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Welcome to the Freedom section of our hymnal, perhaps one of the most fraught sections – not because the songs aren’t good, or important to preserve, but because there’s no guiding language in the hymnal that helps us use the music with due diligence, and thus we wind up with misappropriation and colonization and a thousand other problems, just because “we have it, so we can sing it” is the unspoken rule.

It’s not necessarily going to be a fun section for us to go through. I admit, I’m already bracing for it, because I have opinions, and I know others do too. But I am committed to the practice, and so I will sing, and write, and probably contradict myself a time or two.

So strap in, folks. We’re about to get real with freedom songs.

The section starts with this hymn, which instantly makes me think of the US Civil War. Here are Jacob Trapp’s lyrics:

Let freedom span both east and west, and love both south and north,
in universal fellowship throughout the whole wide earth.

In beauty, wonder, everywhere, let us communion find;
compassion be the golden cord close-binding humankind.

Beyond all barriers of race, of color, caste, or creed,
let us make friendship, human worth, our common faith and deed.

Then east and west will meet and share, and south shall build with north,
one human commonwealth of good throughout the whole wide earth.

I’m not entirely certain I’m NOT supposed to think of the Civil War, even though there is a bounty of references to people from the other side of the planet. I say that, because the tune is an African American spiritual tune (adapted and harmonized by Harry T. Burleigh, an African American composer from Erie, PA). And while the tune is African American in origin, it has a distinctly Gaelic influence, again evidence of the convergence of the West Africans with the Irish and Scottish in Appalachia.

And lyrics like “south shall build with north” – combined with this tune, which for all the world could have been popular in the 1860s – bring images of the war and its aftermath to mind. Even if we also talk about east and west and castes.

It’s definitely a hymn that has made me go ‘hmmm”….not because there’s anything distinctly objectionable in it. In fact, it’s pretty inclusive for a lyric written in the mid-20th century. But something feels a tad… off. It’s just a feeling I have.

Like maybe, because I can’t stop thinking about the US Civil War when I sing this hymn, I recognize how much we are still fighting it, and how hard and sad it is.

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I am so confused.

This is a Kwanzaa hymn. The only one we have, apparently.

It is placed in this second source section, between In Time to Come and Freedom. I understand, from a sources point of view, why this isn’t slipped in between the Christmas and Epiphany hymns, but still.

Its lyrics (which are shockingly generic UU, except for “the lights of Kwanzaa”) are from an anonymous source, without even a clue from Between the Lines where they were found.

Its tune a very lovely little piece written by UU Musicians Network stalwart Betty Jo Angelbranndt (may she rest in peace), but definitely, if I may be so bold, a white people’s tune. For Christmas.

I am so confused. Kwanzaa is a celebration of African heritage in African American culture. And all we can manage is an anonymous lyric set to a white composer’s Christmas hymn?

I’m very confused. And awfully ashamed of us.

When all the peoples on this earth know deep inside their precious worth
when every single soul is free, we’ll earn the name Humanity.

The choice to be the best we can begins the day we say, “I am.”
The unity for which we sigh will never come through hate or lie.

The lights of Kwanzaa now proclaim that when we share our inner flame
and nurture root and branch with pride, we’ll harvest peace both far and wide.

Dear Anyone who might be on the next Hymnal Commission:

Do better.

Thanks,
the rest of us.

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I can’t decide if I’m just annoyed by this practice right now, or if the songs in this section are annoying me personally right now, or if really, I have stumbled into a difficult section and hymns like this annoy just about everyone.

Suffice it to say, I’m annoyed.

First off, I’m not so sure I am fond of the recasting of Christian hymns; I’m fine with finding ways that the original lyrics might hold new, expansive meaning for us, and I love using music in unexpected places. But this isn’t the first, nor do I expect it to be the last, example of a decidedly Christian lyric – in this case, by Jane Laurie Borthwick – being changed to remove its original intent.

Second off, I’m rather annoyed that this once Christian hymn has been set to a tune that is so strongly associated with a different set of lyrics, “Stand Up, Stand Up for Jesus” – I mean, it’s like they wanted us to think about Christian ideas REALLY BADLY but didn’t want to say it.

