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I love this prayer.

Seriously, this meditative, prayerful hymn – lyrics by Carl Seaburg, set to a Transylvanian folk tune – is absolutely in my top ten list. I love the haunting, minor key of the tune as well as the phrasing. Some might say the third phrase is too high, but that’s what transposition is for.

I also love the three-part invitation in the lyrics; especially that first one, to find, hold, and then let the stillness carry me. It’s a prescription for prayer and meditation. Find it, hold it, and let it do its work in us. I mean, really, the whole thing just knocks me out:

Find a stillness, hold a stillness, let the stillness carry me.
Find the silence, hold the silence, let the silence carry me.
In the spirit, by the spirit, with the spirit giving power,
I will find true harmony.

Seek the essence, hold the essence, let the essence carry me.
Let me flower, help me flower, watch me flower, carry me.
In the spirit, by the spirit, with the spirit giving power,
I will find true harmony.

Wow.

I sometimes sing this to myself as a prayer to help me pray. But it is effective for a congregation to sing – although always with an invitation to pray this hymn, which leads directly into a time of silent meditation.

And if you’re not a fan yet, consider singing this to yourself before you enter a time of prayer or meditation in your personal spiritual practice. I suspect you’ll notice – as I have – its helpful welcome and invitation to the Mystery.

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This hymn almost got ruined for me in 2009.

That spring, Saratoga Springs’ minister, Linda Hoddy, went on sabbatical, leaving a congregation well prepared to hold the fort down. As chair of the worship committee, I was also on the sabbatical team, and after a fall spent ensuring we had all our ducks in a row, our meetings were usually ten minutes of checking in on everything, then another half hour or so of general chatter.

Our longest meeting was the one about halfway through the sabbatical, when we all realized that while as a team the worship committee was doing a good job of attracting a wide variety of speakers and tending the scope of topics over the six-month period, we failed to track the week-to-week use of music, and we had been singing Gather the Spirit extremely frequently – easily two out of every three weeks. I know why it was chosen – it’s popular, it’s general in its scope, and – unless it’s played like a dirge – it’s a joy to sing.

But we were singing it a LOT. And it didn’t help that as we were gearing up for our first cluster-wide worship service, the obvious choice for the opening processional hymn was… Gather the Spirit. As worship coordinator for the service, I gulped, wondered if we could find another song, but realized that no, this was exactly the right hymn.

Back in Saratoga, we started waving speakers off this hymn, asking them to choose something else (and eventually offering a few other options that the congregation was familiar with and do the same kind of work). And as I stood at the stairs of the stage our choir and speakers processed onto in the cluster-wide service, I didn’t need any lyrics, because I realized I knew them all. Because we just. kept. singing. this. song.

I still know them by heart, partly because of that spring, but also because it really is a terrific song. And while some of UU songwriter Jim Scott’s pieces can be complex and tricky to sing, this one gets it right.

Gather the spirit, harvest the power.
Our sep’rate fires will kindle one flame.
Witness the mystery of this hour.
Our trials in this light appear all the same.

(Chorus)
Gather in peace, gather in thanks.
Gather in sympathy now and then.
Gather in hope, compassion and strength.
Gather to celebrate once again.

Gather the spirit of heart and mind.
Seeds for the sowing are laid in store.
Nurtured in love, and conscience refined,
with body and spirit united once more.

(Chorus)

Gather the spirit growing in all,
drawn by the moon and fed by the sun.
Winter to spring, and summer to fall,
the chorus of life resounding as one.

(Chorus)

This is a song of warm, open welcome.  Just don’t overuse it… and by all that is holy, do not play it as a dirge! It is meant to dance in a gentle waltz, ushering us in with gentleness and love.

And I am glad it didn’t get ruined for me.

