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I may be wildly speculating here, but I am pretty sure there isn’t a person my age brought up in the United States that wasn’t in some way inspired by/shaped by/comforted by/taught by/entertained by the Muppets. Now this is likely also true for people not in their early 50s, but I know that we who were born in the early to mid 1960s were just the right age for Sesame Street when it came out, and just the right age for The Muppet Show when it debuted.

One of the brilliant things about The Muppet Show was the way they simultaneously humanized celebrities and allowed those celebrities to shine. (A full list of stars can be found here.) There are some great, memorable moments, like Sandy Duncan dancing with Sweetums, Gladys Knight singing “God Bless the Child” with Rowlf, Alice Cooper’s Faustian affect on the cast, and of course Harry Belafonte – perhaps the most memorable appearance of all.

Not only did Belafonte sing the classic “Banana Boat Song”, he helped bring to the screen one of Jim Henson’s best work, on Turn the World Around. As Belafonte recounted in Of Muppets and Men, he and Henson thought that the show ” might provide the occasion to take a look at the lore and history of other worlds, other places.” From there, the designers at The Muppet Workshop researched African masks that would support Belafonte’s story of the song’s inspiration – namely the stories and wisdom of people he met in Guinea. But here’s where the care comes in:  while the masks were patterned on African masks, Henson was very careful about the final choices, because, as Belafonte recalled, “he didn’t want to cause offense by choosing masks that would have some religious or national significance.”

And thus, we have a beautifully crafted piece that doesn’t just use another culture but explains, expresses, and celebrates. Here’s the full clip (the only version I could find):

Transcript of the story:

I discovered that song in Africa. I was in a country called Guinea. I went deep into the interior of the country, and in a little village, I met with a storyteller. That storyteller went way back in African tradition and African mythology and began to tell this story about the fire, the sun, the water, the Earth.

He pointed out the whole of these things put together turns the world around. That all of us are here for a very, very short time. In that time that we’re here, there really isn’t any difference in any of us, if we take time out to understand each other.

The question is: Do I know who you are, or who I am? Do we care about each other? Because if we do, together we can turn the world around.

Wow.

“Do we care about each other? Because if we do, together we can turn the world around.” I’m not sure there’s a clearer statement of our theology than that. And what a gift we have in this song, and in the care both Belafonte and Henson took to bring it to us, beyond a recording on an album. Without that appearance on The Muppet Show, my generation might not ever have known this song, and it might not have come up in the minds of this hymnal’s commission.

I am grateful… and happy to share with you the lyrics as we have them laid out – in what could be seen as a complex arrangement:

We come from the fire, living in the fire,
go back to the fire, turn the world around.

We come from the water, living in the water,
go back to the water, turn the world around.

We come from the mountain, living on the mountain,
go back to the mountain, turn the world around.

Chorus 1:
Whoa, so is life! Ah, so is life!
Whoa, so is life! Ah, so is life!

Chorus 2:
Whoa, so is life! Abateewah, so is life!
Whoa, so is life! Abateewah, so is life!

Chorus 3:
Whoa, so is life! Abateewah, (ha!) so is life!
Whoa, so is life! Abateewah, (ha!) so is life!

Section 1:
Do you know who I am?
Do I know who you are?
See we one another clearly?
Do we know who we are?

Section 2:
Do you know who I am? Do I know who you are?
See we one another clearly? Do we know who we are?
Do you know who I am? Do I know who you are?
See we one another clearly? Do we know who we are?

Water make the river, river wash the mountain,
Fire make the sunlight, turn the world around.

Heart is of the river, body is the mountain,
Spirit is the sunlight, turn the world around.

We are of the spirit, truly of the spirit,
Only can the spirit turn the world around!

It seems complex when you look at it, but it’s really quite simple – and with some good song leading, you can get a congregation to sing the various parts without freaking out. I think once they get the feel of it, and understand where it goes and what they’re supposed to sing, it becomes a truly joyful, meaningful experience.

—

Well, there it is.

The end of this spiritual practice.

I have some wrap up thoughts, and some thoughts about what’s next, which I’ll share tomorrow.

But for now, well… thanks. Thanks for reading, and thanks for indulging me in the outward expression of my inward spiritual practice. It’s been a pleasure, even on those days when it wasn’t a joy.

Ah, so is life.