Seriously – I spent enough time in a Methodist church in my youth that I just can’t hear this tune without singing “Stand up, stand up for Jesus, ye soldiers of the cross…” and then cringe at the militarism. Forget how lovely the lyrics try to be about world community. The tune is as encoded with militarism as is the tune for Onward Christian Soldiers, which we sing as Forward Through the Ages.

Here are our lyrics:

Now is the time approaching, by prophets long foretold,
when all shall dwell together, secure and manifold.
Let war be learned no longer, let strife and tumult cease,
all earth a blessed garden and God the god of peace.

Let all that now divides us remove and pass away,
like mists of early morning before the blaze of day.
Let all that now unites us more sweet and lasting prove,
a closer bond of union, in blessed lands of love.

O long-expected dawning, come with your cheering ray!
Yet shall the promise beckon and lead us not astray.
O sweet anticipation! It cheers the watchers on
to pray, and hope, and labor, till all our work is done.

On their own, with no context and no melody, they’re not bad. Not great, certainly (and I am also annoyed with that old way of rhyming “prove” and “love”), but not horrific. But knowing they were originally about the second coming of Christ, and set to that tune?

Yep, I’m annoyed.

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It is possible I am about to ruin this hymn for some people.

If you can’t bear to read about the context of this lyric that might change how you see it,  close this window and go do something else. I say, write a letter to your Congress critter. I say, dive into some good work of resistance. Maybe that act for you today is to do art or play with children or run the errands you’ve been putting off. Whatever it is, if you don’t want this hymn ruined, go do it.

For those of you who have stayed, well, you still should do those things, but read first, because I can’t stop giggling. First, the lyrics – read them carefully, and relish in the beautiful language of Alfred, Lord Tennyson, as well as the beautiful vision of a world to be.

Not in vain the distance beacons. Forward, forward let us range.
Let the great world spin forever down the ringing grooves of change;
through the shadow of the globe we sweep ahead to heights sublime,
we, the heirs of all the ages, in the foremost files of time.

Oh, we see the crescent promise of that spirit has not set;
ancient founts of inspiration well through all our fancies yet;
and we doubt not through the ages one increasing purpose runs,
and the thoughts of all are widened with the process of the suns.

Yea, we dip into the future, far as human eye can see,
see the vision of the world, and all the wonder that shall be,
hear the war-drum throb no longer, see the battle flags all furled,
in the parliament of freedom, federation of the world.

Lovely, right? Stirring, right? And set to the triumphant melody “Ode to Joy” by Beethoven, it’s strong and inspiring.

Dear Reader, Alfred was writing about love gone wrong.

I’m not kidding.

In the poem “Locksley Hall”, the narrator of the poem is clearly a young man wondering what his future would be, and one evening, he catches a vision:

When I dipt into the future far as human eye could see;
Saw the Vision of the world and all the wonder that would be.—

Except it wasn’t a vision of the world as we might expect. It was a woman.

Our intrepid poet goes on for dozens of couplets about their meeting, their falling in love, and eventually the relationship ending. And in his despair, our narrator decided he’s so broken hearted that he’s done with women. The distant that beacons in “Not in vain the distant beacons” is a life on the sea and away from women.

THIS IS THE POEM OUR LYRICS ARE FROM.

Now, credit where credit is due – someone, somewhere, with identity lost to the annals of time, remembered the inspiring couplets buried in this poem, and managed to put them together into three sung verses that hold together fairly well.

And yes, it’s true that wisdom and inspiration can come out of otherwise secular pieces about other things. I am certainly not one to poo poo the idea that we find the sacred in the profane – hell, I co-led a service based on the Golden Girls, for goodness’ sake. And recently I played a game with myself to see how many turns of phrase from The West Wing I could sneak into the first 200 words of a sermon. (Seven, as it turns out.)

But I also know that I will never see this song the same way again, because at its root, it’s the grandiose thinking of a heartbroken young man.

Make of it what you will.