—

Photo is of our first joint service in 2009, with members of the four congregations (Albany, Schenectady, Glens Falls, and Saratoga Springs) coming together for the first time to worship. We asked each congregation to bring their chalices, from which we lit a common chalice. Then St. Lawrence District Executive Tom Chulak (pictured) joined Tom Owen-Towle as our first speakers. The cluster has now expanded, and we continue to hold a service each year, featuring an outside speaker (past speakers have included Thandeka, Kim and Reggie Harris, and Scott Alexander). This year, our service will feature the amazing Glen Thomas Rideout – and I am privileged to be back as worship coordinator.

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I am in Peterborough, New Hampshire, preparing to lead a retreat with dear friend and colleague Diana McLean. And as I was preparing to write today, I waxed a little poetic about the Blake poem this hymn tune (Jerusalem, by Charles H.H. Parry) was written for.

And I burst into tears. Like, not just a weepy lump in my throat, but full on, reaching for the Kleenex, now I have to reapply my makeup tears. Which got worse when I read the lyrics we have in our hymnal.

I’m tellin’ ya. Ugly cry.

I’m not sure why the Blake lyrics gets to me – it’s very pro-England, very pro-Second Coming, very cliché. So cliché it’s inspired books, films, and tv shows.  And I’m a bit embarrassed by my reaction. Yes, I’m an Anglophile – I love British tv and film, I love English history, I love the English countryside, and once I loved an Englishman (who broke my heart). But why does this hymn – and not so many others that scream out my personal theology – make me burst into tears?

Anyway… makeup adjusted, tissues discarded… here’s our hymn. The tune is soaring and lush, and very fitting for these words by Don Marquis. And as much as our last encounter with Marquis frustrated me, this encounter draws me directly into the mystery of life and death and Mystery itself.

Have I not known the sky and sea put on a look as hushed and stilled
as if some ancient prophecy drew close upon to be fulfilled?
Like mist the houses shrink and swell,
like blood the highways throb and beat,
the sapless stones beneath my feet turn foliate with miracle.

And life and death but one thing are — and I have seen this wingless world
cursed with impermanence and whirled like dust across the summer swirled,
and I have dealt with Presences
behind the veils of Time and Place,
and I have seen this world a star — bright, shining, wonderful in space.

Gorgeous. Simply divine, really. And as I contemplate the lyrics, and my reaction, I realize this should probably be sung at my memorial service.

No wonder I had such a strong reaction.

I end with this beautiful choral arrangement of Jerusalem – not with our lyrics, but the Blake – sung by the West Point Cadet Glee Club (the song starts at 0:26):

And now I’m crying again. Where’s the Kleenex?

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Welcome to another edition of “Hymns Kimberley Would Use Too Often If Let Loose.”

I love this one. I love its inspiration, I love the joy, I love the celebration. And, not surprisingly, I love the tune too – another Ralph Vaughan Williams setting (Danby). It is lush and sweet.

Let all the beauty we have known illuminate our hearts and minds.
Rejoice in wonders daily shown, in faith and joy, and love that binds.

We celebrate with singing hearts the loveliness of sky and earth,
the inspiration of the arts, the miracle of ev’ry birth.

Life’s music and its poetry surround and bless us through our days.
For these we sing in harmony, together giving thanks and praise.

And it is most assuredly a part of my theology, and my ministry.

—

Today’s image is the gorgeous watercolor I bought for my 49th birthday from the talented Jordan Lynn Gribble. It hangs on my bedroom wall and is often the first thing I see in the morning.

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Just before I opened the hymnal, I saw a Facebook post from a dear friend who asked ‘But what if this world runs out of lovers? What then?”

Then for me was opening the hymnal to this wonderful hymn, reminding us to draw the circle ever wider, because – as Susan Frederick Gray has reminded us, “no one is outside the circle of love.”

And to me, that’s our call. Right now, as we find ourselves shockingly having debates about Nazis and white supremacists, we also must find ourselves speaking out from this circle of enabling love, growing it ever wider, actively loving the hell – and the hate – out of this world.

This hymn is incredibly aspirational. Seemingly unattainable, in fact. Can there ever be this much love? And yet, the vision described by Fred Kahn (who also wrote lyrics for Almond Trees Renewed in Bloom is precisely what we need today.

