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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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Let me start off by saying I feel significantly better today, with just a leftover fog from the meds and sleeping a lot. Phew – what a weird siege that was. Yet even a clearer head and lack of pain won’t help me today.

Let me say for the record that I am glad we have a variety of hymns that speak to all theologies, including atheism. But it is also true that all I can come up with this morning is a smart ass thought: namely, I might be more inclined to love these atheist hymns if the tunes were more appealing.  I’m finding the melodies discordant, which isn’t helping me embrace the lyrics’ (a)theologies.

I mean, this lyric, from a sonnet by 20th-century poet John Mansfield, isn’t wrong necessarily, but I guess what I find hard to understand (and this is just me talking here) is why we would want to settle for these limits. Here is all that we can know” – where’s curiosity and discovery? And I’m not sure I get how one understands the universal mind when the flesh is all we know…

Here in the flesh is all that we can know,
all beauty, all wonder, all the power,
all the unearthly colors, all the glow,
here in the self which withers like a flower.

Here in the flesh is all that we will find,
swift in the blood and throbbing in the bone,
Beauty herself, the universal mind,
eternal April wandering alone.

I know I have thoughtful atheist friends who will not like that I struggle to understand atheism and one or two who might thing I’m dismissing them. I am trying to understand, and I think I do a good job as a religious professional of making space for them and those who identify with other theologies in my work. As an individual person, just sitting here on the sofa in my pjs with my first cup of coffee, however, I struggle with it.

I also wish to quibble with the phrase “beauty herself” – argh. Beauty isn’t female, it’s a quality. A thing. An it. Grrr….

Anyway.

This is not a hymn I’d use unless I heard that the song, written by STLT hymnal commission member TJ Anderson, was lovely and graceful and reasonable to sing – plunking out the melody on my phone didn’t help one bit.

—

And because I couldn’t come up with anything for a photo, I’ve chosen a pic of Fairy Glen on the Isle of Skye in Scotland (public domain).

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I wish…

I wish I felt better so I could really dig into this hymn.

I wish I had looked ahead and scheduled a Hymn-by-Hymn conversation with Suzanne Fast about this hymn.

I’ll just say that having had a conversation with Suzanne at General Assembly, I now understand how difficult this embracing our bodies without shaming our bodies for the ways they work, move, and look can be.

The pen is greater than the sword.
To wield a blade or write a word
we need the skill which hands accord.

A surgeon takes a knife to heal;
assassins do the same to kill.
Each acts according to their will.

I pick the cherries from a tree,
or break the branch and let it die.
For good or ill, my hands are free.

With fingers I can soothe a brow,
or make a fist and strike a blow,
kindness or cruelty bestow.

Then let us now this lesson see:
like life itself our hands can be
for evil used, or charity.

My analytical abilities continue to be put off by a flu that has settled into my shoulder, causing great pain. I’m on anti-virals and muscle relaxers to ease it out; they’re starting to work, but I am Flexeril-loopy.

Anyway – have at it: the song about assassins and hands.

At least it’s not a cankerworm?

—

Cool pen image via deviantart.net.

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I’m not sure if it’s the muscle relaxers and anti-viral meds I’m on because of a weird virus that hit me late last week, or Charlottesville, or something else, but I just can’t grok this hymn this morning. I don’t get the tune (by Dede Duson, commissioned for this hymnal), and while I intellectually understand there is value in the lyrics by Unitarian Universalist minister John Godfrey MacKinnon, they speak not to my heart and soul at all.

Ye earthborn children of a star amid the depths of space,
the cosmic wonder from afar within your minds embrace.

Look out, with awe, upon the art of countless living things;
the counterpoint of part with part, as nature’s chorus sings.

Beyond the wonder you have wrought within your little time,
the knowledge won, the wisdom sought, the ornaments of rhyme.

Seek deeper still within your souls and sense the wonder there;
the ceaseless thrust to noble goals of life, more free and fair.

Ye earthborn children of a star who seek and long and strive,
take humble pride in what you are: be glad to be alive.

If I were feeling better, I might be able to interrogate them and consider the theological implications. Right now, a baffling tune and a cosmic lyric – combined with this spacy head and weeping heart – just don’t click for me.

Sorry, folks. You’re welcome to take a stab at it in my stead.

I will add this: the aurora borealis in the photo is named Steve. For real.

PS: This weird illness is also why I haven’t finished tagging all the hymns yet. In time, good friends, in time.