—

The image is of our brooding poet as a young man.

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Is it cheating to just say “ditto”?

Yesterday I talked about these aspirational hymns, that by and large (except for some tripping over language – today’s is the binary “sons and daughters”) are pretty good and visionary and all that we hope we, and Unitarian Universalism, and the world, can be. Then I talked about how really frustrated I am that we are on the brink of all this goodness and how can it be 2017 and we are still so seemingly far away?

Is it cheating to say I feel the same way after singing this hymn, and maybe the one after that too? Because I’m sensing a theme here.

Now…earlier this morning (when the cat awakened me before the crack of dawn), I looked briefly at social media, and an acquaintance reminded me of an episode of The West Wing, (“Hartsfield’s Landing”) where the president returns from a trip to India bearing gifts – namely, chess boards. He proceeds to set up a couple of games while the staff deal with an international crisis (and wait up for early primary results out of New Hampshire). One of the games is with Sam, who is let in on some of the international intrigue; as the situation is resolved, thanks to some pretty impressive global chess, Sam wonders aloud “how do you do it?” The president replies, “see the whole board.”

I mention this, in this rambling “ditto” of a blog post, because I think about how important it is for religious professionals to be holding the vision in the midst of crisis, to see not just the next move, but the move after that and ten moves after that. Things feel terrible right now, but there is a larger game being played, one that – if we see it – we can win.

This hymn – all of these hymns in this “In Time to Come” section – are us seeing the whole board.

Wonders still the world shall witness never known in days of old,
never dreamed by ancient sages, howsoever free and bold.
Sons and daughters shall inherit wondrous arts to us unknown,
when the dawn of peace its splendor over all the world has thrown.

They shall rule with winged freedom worlds of health and human good,
worlds of commerce, worlds of science, all made one and understood.
They shall know a world transfigured, which our eyes but dimly see;
they shall make its towns and woodlands beautiful from sea to sea.

For a spirit then shall move them we but vaguely apprehend —
aims magnificent and holy, making joy and labor friend.
Then shall bloom in song and fragrance harmony of thought and deed,
fruits of peace and love and justice — where today we plant the seed.

Our moves today affect what happens next…and what happens after that. Let us work today, but see the whole board.

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I would bet I am not the only person who has looked at the bottom of the page of a hymn, seen words like “traditional Asian melody” and flipped past. Not because we don’t appreciate music from other cultures, but because the scales are sometimes unfamiliar and the intervals are tricky for unrehearsed singers. I know that the times I have been asked to learn a song not composed on the pentatonic scale, it’s been a delightful mixture of challenging, surprising, and pleasing.

And… seeing it noted as the source on a hymn when your office administrator is not so patiently waiting for your submission on the order of service and the accompanist really just wants to know what you want the congregation to sing… well, that note makes it easy to flip past, in favor of a more well known but perhaps less perfect choice.

Well, flip no more, my friends, past number 136! I sat down with my little keyboard app and counted out the 6/4 time, and discovered that while there are a couple of surprising intervals, they make sense to our western-trained ears. But what’s really interesting is that just the melody, without knowing the accompaniment, this could have been in one of the shape note books (Southern Harmony, Union Harmony, etc.). Its 6/4 lends itself to a gentle, rolling hint of a lilt; the four-line structure follows a traditional pattern; and each phrase is remarkably predicable in that “we’ve sung a lot of hymns just like this” way. Of course, I don’t know what the accompaniment is like, and it’s possible that all of my ‘gee, this sounds like Appalachian shape note’ flies out the window. But seriously, flip no more, because it’s highly singable.

Of course… I say flip no more, unless the lyrics do you in.

Where gentle tides go rolling by along the salt sea strand,
the colors blend and roll as one together in the sand.
And often do the winds entwine to send their distant call.
The quiet joys of humankind, when love embraces all.

Where road and wheat together rise among the common ground,
the mare and stallion, light and dark, have thunder in their sound.
The rainbow sign, the blended flood still have my heart enthralled,
the quiet joys of what we share where love embraces all.