 

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This may be one of the most elegantly crafted songs in our hymnals.

I mean no offense to other composers who read this, or to those songs that are also beloved. But there is something absolutely wondrous in this composition by Carolyn McDade.

On its surface, the song is another earth based song of praise and wonder. And a quick listen to the tune suggests it might be an old melody from the British Isles. And on their own, that’s plenty. There’s a great deal of gorgeousness contained within, expressing McDade’s vision of interdependence. As quoted on the UUA Song Information page, McDade writes:

“Earth shakes out a mantle of green—each blade of grass true to the integrity within, yet together with others is the rise of spring from winter’s urging. Our coming is with the grass—the common which persists, unexalted, but with the essence of life. Our humanness, our rhythms and dreams, the faith which nurtures our ardent love and hope for life—all this we share with earth community, of which we are natural and connected beings.”

This song is certainly that:

My blood doth rise in the roots of yon oak, her sap doth run in my veins.
Boundless my soul like the open sky where the stars forever have lain.
Where the stars, where the stars, where the stars forever have lain.

My hands hold the weavings of time without end, my sight as deep as the sea.
Beating, my heart sounds the measures of old, that of love’s eternity.
That of love, that of love, that of love’s eternity.

I feel the tides as they answer the moon, rushing on a far distant sand.
Winging my song is the wind of my breast and my love blows over the land.
And my love, and my love, and my love blows over the land.

My foot carries days of the old into new, our dreaming shows us the way.
Wondrous our faith settles deep in the earth, rising green to bring a new day.
Rising green, rising green, rising green to bring a new day.

But what’s elegant is the way the tune and lyric paint a feeling, an image, a texture, a sense of movement. It begins at the end of the first line of each verse… “sap doth run in my veins”… “sight as deep as the sea”… “rushing on a far distant sand”…”dreaming shows us the way” – each of those phrases evoking something bigger than ourselves, held open with a dotted half note, not ended quickly on the quarter note you were expecting. And then the next phrase soars up a fourth, an arpeggio in the bass clef leading the way, opening up the melody almost like a miracle, with “boundless” and “beating” and “winging” and “wondrous” giving language to that moment of opening and arrival. In the singing and listening, you can hear a sense of hope and release and movement, as the phrase settles back into the notes the verse began with, almost like a wave, or a sudden breeze, or an epiphany.

It is so elegantly crafted. I am in awe.

I should note that I’ve never used this as a congregational song, only as a solo, so I don’t know how easily it’s picked up. I’d like to think this one isn’t too hard, and I hope it’s not taken too slowly or too quickly – or people will miss the beauty that McDade’s piece evokes.

 

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FREEBIRD!

Let me explain (updated 1/22/2018): at General Assembly in Louisville in 2013, despite terrible cell reception, many attendees endeavored to live tweet the events as they unfolded. On Friday morning, we sang Blue Boat Home. Friend and colleague Hannah Roberts made a comment to her friend Meredith Lukow, who tweeted:

… because like “Freebird” by Lynyrd Skynyrd, it is a popular song that people longed to hear, often requested, and reacted to in a kind of rock-anthem awe. The joke spread like wildfire, being retweeted and remarked upon throughout the days. On Sunday morning, Bill Schultz preached about the earth and its inhabitants, and as he finished (to great applause), the band began playing this song. To which Twitter – and more than a few voices in the room – shouted “FREEBIRD!” and more than a few hands in the room held up their hands as though holding a lighter. It was an hysterically transcendent moment.

Which is not surprising, because it is a beautifully transcendent song.

Peter Mayer wrote these gorgeous lyrics to the gorgeous Hyfrodol tune, but he also recast the tune a bit. It’s still in the same meter (3/4), but guitar strums turned to piano notation makes it feel more like 6/8, which makes it feel as rolling and pulsing as the ocean itself. He also extends the final phrase, giving space and room for “blue…. boat… home” to breathe and fill us with wonder.

Though below me, I feel no motion standing on these mountains and plains.
Far away from the rolling ocean still my dry land heart can say:
I’ve been sailing all my life now, never harbor or port have I known.
The wide universe is the ocean I travel and the earth is my blue boat home.

Sun my sail and moon my rudder as I ply the starry sea,
leaning over the edge in wonder, casting questions into the deep.
Drifting here with my ship’s companions, all we kindred pilgrim souls,
making our way by the lights of the heavens in our beautiful blue boat home.