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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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Before I dive into the hymn, a few words about Charlottesville, since my only pulpit today is this one:

I am certain I don’t have anything to say that hasn’t been said more publicly and eloquently by colleagues, friends, and admired public figures. But I too must proclaim this as loudly as possible, because we cannot keep silent. Of course – OF COURSE – I condemn the hatred of white nationalism and white supremacy, and I condemn any person or system that encourages, excuses, or refuses to say anything to stop it. It tore our country apart 160 years ago and it’s tearing us apart now.

I pray for healing and comfort for the families and friends of those who lost their lives yesterday as they answered the call of love. Their deaths were senseless. And they were doing good in the world at the moment of their senseless deaths. No words of comfort will be enough, but I see you, and I see them.

And for the young white men who have been radicalized into religious and racial terrorism, I offer my own prayers that they let go of their hate and fear – and I pray that young white men stop being radicalized – and I pray we figure out what the solutions to that radicalization really are. Because it’s a problem we white people have to solve in order to ensure that the black, brown, and queer lives that we say matter actually live.

I’m heartbroken that three people have died. I’m more heartbroken that we have agents of radicalization in power in this country. And … my Universalism tells me that all souls – even those peddling evil – are human souls, worthy of the radical love of God. I’m reminded of that scene in the film Contact, when Ellie (Jodie Foster) goes through the wormhole and sees the extraordinary beauty and vastness of the universe, and she says two things: “they should have sent a poet” and “I had no idea.” I believe that even the most hate-filled people have that moment at death, when they cry in amazement at the awe-some, extraordinarily expansive, radical love.

May we – on the streets, in congregations, in conversations, in work and play, on blogs and social media – may we all show a glimpse of the radical love that dissolves fear and hate and holds all.

Amen.

—

Now, the hymn. Another short commentary, not surprisingly.

This is one of the Brian Wren songs I actually really like. It isn’t a litany of metaphors; rather, it goes somewhere. And it’s got a graceful tune, thanks to David Hurd. It’s warm, loving, affirming. And maybe it was just the thing to sing today – reminding us of the bigger picture of life, love, action, compassion, connection.

We are not our own. Earth forms us,
human leaves on nature’s growing vine,
fruit of many generations,
seeds of life divine.

We are not alone. Earth names us:
past and present, peoples near and far,
family and friends and strangers
show us who we are.

Therefore let us make thanksgiving,
and with justice, willing and aware,
give to earth, and all things living,
liturgies of care.

Let us be a house of welcome,
living stone upholding living stone,
gladly showing all our neighbors
we are not our own!

Again I say Amen.

—

The image is of amazing faith leaders, including UUA President Susan Frederick Gray, bringing love in defiance to hate yesterday in Charlottesville.

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The last thing I want to do is write a blog post about a song entitled “tradition held fast” on the morning after a spontaneous alt-right march encircled a church where friends and colleagues were praying in preparation for today’s hate-filled rally in Charlottesville. The march – complete with torches (but no hoods – hate is on full display) – is, to those who support it, all about holding on to tradition – their tradition of racism and hatred and oppression, the last gasp of the harmful and destructive Lost Cause.

So no, I don’t want to talk about tradition.

And yet, this amazing song by Jim Scott is indeed about the ways that OUR traditions – prayer, connection, non-violent protest, interfaith collaboration, trust and belief in our principles – how our traditions will win.

It is an affirmation, to be sure. But this morning, let it also be a prayer for strength, for good, for affirmation. May this be our prayer for those who are holding strong as counter protestors to the hate on full display in Charlottesville.

Tradition held fast through varied time and place,
the raising of voices, the touching of hands.
Circle of spirit, council of grace,
all faith finds expression ‘cross countless lands.

Freed from the worldly burdens that we bear,
released in this time of forgiving, healing, sharing.
Lifted by the power of our communion,
held in the warmth of a common caring.

Now though we turn to separate lives, renewed,
our circle of peace will not break as we part.
Though form is gone as we conclude,
through us will it open to every fate of life
and every open heart.

Amen.

(I’m sorry that I can’t find a recording of this song. If someone has a link, please share.)

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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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Mitch Miller (remember him?) included this parody of “Stars and Stripes Forever” on one of his Sing Along with Mitch albums:

Be kind to your web footed friends,
For a duck may be somebody’s mother
Be kind to your friends in the swamp
Where the weather is very, very damp
You may think that this is the end:
Well it is.

And of course, intentionally, it leaves you wanting the rest of the song.

Like this hymn.

We have here two verses put together from the two verses that make up Edwin Markham’s poem “Earth Is Enough.” And what I don’t understand is why the verses have been switched, because the way our hymnal commission reset it, we are left without an ending (which, by the way, we find in the last line of the hymn’s first verse…and which was the last line of the poem).