But we have come to plow the tides, the oat lies on the ground.
I hear their fires in the field, they drive the stallion down.
The roses bloom, both light and dark, the winds do seldom call.
The running sands recall the time when love embraces all.

Maybe it’s just me, but I had to look twice while singing to make sure of what section I was in – yep, still Love and Compassion. I kept getting distracted by the horses, and definitely the whole light and dark business. I also stumbled on what lyricist Richard Farina meant with the reference to Genesis (“The rainbow sign, the blended flood still have my heart enthralled”) – blended flood? I know it stopped me singing, and I bet I’m not the only one. And seriously, what’s all this light and dark business? And that third verse is really just word salad at this point.

I’m not entirely sure if I’m baffled because I’m not feeling especially metaphorical today or because the lyrics really don’t work. Either way, I really love the melody of this hymn and now need to find another 8.6.8.6.8.6 lyric to set to it.

So… flip as you will, but don’t let it be because of a hesitation on the melody.

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It is hard to sing this hymn and not see an indictment of the character of the person who currently occupies the White House. The person this hymn describes is the person we want as our president – strong, self-reliant, truthful, not swayed by the attractions of fame, power, and wealth.

And I think about this man who took the oath less than four weeks ago, and I realize how unhappy he probably is, and I feel a sense of pity. I’m sorry that he was brought up in an environment that likely prized winning over loving, acquisition over compassion, self-promotion over self-knowledge. I am sad for the little inner child that cries at night to be seen and loved, because I doubt the man has ever given his inner child one iota of thought, or love, or grace, or apology.

Our first principle calls us to affirm and promote the inherent worth and dignity of every person – we don’t have to like them, but we have to affirm their inherent worth. In our brighter moments, this is easy. In our darker moments, it’s a struggle. But I’d like to think that we who value the self-possessed and compassionate character defined in this hymn can open our hearts to include some sadness for the boy who never learned this and thus became the man we alternately fear and revile.

How happy are they born or taught,
who do not serve another’s will;
whose armor is their honest thought,
and simple truth their highest skill;

Whose passions not their rulers are;
whose souls are still, and free from fear,
not tied unto the world with care
of public fame or private ear;

Who have their lives from rumors freed,
whose conscience is their strong retreat,
whose state no flattery can feed,
nor ruin make oppressors great.

All such are freed from servile bands
of hope to rise, or fear to fall;
they rule themselves, but rule not lands,
and, having nothing, yet have all.

On a musical note – the tune suits the lyrics, but the lyrics don’t always scan well, meaning I sometimes tripped over which syllable goes where or figuring out exactly what word I was singing over several notes (“ruin” and “happy” especially tripped me up in the singing).

I think it’s a decent hymn and would use it now that I’ve discovered it. In fact, it might be spawning a sermon idea… yeah, that’ll preach.

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Until recently this has seemed rather a cheery hymn – a warm, confirming, gentle reminder of the butterfly effect. Yay, our world is one world, we’re all connected, our optimism matters.

Right now, this feels largely like a warning that the Osmond Brothers were wrong, and one bad apple CAN spoil the whole bunch. I’m not saying that the one bad apple will absolutely ruin it all for us, but that even his words and actions affect us. This hymn, by Cecily Taylor, is a warning: how one person thinks, sees the world, seeks power and riches at all costs – all these things affect us all. We need to make sure that we are many, thinking differently, loving, giving, sharing, so that perhaps our way affects more and builds bridges.

In “Last of the Time Lords” from the third season of Doctor Who, the Doctor learns that he is not the only Time Lord left, and the one they call The Master is still alive and desiring to take over earth – and destroy the Doctor in the process. While the Doctor is held captive and powerless, his companion, Martha Jones, travels the globe, telling the Doctor’s story, and getting them all to think one thing at one moment in time. When Martha confronts the Master, the Master is dismissive – he has, he thinks, managed to control everyone’s minds, to brainwash them into paying fealty only to him. Yet the secret, that Martha reveals, is that even that power can backfire if everyone is thinking the same regenerative thought at the same time, focusing on and thinking the same thing all at once: “Doctor.” As the moment arrives and everyone thinks about the Doctor, the Master’s power is vanquished and the Doctor is released and revived.