I give thanks to the waves up holding me, hail the great winds urging me on,
greet the infinite sea before me, sing the sky my sailor’s song:
I was born up on the fathoms, never harbor or port have I known.
The wide universe is the ocean I travel, and the earth is my blue boat home.

Really, there is nothing bad to say about this one, except maybe that we can’t use it all the time. Mayer gorgeously captures the awe and wonder of our first source, and the amazing planetary grounding of our seventh principle, along with mysticism and humanism and gratitude.

Really. What a gorgeous song.

—

A short programming note: After today, I have only ten…TEN! hymns left. We’re in the home stretch! On the 11th day, I will write some sort of summary post, and then I’ll take a short sabbatical from daily writing while I figure out what’s next.

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In this exciting episode: Jason Shelton did a great innovative thing and I just had to go and innovate it further.

This may be one of my favorite liturgical pieces – a chorus by Jason Shelton to make new the stunning piece by Sophia Lyon Fahs that most of us use at Christmastime, often on Christmas eve. The melody is sweet and simple, warm and peaceful. Jason’s response turns the ‘ho hum, we’ve heard it before’ recitation into an interactive, musical responsive reading. And the truth is, we need more of this kind of thing – I play a lot with unexpected sung responses, but I’m not a composer, so I’ve interleaved pieces. Jason just goes right ahead and composes something. Bless him for that gift.

Anyway. The piece as Jason envisioned it is as follows, interleaving with each stanza of the Fahs poem:

Chorus:
Each night a child is born is a holy night:
A time for singing,
A time for wondering,
A time for worshipping,
Each night a child is born is a holy night.

Reader:
For so the children come
And so they have been coming.
Always in the same way they come
born of the seed of man and woman.

Chorus

Reader:
No angels herald their beginnings.
No prophets predict their future courses.
No wise men see a star to show where to find
the babe that will save humankind.

 

Chorus

Reader:
Yet each night a child is born is a holy night.
Fathers and mothers–
sitting beside their children’s cribs
feel glory in the sight of a new life beginning.
They ask, “Where and how will this new life end?

Chorus

And when you sing it with the congregation, that’s perfect.

However, the first time I used it, in December 2005 at my home congregation, we didn’t yet have a full complement of STJ, nor did the minister think we had time to teach the congregation a new piece for Christmas Eve. So I involved the choir… and yes, I innovated. I imagined an a capella setting, with the choir singing parts as written in STJ, and then landing on a hum to underscore the reader. Here’s how I have done it:

Choir (singing):
Each night a child is born is a holy night –
A time for singing,
A time for wondering,
A time for worshipping.
Each night a child is born is a holy night.
(hum final chord under reader – don’t do bass tag)

Reader:
For so the children come
And so they have been coming.
Always in the same way they come
born of the seed of man and woman.

Choir (singing):
(Back to beginning of song)
Each night a child is born is a holy night…
(hum landing chord under reader)

Reader:
No angels herald their beginnings.
No prophets predict their future courses.
No wise men see a star to show where to find
the babe that will save humankind.

Choir (singing):
A time for singing,
A time for wondering,
A time for worshipping.
(hum landing chord under reader)

Reader:
Yet each night a child is born is a holy night.
Fathers and mothers–
sitting beside their children’s cribs
feel glory in the sight of a new life beginning.
They ask, “Where and how will this new life end?
Or will it ever end?”

Choir (singing)
(back to full chorus)
Each night a child is born is a holy night –
A time for singing,
A time for wondering,
A time for worshipping.
Each night a child is born is a holy night.
(include bass tag)

It goes a little faster, for sure. It also lines out the song so the next time the congregation encounters it, it’s a bit more familiar. But mostly, it helps introduce Jason’s innovation in an innovative way.

Yes, there’s a gender binary issue here – many change “fathers and mothers” to “loving parents” or some variation.  I don’t think it changes the meaning or sentiment to ensure all are included here. It’s worth making that expansive change, because this is a gorgeous piece – whether read as a poem, as a responsive reading, or with some variation on the sung response.

—

I have no idea who this baby is – it’s just a great photo from Pixabay.

 

 

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Lord, the days are hard. No sooner do we wrap our brains around one major news story than another one, or ten comes barreling down on us. What we need is something warm and loving and sweet.

