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It’s non sequitur day here on the Far Fringe – I have several utterly unrelated thoughts, so I’m just going to write them and let you make up the transitions in your head.

I would love to know exactly what English pronunciations were like in previous centuries that allowed ‘sword’ to be rhymed with ‘word’ and ‘remove’ with ‘love’.

Somewhat related, is this particular pronunciation found in a particular dialect in a particular corner of England, one that our lyricist John Andrew Storey hails from? Because while you half expect it from Shakespeare, Milton, Blake, Coleridge, and even Keats and Byron, you don’t much see it in 20th century writing.

I know it’s set to a 19th century German tune (Lobb Den Herrn, Die Morgansonne), but I wanted to sing it to Westminister Abbey (by Henry Purcell, most familiarly used in Sing Out Praises for the Journey).

This song should be sung at every UN General Assembly and in every war room and situation room in the world.

I’m not sure I would ever use this hymn unless I was talking about war and peace.

I’m not sure who Storey expects to found the dynasty of love – maybe this is an implicit “let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me.” All I know is that if we’re to cease from warring, we need to start in our congregations’ meeting rooms and let go of the petty, inconsequential fights (see Nancy McDonald Ladd’s sermon at the 2016 General Assembly).

Far too long, by fear divided, we have settled with the sword
quarrels which should be decided by the reconciling word.

Now the nations are united, though as yet in name alone,
and the distant goal is sighted which the prophet souls have shown.

May, at least, we cease from warring, barriers of hate remove,
and, earth’s riches freely sharing, found the dynasty of love.

And… scene. Hope you’re not running late because your devices failed to awaken you for Daylight Saving Time. And if you are, what are you reading for? Get going!

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If it seemed like I phoned it in a bit the last few days, well, you’re not wrong. The truth is, I could blame it on being sick, but mostly I blame it on my personal fears that I wouldn’t treat the freedom songs from the African American spirituals tradition well – and in fact I may have been unclear or hurtful more than once in my efforts to seek balance and information. For all this, I apologize.

What I won’t apologize for, however, is a sense of pride in myself that despite the horrible sinus headaches and annoying coughs, I have kept this up. Much like those hard weeks after the election, I felt a sense of commitment to myself and the process. And that matters. (Now if I could only feel the same sense of commitment to exercise…)

Anyway… we’re on to the Labor and Learning hymns, beginning with this iconic song of the labor movement. In learning more about the song, I ran across an interview with singer-songwriter John McCutcheon, who spoke of his admiration of this song, which is

able to say everything you need to say in four lines. I tried to write verses for it and they were just pointless. … They can’t be improved. It was like a perfect distillation of the sentiment of the song. … the way it talks about the basic, the most basic things about communities and unions, and … it’s just a perfect song as a piece of craft work.

The song, like most folk music, has its own stories, with various sources claiming various origins. In his songbook Where Have All the Flowers Gone, Pete Seeger says this:

Waldemar Hille, editing the People’s Songs bulletin in 1948, once showed me two short verses he found when researching U.S. labor history:

Step by step the longest march can be won, can be won.
Many stones can form an arch, singly none, singly none.
And by union, what we will can be accomplished still;
drops of water turn a mill, singly none, singly none.

It was printed in the preamble to the constitution of an early coal miner’s union. Says Wally, “good verse.” Says I, “What’s the tune?”

“I don’t know,” says Wally, “I suppose some old Irish tune might fit it. Like the song from the Irish famine of the 1840’s, ‘The Praties they Grow Small.’”

“Let’s try it,” says I. It fit. And has been sung to that melody ever since.

And so this is the melody we sing. Two simple, compact, complete couplets – a perfect introduction to this section, and a good section to be starting on this day after the International Women’s Day general strike, A Day Without a Woman. There will be more space to talk about women and the labor movement in upcoming songs… so I’ll save my energy for those.

For now, I leave you with this wonderful, short, meaningful song. I’m glad we sing it.

 

 

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When I started this practice, I intended to talk about what was on my mind, what the song brought up for me. As it has evolved, I have incorporated a lot of history, literary criticism, and musicology, along with my thoughts and feelings.