Break not the circle of enabling love
where people grow, forgiven and forgiving;
break not that circle, make it wider still,
till it includes, embraces all the living.

Come, wonder at this love that comes to life,
where words of freedom are with humor spoken,
and people keep no score of wrong and guilt,
but will that human bonds remain unbroken.

Join then the movement of the love that frees,
till people of whatever race or nation
will truly be themselves, stand on their feet,
see eye to eye with laughter and elation.

A side note about the tune, written by the delightful Tom Benjamin (whose praises I have sung before): do you ever wonder why a tune has a particular – and sometimes unusual name? I suppose there are any number of reasons, often tied to the original lyrics, although some tunes get a name to honor a person or a place. Such is the case with this one, called Yaddo. I learned from Tom that he once spent a summer at an artist’s retreat at Yaddo, this incredible place with a gorgeous mansion and lovely gardens, and it was there – not 3 miles from my home congregation – where he wrote this tune. It is one that holds a special place in my heart because of the local connection.

Anyway. I love this hymn. I think it is exactly what we need to remember today as we show up on the side of good, the side of inclusion, the side of love.

–

Photo is part of this article from Lake George Magazine on Yaddo – a very interesting read!

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One of the delights of being an active member and now religious professional in the Saint Lawrence District (upstate NY and part of Ontario) is getting to know Richard and Joyce Gilbert a little. They are so much a part of my story, in the way peanuts are a part of a Snickers bar – not a constant presence, but the nuggets of experience and wisdom are priceless. From Dick’s telling of how simple his fellowshipping process was (after completing seminary, he had dinner with denominational leaders. They talked, laughed, ate, and at the end, stood up and shook Dick’s hand, saying “welcome to fellowship.”) to learning about the founding of the UU Musicians Network over dinner with Joyce, to various interactions, workshops, and worship over the years. And many slim volumes of Dick’s meditations – edited by Joyce – sit on my shelf, inherited from Linda Hoddy, who bought some and inherited others from Charles Sapp.

One of the collections is called Thanks Be for These – named for a meditation from which this lyric is based. That Joyce is also credited suggests she helped set the words to a sweet Hungarian tune (Transylvania). And this song is sweet indeed:

Thanks be for these, life’s holy times,
moments of grief, days of delight;
triumph and failure intertwine,
shaping our vision of the right.

Thanks be for these, for birth and death;
life in between with meaning full;
holy becomes the quickened breath;
we celebrate life’s interval.

Thanks be for these, ennobling art,
images welcome to our sight;
music caressing ear and heart,
inviting us to loftier height.

Thanks be for these, who question why;
who noble motives do obey;
those who know how to live and die;
comrades who share this holy way.

Thanks be for these, we celebrate;
sing and rejoice, our trust declare;
press all our faith into our fate;
bless now the destiny we share.

Even if the Gilberts hadn’t written it, I would love this hymn. It’s such a loving prayer of gratitude for the wide ranging experiences of our lives. It’s setting in the tune is perfect – a tune that is joyful but tender. I use this maybe too often – most certainly at Thanksgiving, but also in other services.

If you don’t know it, please learn it. It’s one of my favorites.

And it always reminds me of the precious gift that is Richard and Joyce Gilbert. Thanks be for them, too.

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If this spiritual practice (and yes, I still consider it a spiritual practice first and foremost) has taught me anything, it’s taught me that we are an aspirational faith. Even those hymns which were once cutting edge and are now problematic show us the truth of our assertion that revelation is not sealed – as we continue to expand our knowledge and our minds, the circle growing ever wider.

I mention this because on a day when the last thing we need are songs about love, on a day when what we need is the next ten words, and the ten after that, which tell us what to do next… we get a song about love. I admit, I groaned. What ever am I going to write, when this is the last thing we need?