Sometimes it’s a sweet song that is just what the doctor ordered.

And to be honest, there isn’t much more to say about this sweet benediction by Mortimer Barron that he doesn’t say himself (below the lyrics).

I love this little piece. It comforts me in its warmth and showers me with its blessing. And on these hard days that never end, comfort and blessing is something remarkable.

Go lifted up,
Love bless your way,
moonlight, starlight
guide your journey
into peace
and the brightness of day.

Here is what Barron has to say, courtesy of the UUA Song Information page:

Written by Mortimer Barron, and he writes, “When I was music director at Murray Unitarian Universalist Church, Attleboro, MA, Natalie Sleeth’s Go Now in Peace was often sung at the end of the Sunday services. Whereas I liked its words but not its music, I composed new music for this sung benediction. The congregation loved this new version and continues to sing it to this day. This new “Go Now in Peace” also became the traditional sung benediction at my present church, First Unitarian and Universalist Society of Middleboro, MA. Go Lifted Up is very easily learned by a congregation and may be accompanied by piano, organ, or guitar, or may be sung a cappella.”

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In 1991, even as my life was falling apart after a messy breakup, I was welcomed into a community of singers known as the Common Woman Chorus. Started by a delightful woman named Eleanor Sableski (may she rest in peace), who was also the music director at Eno River Unitarian Universalist Fellowship in Durham, North Carolina, Common Woman Chorus was (and is) a true celebration of women – from its members to its repertoire.

Feeling battered and uncertain, I joined the group and found instant camaraderie among my fellow singers; despite being 40-50 in number, we did a check in – the first I had experienced. It felt so holy and warm. And in that first year, we sang amazing, life-affirming songs, from “Breaths” to Margie Adam’s “Beautiful Soul” and Holly Near’s “Great Peace March.”

And this song, this short, beautiful, tender chorus by Libby Roderick.

How could anyone ever tell you
you were anything less than beautiful?
How could anyone ever tell you
you were less than whole?
How could anyone fail to notice
that your loving is a miracle?
How deeply you’re connected to my soul.

The first time we sang it, I wept. It was so healing, so comforting, so exactly what I needed to hear in those tender months.

To this day, I use it in services, most notably as the denouement of a piece on wholeness, called Holey, Holy, Wholly. Every time, I invite people to sing it once through to remember how it goes, then sing it to the person next to them, and then finally sing it to themselves. It is a powerful moment.

A simple chorus, easily taught, easily sung.

And oh so powerful in its deep healing. I’m not the only one who thinks so, either; according to Roderick’s website, the song

has been featured on CNN’s Anderson Cooper 360, highlighted on a CBS 60 Minutes special on teens at risk, written about in newspapers ranging from the New York Times to the Hindustani Times, translated into many languages, reprinted in numerous books (including Hometown by Pulitzer Prize winner Tracy Kidder), used in movies, and sung at the UN Conference in Beijing by thousands, among many other uses.

How Could Anyone has been used for every conceivable purpose to bring inspiration and affirmation to people struggling with every imaginable challenge and to celebrate the beauty of human beings everywhere: AIDS orphans in Zambia keeping their spirits high, Latina mothers initiating their daughters into adulthood, gay activists affirming their inherent worth, children with disabilities at summer camp honoring their wholeness, Japanese women and girls recovering from eating disorders, men in prison making peace with their pasts – these groups and thousands more have made the song their own and used it to inspire powerful action on behalf of our shared humanity. It has been featured in every format and venue, from videos, films and slide shows to hospitals, prisons, kindergartens, marches, peace gatherings, weddings, funerals and shelters.  Princess Diana even wore a t-shirt with How Could Anyone’s lyrics printed on the front to work out at the gym.

This song is such a blessing. I am grateful.

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More than once during my years at Union Theological Seminary, I said to myself “what is my life even like?” because of some improbable experience or another. To be clear, I didn’t choose to go to Union because of the possibility of meeting important or famous people;- I went because of the possibilities awaiting me in my journey to become a minister and, more importantly, a more fully faithful human being. Yet when I look back, I don’t know how I missed the fact that choosing Theology and the Arts as my program focus would lead to meeting important or famous people – or more, would lead to my sitting next to them in a small class and being told who I am.