My thought today is that this song, thought to be a response to the Emancipation Proclamation, must speak for itself.

Oh, freedom, oh, freedom, oh, freedom, over me;
and before I’d be a slave,
I’d be buried in my grave,
and go home to my God and be free.

No more moaning, no more moaning, no more moaning over me;
and before I’d be a slave,
I’d be buried in my grave,
and go home to my God and be free.

There’ll be singing, there’ll be singing, there’ll be singing over me;
and before I’d be a slave,
I’d be buried in my grave,
and go home to my God and be free.

A final note: while today is a general strike, A Day Without Women, I recognize that actually striking is a privileged position, and most women will not be able to completely strike, even if it’s just their work at home for family. For me, I signed up for events before the strike was announced that I cannot back out of, nor should I. Instead, I will wear red, and I will remember that at my worst I have more freedom than most, and that my work must be in part to ensure all who identify as women are free.

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Today’s post will be very short, as I have succumbed finally to the respiratory crud going around. But I do have a thing or two to say about this song, which I could not sing, physically or emotionally.

First, I am glad we have a chance to see some of the less cheerful, less hopeful spirituals – this more than any other song that I’ve encountered shows the realities and cruelty of slavery, and the sadness of all who died because of it.

But also, this is more evidence that the hymnal isn’t a book of songs to sing, it is a collection of music that speaks to our living tradition, some of which are preserved (I suspect) for historical purposes. This song speaks to the dark realities of slavery, which some Unitarians and Universalists fought against and some Unitarians and Universalists fought for. Ours is an ugly and complicated history around slavery, colonization, and race relations.

This song sits in our hymnal as a stark reminder.

No more auction block for me. No more, no more.
No more auction block for me, many thousand gone.

No more driver’s lash for me. No more, no more.
No more driver’s lash for me, many thousand gone.

No more peck of corn for me. No more, no more.
No more peck of corn for me, many thousand gone.

No more pint of salt for me. No more, no more.
No more pint of salt for me, many thousand gone.

But for god’s sake, unless you have a very particular context and very particular performers, don’t sing this. Let it speak without singing.

—

Illustration from Harper’s Weekly, July 1861.

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I once almost made a mistake with this hymn.

It was spring 2011, and a small committee of Unitarian Universalists from four NY Capital Region congregations were planning our third joint service. We had moved to a new venue, which features an historic tracker organ, and we decided to do a hymn sing before the service, featuring the organ. Thus, we were selecting familiar, rousing hymns we thought would sound especially good on the organ, and I suggested this one.

One of the committee members, colleague Viola (Vee) Abbitt, recoiled, feeling some shock that I had cavalierly suggested this hymn be used without context. Vee explained her concerns, namely that this piece is considered the African American National Anthem and is not to be thought of as just another hymn, especially when it would be so casually sung by a predominantly white crowd greeting each other and finding their seats.

Of course, I quickly eliminated it from the list, and later went home to learn more.

I learned that this song, originally written as a poem by James Weldon Johnson and set to music by his brother John Rosamond Johnson, was sung by a group of young black children at a segreated school in Jacksonville, Florida, to honor Booker T. Washington. It became popular almost immediately, and by 1919, the NAACP dubbed it the African American National Anthem. It is said that this was one of Martin Luther King, Jr.’s favorite hymns.

And thus, we must be careful about using it.

Yes, these powerful lyrics could be sung about, by, and for many today – and yet it is specific enough that we should not consider for a moment adopting it or colonizing it for other needs. I think back to the lesson I learned in seminary, that we cannot make a presumption of sameness or else we run the risk of normalizing events, attitudes, and experiences that are not shared, not universal, not normal.

Resist the urge to use this song for purposes other than talking about racism, Jim Crow, the NAACP, and the incredible, bittersweet, angry yet hopeful expression of resistance that I see reflected by my African American friends and colleagues.

Lift every voice and sing, till earth and heaven ring,
ring with the harmonies of liberty;
let our rejoicing rise high as the listening skies,
let it resound loud as the rolling sea.
Sing a song full of the faith that the dark past has taught us;
sing a song full of the hope that the present has brought us;
facing the rising sun of our new day begun,
let us march on till victory is won.