Imagine if we could harness that kind of power to vanquish hate, greed, and fear.

Our world is one world:
what touches one affects us all:
the seas that wash us round about,
the clouds that cover us, the rains that fall.

Our world is one world:
the thoughts we think affect us all:
the way we build our attitudes,
with love or hate, we make a bridge or wall.

Our world is one world:
its ways of wealth affect us all:
the way we spend, the way we share,
who are the rich or poor, who stand or fall?

Our world is one world:
just like a ship that bears us all:
where fear and greed make many holes,
but where our hearts can hear a different call.

What touches one does affect us all. May we be well warned and well prepared.

—

Photo is a BBC still from the episode, featuring the incredible Freema Agyeman as Martha Jones, and David Tennant as the Doctor. (Martha has always been my favorite companion – sad she was given such short shrift by showrunner Stephen Moffat.)

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Dear readers, I’m afraid I will, for the first time in this practice, completely fail you. I am on the verge of illness and I don’t know this one at all – and my feeble attempts to plunk it out on my phone’s keyboard was futile.

I may come back to this one when I feel more focused – maybe you have some opinions you can share in comments here or Facebook that I can incorporate into a fuller exploration.

All I can say right now is that nothing about this captured or inspired me or enraged me. It was just too much today. I apologize.

One world this, for all its sorrow;
one world shaping one tomorrow;
one humanity, though riven, we,
to whom a world is given.
From one world there is no turning;
for one world the prophet’s yearning.
One, the world of poets, sages;
one world, goal of all the ages.

World so eagerly expected,
world so recklessly rejected,
one, as common folk have willed it,
one, as covenants can build it:
world of friendly ways and faces,
cherished arts and honored races,
one world, free in word and science;
people free, its firm reliance.

“Honored races” tho….? Yeah, that caught my eye as I scrolled down. Hmm….

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Thank all that is holy for this hymn practice. Because of it, I was finally able to supplant the earworm my colleague Erika Hewitt gave me yesterday. (It was “One Tin Soldier.” No, I am not going to link to it, or sing it in any way. If it becomes your earworm, it wasn’t me.)

But also, thank all that is holy for this hymn practice because I entered it today anxious. I have little problem engaging political debate with others – I majored in it in undergrad for goodness’ sake. But I have no constitution for this kind of argument with family. It crushes my heart, and I get an anxiety attack, which causes me to stumble and be set on the defensive – a position I am already too familiar with as the youngest by 13 years. When my conservative brother and cousin engaged late last night, I shut down, and this morning asked them to not engage me on this for exactly these reasons. I value our relationships more than who will win a political fight, and knowing I enter at a disadvantage, it makes these fights potentially damaging to those familiar bonds.

And then I turn to this hymn by Berkley Moore, which holds a special meaning this morning – almost as if the Divine felt I needed a particularly moving punctuation mark at the end of my comment to them. I know that’s not what this hymn is actually about – but today, in this moment, it is speaking to me on a very personal level.

I’m not sure I can say much that will help anyone else – except to say that no matter our intent in worship, no matter what the intent of a writer or composer, the elements (songs, readings, sermons, rituals, visuals, etc.) will meet people where they are, not where we necessarily expect them to be. Today, this one is meeting me in my anxiety.

Let love continue long,
and show to us the way,
and if that love be strong,
no hurt can have a say;
and if that love remain but strong,
no hurt can ever have a say.

If love cannot be found,
though common faith prevails,
when love does not abound,
a common faith will fail.
When human love does not abound,
a common faith will always fail.

If we in love unite,
debate can cause no strife:
for with this love in sight,
disputes enrich our life.
For with this bond of human love,
disputes can mean a richer life.

May love continue long,
and lead us on our way:
for if that love be strong,
no hurt can have a say.
For if that love remain but strong,
no hurt can ever have a say.

So may it be.

Today’s pic is not exactly the scene outside my window at the moment – we just shifted from heavy snow to sleet – but it’s reminiscent….