Dr. Ysaye Barnwell had been on campus all day; she lead a community sing for our chapel service, consulted with a couple of PhD students in the afternoon, and that evening was the guest for a class I was taking on Worship and the Arts. The small class sat with our tables pushed together to form a circle that was really a square, and there we had amazing conversations about various art forms and how they inform our worship. Dr. Barnwell was with us to talk about  the power of community singing. To my surprise, she sat directly to my right. On the outside, I was pleasant and cool, on the inside I was jumping up and down like a five year old, so excited to be this close to someone whose music I’d been so connected to for three decades.

I don’t remember the conversation in any depth; I remember that on the first topic, I spoke a few times, and knowing that, I consciously moved back for the second topic to allow others to speak. At some point, a tangentially related story occurred to me, but I sat on it, knowing it wasn’t strictly relevant, and anyway, I had already spoken. I would wait until something more relevant and more pressing came to mind.

Dr. Barnwell wasn’t here for that, however. A few times she glanced at me as if in invitation, but I deflected it and the conversation continued. But finally, she looked straight at me with that Auntie Stare and said “go on.” I stammered something about no, it’s fine, it’s not important or some such nonsense. Which she rejected, saying “speak. You’re wearing your words on your face.”

Oh.

So I spoke. (How could I not?) And while the story I told (“Listening for our Song” by David Blanchard) wasn’t exactly on topic, it moved our conversation to a new, deeper topic. Afterwards, Dr. Barnwell thanked me for sharing that story, and with a twinkle in her eye, told me not to be afraid that what I have to say isn’t important. It was like she looked into my soul and saw who I am – perhaps the first time I’ve ever experienced that sort of knowing from someone who barely knew me.

Anyway. This song.

For each child that’s born,
a morning star rises and
sings to the universe
who we are.

For each child that’s born,
a morning star rises and
sings to the universe
who we are.

We are our grandmothers’ prayers
and we are our grandfathers’ dreamings,
we are the breath of our ancestors,
we are the spirit of God.

We are mothers of courage and fathers of time,
we are daughters of dust and the sons of great visions,
we’re sisters of mercy and brothers of love,
we are lovers of life and the builders of nations,
we’re seekers of truth and keepers of faith,
we are makers of peace and the wisdom of ages.

We are our grandmothers’ prayers
and we are our grandfathers’ dreamings,
we are the breath of our ancestors,
we are the spirit of God.

For each child that’s born,
a morning star rises and
sings to the universe
who we are.

It’s beautifully transcribed for our hymnal so that you don’t need all the rhythmic parts (even though I sing the bass line every time just because it’s so fun). It’s hopeful and full of possibility. I love it, and I hope congregations use it even if it seems scary on the page. The beauty is that it’s very repetitious, and once you get the rhythm and the flow, it’s a breeze to sing.

And it’s got a beautiful origin story; this, from the UUA Song Information page:

This is the last song in a suite that began with the lyric, “Lawd, it’s midnight. A dark and fear filled midnight. Lawd, it’s a midnight without stars.” Dr. Barnwell wanted to create a complete circle of experience, and so she wrote “for each child that’s born, a morning star rises…” This phrase is meant to establish hope, and it defines the uniqueness of each one of us. No matter what our race, culture or ethnicity, each one of us has been called into being and are the sum total of all who came before. In the composer’s words, “Each and every one of us stands atop a lineage that has had at its core, mothers and fathers and teachers and dreamers and shamans and healers and builders and warriors and thinkers and, and, and…so in spite of our uniqueness, we come from and share every experience that human kind has ever had. In this way, we are one.”

Amen.

 

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As I have mentioned before, I love an Alleluia.

And as I have mentioned before, I love music in 5, whether it’s 5/4 or 5/8, as we find here.

And as I have mentioned before, I am a huge fan of composer Tom Benjamin.

So there’s not much left to say, except this is a perfect storm of those three things I love – an Alleluia written in 5/8 by Tom Benjamin.

The words, obviously, are simple:

Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia, Allelu.

Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia, Allelu.

Alleluia, Alleluia,

I suspect some consider this a complex canon with all its syncopation and unusual time signature. But if you pick up the Dave Brubeck groove, it’s as simple as can be. And the blend of the three parts is amazing – Tom’s harmonic structures sing out the praise its lyric voices.