Stony the road we trod, bitter the chastening rod,
felt in the days when hope unborn had died;
yet with a steady beat, have not our weary feet
come to the place for which our fathers sighed?
We have come over a way that with tears has been watered;
we have come, treading our path thru the blood of the slaughtered,
out from the gloomy past, till now we stand at last
where the white gleam of our bright star is cast.

God of our weary years, God of our silent tears,
thou who hast brought us thus far on the way;
thou who hast by thy might led us into the light,
keep us forever in the path, we pray.
Lest our feet stray from the places, our God, where we met thee;
lest our hearts drunk with the wine of the world, we forget thee;
shadowed beneath thy hand, may we forever stand,
true to our God, true to our native land.

Do not colonize this song. Let it shine in the context in which it is intended.

—

The photo is of John and James Weldon.

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The Matriarch hates this hymn.

Every time I sing this hymn, I think of the Matriarch of the congregation I serve, a woman who is a seventh generation Universalist, whose family has served the congregation I now serve in lay and ministerial positions for nearly the entire life of the church. In fact, the Matriarch made sure that the second thing I learned from her (after her name) was her lineage here.

I have to be careful when I talk about the denomination, to lean into the “Universalist” a bit more than the “Unitarian” – because every time she thinks I forget I am serving a Universalist congregation, she reminds me that “Unitarian is the adjective that describes what kind of Universalists we are”…. and then she proceeds to get angry at those people who gathered in Syracuse in 1961 and agreed to the consolidation of the American Unitarian Association and the Universalist Church in America. Her arguments aren’t without merit – there were some concerning issues around the finances and leadership, and a fear that the Universalists would be subsumed. But yes, she is still bitter about merger.

And every time I use this hymn in a service, the Matriarch catches my eye and shoots a look my way that says “I am still angry, you know.”

Now those who know the history of this hymn will know why – for those who don’t, here’s the very short version: Marion Franklin Hamm wrote this lyric in 1933, in advance of the first hymnal shared by the AUA and the UCA, Hymns of the Spirit. It was intentionally written to celebrate the growing relationship between the two denominations, who were finding it useful to work together. As the final votes were cast and a new Unitarian Universalist Association was formed, the assembled sang this very singable hymn together:

As tranquil streams that meet and merge and flow as one to seek the sea,
our kindred hearts and minds unite to build a church that shall be free —

Free from the bonds that bind the mind to narrow thought and lifeless creed;
free from a social code that fails to serve the cause of human need:

A freedom that reveres the past, but trusts the dawning future more;
and bids the soul, in search of truth, adventure boldly and explore.

Prophetic church, the future waits your liberating ministry;
go forward in the power of love, proclaim the truth that makes us free.

Today, we sing it about the individuals who make up the church – but it is much bigger than that. It is about your congregation and mine, your cluster and mine, your region and mine, all of us together, agreeing that we are stronger together and that the future awaits OUR liberating ministry. And goodness knows the present needs us too.

 

—

The image is of the AUA and UCA symbols at the UU Congregation in Albuquerque.

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NO NO NO NO NO NO NO.

Holy cow this is a terrible hymn.

Technically, it’s not terrible – the tune is a favorite – Hyfrodol, made fresh by Peter Mayer in 1064, Blue Boat Home (which will get its day next January).  And the lyrics in terms of rhyme and meter are just fine.

But HOLY COW this is a terrible hymn.

Why? I’m glad you asked.

In the history of humankind, there has been a constant battle between Us and Them – we like Us, and we don’t like Them, so we’ll fight hard to make sure Us is protected from Them, even if we have to build walls and cities within those walls to keep Them out. And we have expected our cities to be beacons for both people who are Us and people who want to be Us. We see it played out throughout the Old Testament, with its understanding of the chosen people, and Zion, and the emphasis on building and protecting Jerusalem.  It’s here that we get all of the “shining city on a hill” imagery that my ancestor John Winthrop spouted in 1630 and which then President Ronald Reagan spouted in the 1980s.