And yet, as I sang, I realized that this aspirational faith (and this spiritual practice that seems to be conspiring with current events to put not the hymn I want but the hymn I need in front of me) has given us one of the most beautiful songs we have, about love, yes, but about more. It not only talks of joining together in love, but it gives us the next ten words – namely “we pledge ourselves to greater service, with love and justice.”

We would be one as now we join in singing
our hymn of love, to pledge ourselves anew
to that high cause of greater understanding
of who we are, and what in us is true.
We would be one in living for each other
to show to all a new community.

We would be one in building for tomorrow
a nobler world than we have known today.
We would be one in searching for that meaning
which bends our hearts and points us on our way.
As one, we pledge ourselves to greater service,
with love and justice, strive to make us free.

I need this aspiration of love and justice, of coming together to show the world what beloved community really looks like. And yes, if you’re just waking up to our nation’s long and ugly history of hate and violence, well, we’ll ignore the fact that you’re late to the party and just be glad you showed up at all.  This song is for you, calling you in to consider what’s beyond the flurry of pink hats and emails to your Congress critters. A reminder of what you are just now discovering. A call to keep showing up. A call to work, to learn, to listen, to pray, to sing.

Now if you’ve been on the front lines, in the trenches, boots on the ground and in the streets, teaching and preaching until you’re blue in the face, this song is for you too. A reminder what that hard work is about. A call back to our hearts and our beliefs. A reminder that we are not doing this alone, and if it feels like you are, look around and find others who will work with you, teach with you, listen with you, pray with you, sing with you.

And if you haven’t been doing anything, this song is for you as well. A reminder of what must be done, a reminder that we all find our own way to serve “that high cause of greater understanding of who we are and what in us is true.” A reminder that you don’t have to do this alone, and if it feels like you are, look around and find others who will help you, teach you, guide you, work with you, pray with you, sing with you.

And in it all, yes, a call to love. Because love isn’t fluffy pink hearts and slo-mo runs through a sun-dappled meadow. Love is a verb. Love calls us to act. Love calls us to build “for tomorrow a nobler world than we have known today.” If the way we enter all of this work is paved with love, then we are well grounded as we answer love’s call.

—

For completeness’ sake, I should mention that the lyrics (set to the Finlandia tune by Jean Sibelius) were written by Unitarian minister Samuel Anthony Wright, for Unitarian and Universalist youth at their Continental Convention of 1953-54. As Jacqui James notes in Between the Lines, “At this conference they merged to form the Liberal Religious Youth of the United States and Canada, setting a model for the Unitarian Universalist denominational consolidation in 1961.” We would be one, indeed.

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This hymn knocks me out.

Frequent readers know I am a theist, with a sense of the Divine that is creator and creating. And what a creation we are! How wondrous is the human mind and its infinite capacity! That we are able to learn and explore and think new things, that we are adaptive and adaptable, that we can imagine not only all manner of things beyond ourselves – that is wondrous indeed.

I have these moments every now and then when I am taken completely aback by something a human has created or thought. Sometimes it’s amazement at the spectacle of skyscrapers on Fifth Avenue. Sometimes it’s awe as I video-chat  on my phone – my phone! – with a friend in Australia. Sometimes it’s realizing that an operation that once caused 8-inch scars and weeks in the hospital is now an outpatient procedure with a one-inch incision.

I recently listened to a podcast about Charles Darwin, and it got me thinking: Darwin was definitely a man of his age – like many upper class Victorians of the time, he was interested in art, nature, and science. But in 1859, Darwin made a rather simple observation that has absolutely changed how we perceive the world. That observation, of course, is evolution by natural selection. What struck me, however, is not the awesomeness of the theory that has since been proved as fact by biology, anthropology, paleontology, and other sciences. No, it is the fact that the human brain is so amazing that it can incorporate positively new ideas and actually adapt to new technologies.

