The lyrics – written by Unitarian minister, professor at Meadville, and church historian Charles Lyttle – are indeed a tribute to our frontier congregations: this was written for the centennial of the Unitarian Society in Geneva, Illinois. It contains a lot of personal-to-them metaphors and phrases. And I’m sure, the commission felt it important to honor that part of our living tradition, especially since we can be so Boston-centered.

I get it. I really do.

But here is another example of a hymn that goes nowhere, and worst of all, is set to that damn Nicea tune (Holy, Holy, Holy). And you KNOW I have opinions about that one.

Anyway, here are the lyrics:

Bring, O Past, your honor; bring, O Time, your harvest,
golden sheaves of hallowed lives and minds by Truth made free;
come, you faithful spirits, builders of this temple:
“To Holiness, to Love, and Liberty.”

Ring, in glad thanksgiving, bell of grief and gladness,
forth to town and prairie let our festal greeting go.
Voices long departed in your tones re-echo:
“Praise to the Highest, Peace to all below.”

Shrine of frontier courage, Sinai of its vision,
home and hearth of common quest for life’s immortal good,
stand, in years oncoming, sentinel of conscience,
as through the past your stalwart walls have stood.

Church of pure reformers, pioneers undaunted,
company of comrades sworn to keep the spirit free;
long o’er life’s swift river preach th’eternal gospel:
faith, hope, and love for all humanity.

To be honest, sitting in my temporary digs at SUUSI with a view of the Smoky Mountains, having already heard and sung inspiring music (and we’ve hardly gotten started yet), I am not in a good headspace to be singing the praises of this plodding hymn that, yes, I sang all four freaking verses of because I’m dedicated to this damn practice.

But I really don’t want to wax eloquently about this one, because… ugh.

—

Photo is of the Unitarian Society in Geneva, IL. A pretty church.

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Proof that this spiritual practice has changed me: Whenever I see an adaptation note at the bottom of the page now, I first go hunt down the original lyrics, because there’s a very good chance we did more than adjust some God, gender, and empire language. And there are times when I find that frustrating, because we’ve changed the meaning and intention, and that does dishonor to the original composer/lyricist. (See, for instance, my frustration with Holy, Holy, Holy.)

However, sometimes the adaptation is welcomed – and in the case of this hymn, quite well done by Beth Ide, who was a minister of religious education.

I’m actually going to start with the original lyric, written by William DeWitt Hyde, a Congregationalist minister who long served as president of Bowdoin College:

Creation’s Lord, we give Thee thanks That this Thy world is incomplete;
That battle calls our marshaled ranks; That work awaits our hands and feet.

That Thou hast not yet finished man; That we are in the making still,
As friends who share the Maker’s plan As sons who know the Father’s will.

Beyond the present sin and shame,  Wrong’s bitter, cruel, scorching blight,
We see the beckoning vision flame, The blessèd kingdom of the right.

What though the kingdom long delay, And still with haughty foes must cope?
It gives us that for which to pray, A field for toil and faith and hope.

Since what we choose is what we are, And what we love we yet shall be,
The goal may ever shine afar—The will to win it makes us free.

Rough, eh? I think so. It screams to me of that awful theology based on the Revelation of John that suggests there’s a metric shit-ton of hell to pay at Armageddon; on the plus side, this is saying “Jesus is coming, better get busy doing the ministry while we wait” and not – as modern Dominionists suggest – “Jesus is coming and we’re gonna make the conditions favorable to bring down Armageddon.”

Hyde’s hymn isn’t scary as all that, but it is most certainly not about the god of process theology, who Ide saw in Hyde’s text and in our own theologies. And thus, with some careful editing and some creative loving (see what I did there?) we now have an amazing, if still difficult hymn:

Creative love, our thanks we give that this, our world, is incomplete,
that struggle greets our will to live, that work awaits our hands and feet;

That we are not yet fully wise, that we are in the making still —
as friends who share one enterprise and strive to blend with nature’s will.

What though the future long delay, and still with faults we daily cope?
It gives us that for which to pray, a field for toil and faith and hope.

Since what we choose is what we are, and what we love we yet shall be,
the goal may ever shine afar — the will to reach it makes us free.

Now just because Ide changed the language to reflect a creator god rather than an omnipotent god, this doesn’t mean it’s all light and fluffy. No – this is serious. Here’s what she’s saying: We’re glad there’s work to be done. We are grateful there are still problems in the world for us to respond to.  We’re glad to be part of creating the world we want to see. We’re glad the moral arc of the universe is long so we can help build the beloved community, not just benefit from it.

No really, this is what Ide’s adaptation is saying. Think about this for a minute. I know I keep pausing as I write to think about it. That first verse… lord have mercy.

And here, I pause, and I wonder if this is a privileged stance to take.

How would I feel about this if I were a person of color? Would I stop at the first line and say “no, not so much with the incomplete…I’m tired now.” Or…would I approach it with side-eye and an “oh, so you finally figured this out, eh?” Or… would I approach it with some other view, including but not limited to that which I first approached with – the “oh, we get to be part of this creation and try to reach for the big goal.”

I don’t know, but as I write this, I recognize the traps this one may have left for us. (I welcome comments and commentary on this.)

A quick note about the tune, another gorgeous, lush, beautiful melody arranged by the master, Ralph Vaughan Williams. If you don’t know it, listen to the original setting here – the original carol is part of a longer piece called “Fantasia on Christmas Carols.”