And it’s terrible. It’s empire – meant to keep some people in and some out, meant to keep some people free and others enslaved, meant to separate and oppress.

So when I see “hail the glorious golden city” and “gleaming wall” and “banished from its borders” I scream NO. I mean, just look at these lyrics:

Hail the glorious golden city, pictured by the seers of old:
everlasting light shines o’er it, wondrous things of it are told.
Wise and righteous men and women dwell within its gleaming wall;
wrong is banished from its borders, justice reigns supreme o’er all.

We are builders of that city. All our joys and all our groans
help to rear its shining ramparts; all our lives are building-stones.
Whether humble or exalted, all are called to task divine;
all must aid alike to carry forward one sublime design.

And the work that we have builded, oft with bleeding hands and tears,
oft in error, oft in anguish, will not perish with our years:
it will live and shine transfigured in the final reign of right:
it will pass into the splendors of the city of the light.

There are other hymns that talk about building – in particular, I am thinking of 1017, Building a New Way. The difference is that a song like that is about building a path, a journey, a way for us to be better out in the world not just with Them but seeing Them and Us as useless constructs. I like the idea that we work together to build a path toward that kind of vision.

But when the establishing shot of the vision is “glorious golden city”? I’m tapping out.

Just…. no.

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Depending on how it’s played, I either love this hymn or hate it. There’s no inbetween.

Because if it’s played square, and especially if it’s played square and slow, it’s like a zombie – dead but still going. And when the music is zombielike, the lyrics become saccharine and bitter in the mouth.

But when it’s played with energy and syncopation and soul, when it evokes good old gospel music, when there’s room for harmony and improvisation and attention, it soars. The lyrics are good, and real, and positive. It’s Universalism’s call – change the world with your love. And the truth is, as I listen to an imaginary gospel choir singing an as yet unwritten choral arrangement in my head, I am moved to refocus on love, despite the hard nights we’ve experienced.

There’s not much more to say. It’s a familiar hymn to most UUs, and I suspect – depending on their experience – it’s either beloved or reviled.

Love will guide us, peace has tried us,
hope inside us will lead the way
on the road from greed to giving.
Love will guide us through the hard night.

If you cannot sing like angels,
if you cannot speak before thousands,
you can give from deep within you.
You can change the world with your love.

Love will guide us, peace has tried us,
hope inside us will lead the way
on the road from greed to giving.
Love will guide us through the hard night.

One final note: the tune was named Olympia, after Olympia Brown, the first woman to be fully ordained in America, in the Universalist church. Like many before her and many since:, she was warned; an explanation was given; nevertheless, she persisted.

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From the “I never really understood it until now” department comes this hymn.

Wow.

This is a familiar hymn to me, with its rolling triplets and pulsing, pushing melody. The tune sits for me in the same category as “Do You Hear the People Sing” from Les Miz – strong, defiant, meant to rouse and inspire. (I love the version I just linked to – it features Jean Valjeans from 17 different countries.)

But I don’t think I ever really read the lyrics – although I wonder if the lyrics would have ever seemed so relevant as they do today. These words could be preached from the pulpit or proclaimed at a protest. They should be echoing through the halls of Congress and every state legislature, read to journalists and news chiefs. I mean, this calls us to the moment, to be brave or be cowards (I’m lookin’ at you, Ryan and McConnell), to stand with truth, to decide whether to support greed and manipulation or generosity and truth. Now is the moment to decide.

And what gives me hope is that millions have shown what it looks like when a nation decides to stand up for good – Standing Rock, the Women’s March, the Muslim ban protests, the rogue twitter accounts from governmental science organizations (EPA, NASA, etc.), the media’s willingness to call a lie a lie, the daily calls and letters people are making to members of Congress. It’s happening. And it’s effective.

The moment has come, and people are deciding for the good side.

Once to every soul and nation comes the moment to decide,
in the strife of truth with falsehood, for the good or evil side:
then to stand with truth is noble, when we share its wretched crust;
ere that cause bring fame and profit, and ‘tis prosperous to be just.

Though the cause of evil prosper, yet ‘tis truth alone is strong;
though its portion be the scaffold, and upon the throne be wrong.
Then it is the brave one chooses, while the coward stands aside,
till the multitude make virtue of the faith they have denied.