Our minds are so adaptive that how we learn, how we use new tools, how we process even more and more information is evidence of a mind that is constantly seeking to extend itself, to grab on to new tools it has never experienced before and merge with them.  It is stunning when you think that we constantly incorporate life-shaping ideas such as evolution and heliocentrism… we take space travel as fact, not fantasy… we have spent centuries developing cars and combines and phones and lasers … we construct buildings that scrape the sky … we come up with ingenious ways to adapt to our changing climate… we know thousands more words and absorb more information in a year than we did in a lifetime just 100 years ago… and yet we are still human, in human communities, in human relationships, propagating the species and adapting to the world.

We really are something – and the activist and radical political lyricist Malvina Reynolds captures it perfectly:

O what a piece of work are we,
how marvelously wrought;
the quick contrivance of the hand,
the wonder of our thought,
the wonder of our thought.

Why need to look for miracles
outside of nature’s law?
Humanity we wonder at
with every breath we draw,
with every breath we draw!

But give us room to move and grow,
but give our spirit play,
and we can make a world of light
out of the common clay,
out of the common clay.

I’ve been waiting for this one to come around. I mean, it’s the pinnacle of humanist hymn, and it’s my favorite of these hymns. And the dance that is our tune, Dove of Peace (one of the Southern Harmony tunes) is a perfect match. This is a celebration of the best that humanity is and can be.

And yes, of course, human minds have created a lot of terrible things. That hell is on earth is of absolutely no question. Human minds have created hate, and oppression, and violence, and all the things that make life untenable.

Which is all the more reason to celebrate the goodness of humanity as well. If we didn’t believe in our inherent goodness, our inherent potential to do better, be better, help one another, learn and do and teach and discover more and more, then what is life for?

And so today, and every time we sing this hymn, it’s worth pausing to remember that we are amazing creatures, marvelously wrought.

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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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One of the joys of belonging to a congregation that’s just 20 years old is that the history is recent, and there are a lot of firsts to be part of.

On May 27th of this year, there were a lot of firsts: I was co-ordained by the First Universalist Church of Southold, where I was serving and who has ordained dozens in their 187 year history…. and the Unitarian Universalist Congregation of Saratoga Springs, making this their first ordination. This was, of course, my first (and only) time being ordained. And I am the first person in my ancestry in many, many generations – perhaps since the early 1600s – to be ordained. For many friends, it was the first time they’d participated in an ordination. In attendance (and also participating) were not only their current minister (the resultant call of Saratoga’s first ministerial search) but also their first, founding minister. And while he was not in attendance, Saratoga’s first interim minister, Thomas Mikelson, was present through his words, written for this, the first hymn we sang that day.

A day of firsts.

And I’m glad this hymn is a part of that memory and my history; it’s one of my favorites, far surpassing Rank by Rank Again We Stand (which we’ll get to in September) as the perfect hymn to use in rituals like ordinations and installations. Mikelson draws us all in to the wide net of ministry, recognizing that we are all called.

Wake, now, my senses, and hear the earth call;
feel the deep power of being in all;
keep, with the web of creation your vow,
giving, receiving as love shows us how.

Wake, now, my reason, reach out to the new;
join with each pilgrim who quests for the true;
honor the beauty and wisdom of time;
suffer thy limit, and praise the sublime.

Wake, now, compassion, give heed to the cry;
voices of suffering fill the wide sky;
take as your neighbor both stranger and friend,
praying and striving their hardship to end.

Wake, now, my conscience, with justice thy guide;
join with all people whose rights are denied;
take not for granted a privileged place;
God’s love embraces the whole human race.

Wake, now, my vision of ministry clear;
brighten my pathway with radiance here;
mingle my calling with all who will share;
work toward a planet transformed by our care.

Set to the Irish dance that is Slane, it reminds us that all that we are called to is a dance with the Mystery – that as much gravitas as our call requires, it also requires us to enter that call with a light and loving heart.

I honestly have not one bad thing to say about this hymn – as long as it’s not played as a dirge, of course.

And it will always live on in my memory as the first hymn of my ordination. May it also always live on as a reminder of my call.

—

From my ordination – the amazing Rev. Kimberly Quinn Johnson leading the processional, singing this hymn.