Here are our lyrics:

Here on the paths of every day —
here on the common human way —
is all the stuff the gods would take
to build a heaven, to mold and make
New Edens. Ours the task sublime
to build eternity in time.

We need no other stones to build
the temple of the unfulfilled —
no other ivory for the doors —
no other marble for the floors —
no other cedar for the beam
and dome of our immortal dream.

I had expected there to be a few more verses of the poem, which would finish us off but which might have been too heavy handed in a theology that doesn’t jive with ours, but no. This one is just an odd switch that has us leading with the ending and ending with the turn.

Adding to my puzzlement was searching for the hymn tune; even if I know it, I often look for more information. There are actually four different tunes called Fillmore – only one is the correct one, but searching for “Southern Harmony” – as noted in our hymnal – along with “Fillmore” doesn’t help, because the tune actually doesn’t come from Southern Harmony. Here’s more information, from Hymnary:

Composer: Jeremiah Ingalls (Born: March 1, 1764, Andover, Massachusetts. Died: April 6, 1828/1838, Hancock, Vermont. Buried: Rochester, Vermont.)

Ingalls moved to Newbury, Vermont, in 1787, and in 1791 began leading the singing at the First Church there. The choir became quite well known, and people came from miles around to hear them. In 1803 Ingalls became a deacon, though he was removed and excommunicated in 1810. He had run a tavern for a number of years, but sold it and moved to Rochester, Vermont, after his falling out with the church. His works include: Christian Harmony, or Songsters Companion.

So while this is a shape note tune, it’s from one of the northern harmony collections. And, if you read between the lines, it is entirely possible that Ingalls became a Unitarian or a Universalist given his falling out with the church (now UCC) in New England in 1810… I’m possibly projecting here, but that often happened.

Anyway. I’m not sure I like this one. If anything, it could be an interesting hymn for right before a sermon or other reading that finishes the thought that Markham actually had finished in his very earth-centered, very Universalist poem.

Now you may think that this is the end.

Well, it is.

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The first rule of Let It Be a Dance is that it is a mostly-spoken-word folk song.

The second rule of Let It Be a Dance is that it is a mostly-spoken-word folk song.

The third rule of Let It Be a Dance is that it if you’re going to use it, it’s really only best done on guitar with a folk musician who knows what they’re doing.

I know we have a melody transcribed, and a piano accompaniment written. And yes, it’s a good thing we have preserved this song in our living tradition. Ric Marsten captures something amazing in his lyric – combining the joy of humanity with the sage wisdom of Ecclesiastes 3. I love the language. And the chorus is easy to pick up – as good folk choruses are.

But, as we see from the evidence, and as musician (and SUUSI Boyz founder) Alexis Jones has taught us, this is a largely spoken-word folk song. I think our plodding along with piano and a fierce adherence to the song as written in our hymnal has obscured the beauty of this song

Here. This is Ric himself singing it with a group of children:

Now look at these lyrics – they’re meant to be largely spoken:

(Chorus)
Let it be a dance we do.
May I have this dance with you?
Through the good times and the bad times, too,
let it be a dance.

Let a dancing song be heard.
Play the music, say the words,
and fill the sky with sailing birds.
Let it be a dance.
Let it be a dance. Let it be a dance.
Learn to follow, learn to lead,
feel the rhythm, fill the need
to reap the harvest, plant the seed.
Let it be a dance.

(Chorus)

Everybody turn and spin,
let your body learn to bend,
and, like a willow with the wind,
let it be a dance.
Let it be a dance. Let it be a dance.
A child is born, the old must die;
a time for joy, a time to cry.
Take it as it passes by.
Let it be a dance.

(Chorus)

Morning star comes out at night,
without the dark there is no light.
If nothing’s wrong, then nothing’s right.
Let it be a dance.
Let it be a dance. Let it be a dance.
Let the sun shine, let it rain;
share the laughter, bear* the pain,
and round and round we go again.
Let it be a dance.

A quick note about the phrase “bear the pain” – in a couple of places, I have seen folks make reference to the original being “bare the pain” – which is a very different meaning. However, I’ve not got anything more than anecdotal evidence that “bare” was Marsten’s intent. Anyone have information on this?

Anyway… I hope we can use this song judiciously in our congregations, letting our folk musicians (and you know we all have at least one in a congregation… I’m grateful to have Dan Berggren as a member of my home church, but you know yours) pay tribute to Masten and this wonderful, mostly-spoken-word song.