So without further ado, here’s the Brubeck piece you should listen to in order to get in the mood and begin feeling the jazz syncopation of this wonderful Jazz Alleluia:

—

Image today is the painting by Neil Fujita, used for the cover of Dave Brubeck’s album “Time Out” which first featured “Take Five.”

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This is the piece I love.

This is the Taizé piece that sets my heart and soul free.

This is the Taizé chant that sings not only to what our English verse calls the Holy Spirit but what the Italian verse calls the Creator Spirit. To me, that is the God of process theology, but also the spirit of our own creativity, the creative spark, the part of us that cannot help but imagine and experiment and express our stories through the arts.

Italian:
Vieni Spirito creatore,
vieni, vieni,
Spirito creatore,
vieni, vieni!

English:
Come and pray in us, Holy Spirit,
come and pray in us,
come and visit us, Holy Spirit,
Spirit, come, Spirit, come.

Spanish:
Ven Espiritu, fuente de vida
Ven, ven, ven Señor,
Ven Espiritu, fuente de vida,
Ven Senor, ven Señor.

Is it any wonder that this is my favorite Taizé piece?

It’s made even more wonderful by a spoken word piece called “Fire of the Spirit” by Ken Herman that I have used more than once; he shared it many moons ago with the UU Musicians Network and I share it here. (When I have done it, the choir has hummed the final chord under the spoken word.):

 

Spoken:
Fire of revelation, flame of compassion:
Illumine our hearts and kindle our spirits.
Cloven tongues of wisdom:
Rain down on us and unleash our tongues with the Spirit of Truth.

Sung:
Vieni Spirito Creatore…

Spoken:
Light from uncreated light:
Fill our sight with amazing revelations and new visions.
Fire of the Spirit:
Sear our conscience with zeal for justice.

Sung:
Vieni Spirito Creatore…

Spoken:
Flame of aspiration:
Move our feet to tread the paths of reconciliation.
Come, Creator Spirit:
Comfort us with the warmth of your eternal love.

Sung:
Vieni Spirito Creatore…

Spoken:
Come, Creator Spirit:
Unite us with a zeal for communion with all of Creation.
Bless us—convert us—
May we become the Fire!

Sung:
Vieni Spirito Creatore… repeat song until ready to end.

I love all that this song, and Ken’s words, evoke. I hum this often – more often than you would expect – because it connects me to my creative self and to the mystery of all creation. It calms and engages me. It reassures me and it awakens me. My muse and I find each other in the meditation of these words, beckoning the Spirit come.

This is the piece I love.

 

 

 

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This might be my favorite song in Singing the Journey.

It’s not my favorite congregational hymn – in fact, I’ve yet to encounter a congregation that’s even tried it as a hymn. But every time I hear a duet or choir sing it – or every time I sing it with someone – I weep from its beauty and its truth.

Our piece is composed by friend and colleague Beth Norton, and is based on a Transylvanian folk song and saying. As the UUA Song Information page notes,

This setting of the blessing is a “partner song” with the text in Hungarian in one part and in English in the other part. It was composed for the choir of First Parish in Concord, MA on the occasion of their Musical Pilgrimage to Transylvania in the summer of 2002. The song is dedicated to Concord’s partner congregation in Székelykeresztúr and to the musical pilgrims of First Parish in Concord.

The gorgeous, haunting piece weaves languages and melodies together to connect us to faith and to the Mystery. Even if you don’t believe in God, per se, there is connection.

Hol hit ott szeretet;
hol szeretet ott béke.
Hol béke ott áldás;
hol áldás ott Isten.
Hol Isten ott szükség nin csen.

Where there is faith there is love;
where there is love there is peace.
Where there is peace there is blessing;
where there is blessing there is God.
Where there is God, there is no need.

What I especially love is the idea that love isn’t the end – we often rely on love first and last, helped along by our Universalist assertions that God Is Love, and thus ultimate. No, in this understanding, love leads to peace leads to blessing leads to God/Mystery. But it begins with faith. Simple, impossible faith.

Yeah, that’ll preach.

—

The image is of hand-made needlework, made by Unitarian artists from Szentlaszlo Unitarian Church in Transylvania. It was an offering for the 2016 Goods and Services auction at Unitarian Church North in Mequon, WI – blessings to the member who won!