One lyrical note:  again, our hymnal commission has pieced together lyrics for two verses from four verses; as originally written, they do include a fair bit of language that lands in a much more Christian theology. I’ve linked the original lyrics here. Sometimes that piecing together gets awkward and changes the meaning in a way that the hymn becomes toothless. However, they (a) did it much more artfully here than they have elsewhere, and (b) I think the message is stronger the way we have it now.  While this is a lyric written by a Unitarian (James Russell Lowell), you can see the shifts in our own theology from the late 1800s to today.

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Thank all that is holy for this practice.

When the world is on fire and every day is another tanker truck of kerosene, it’s easy to get lost in the flames and forget ourselves, our joys, our pleasures, our soul. The fire is meant to burn our souls away – and so practices like this are a big reminder to me that not only do I still have a soul, but that the not-related-to-the-fire thoughts and ideas must be celebrated to keep the soul cool and safe.

Two not-related-to-the-fire and not-related-to-each-other thoughts came to me while I sang this hymn – a fine hymn about courage and wisdom with a rousing melody. (A hymn that I suspect many pass by because of the G word, which is too bad because it’s really a hymn about us.)

First thought was about the author, Harry Emerson Fosdick. If you don’t know about him, he’s worth googling – the short version is that Fosdick fought hard against fundamentalism in the 1920s and 30s and was a notable force in the social gospel movement (the idea that we must do the work Jesus’s ministry calls us to – justice, compassion, etc. – work that Universalist Clarence Skinner said we’ve been doing all along, let’s not talk about how you’re late to the party but be glad you showed up at all). Fosdick, who was the minister at Riverside Church in NYC (across the street from Union Theological Seminary), was apparently so compelling a preacher that his sermons were printed for the purpose of being read by other ministers around the country. He was so influential, fundamentalists still consider him a ‘false teacher’ to be taught against, because his posthumous influence is so great. And it makes me happy that we have Fosdick’s words in our hymnal.

God of grace and God of glory,
on thy people pour thy power;
crown thine ancient church’s story;
bring its bud to glorious flower.
Grant us wisdom, grant us courage,
for the facing of this hour, for the facing of this hour.

Lo, the clouds of evil ‘round us
hide thy brightness from our gaze;
from the fears that long have bound us,
free our hearts to faith and praise.
Grant us wisdom, grant us courage,
for the living of these days, for the living of these days.

Cure thy children’s warring madness;
bend our pride to thy control;
shame our wanton, selfish gladness,
rich in things and poor in soul.
Grant us wisdom, grant us courage,
make thy peace our daily goal, make thy peace our daily goal.

Fill us with a living vision,
heal our wounds that we may be
bound as one beyond division
in the struggle to be free.
Grant us wisdom, grant us courage,
ears to hear and eyes to see, ears to hear and eyes to see.

My other thought made me giggle. I am a big fan of a British mystery series called Midsomer Murders – it is everything you’d want in a British mystery: small village life, intricate relationships, multiple murders, and a fair bit of snark. The show, now entering its 20th year, is part good mystery, part taking the piss and poking fun of the British mystery.  And because they have some lightness (and gorgeous scenery), I find them to be oddly comforting in these uncomfortable days.

The episode I watched yesterday, “Secrets and Spies,” involves a series of murder at a country home run by former MI agents. The eldest of them is obsessed with his death and demands regular runs of the hearse to the crematorium, always singing “Bread of Heaven” – another set of lyrics set to this tune. It becomes a common theme in the episode, and it’s catchy enough that you might hum it after seeing the episode. Like I did. And so turning to today’s hymn, to be honest, all I could do in the first verse or two was sing “Bread of Heaven” really loud at the “Grant us wisdom” line and giggle uncontrollably. Which, of course, made me think of the pilot episode of Vicar of Dibley, where Geraldine instructs the congregation to shout that out. Which made me giggle even more. Which I think, in these soul-worn days, is a good thing.

So if you ever use this in a service and I’m in the room, don’t be surprised if you hear giggling.