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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.

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It seems that every month or so there is a day I let my faithful –  and even not so faithful – readers down. Today is one of them. I’ll chalk it up to utter exhaustion after an amazing, if sleep-deprived, week at SUUSI, and a beautiful but long drive home from the Smoky Mountains of North Carolina to the foothills of the Adirondacks. And I’m not a kid anymore. This pace, while awesome in the moment, does take its toll. I slept in late, and even after two cups of coffee, I just can’t handle a new tune in four flats on my little keyboard app.

I’m sorry to say this tune, by composer Dede Duson and commissioned for this hymnal, seems like it is beautiful; but I just can’t get a handle on it. And as it turns out, the last time I encountered one of Duson’s tunes, I was also letting you all down, finding the tune too hard to manage through less-than-perfect conditions. Perhaps I need to find an accompanist I can call on mornings such as this to play tunes for me.

Anyway. Having not sung the tune – thus letting you and my practice down – I turn to the lyrics, by our old friend John Andrew Storey.

The star of truth but dimly shines behind the veiling clouds of night,
but ev’ry searching eye divines some partial glimmer of its light.

The certainty for which we crave no mortal ones can ever know;
uncharted waters we must brave, and face whatever winds may blow.

Though for safe harbor we may long, we must not let our courage fail,
and, though the winds of doubt blow strong, upon the trackless ocean sail.

From honest doubt we shall not flee, nor fetter the inquiring mind,
for where the hearts of all are free, a truer faith we there shall find.

I love this lyric. Every single line of it. The idea that we not only are able to have our answers questioned but that we can engage the search together, and that our hearts will open wide in the search? Sign me up.

I wish I was familiar with the tune and could teach it – I could have used this hymn several times in the last year. I mean, I could have us sing it to a different tune, like Winchester New (also used for As Tranquil Streams), but I would really like to use the new tune written for us.

So I ask: anyone willing to sign up to be on the other end of a Dial-A-Pianist Hotline?

—

Anyone know the artist of this image of safe harbor? Google is also failing me today.

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Confession: sometimes I sing a hymn and all I really have to say is, ‘yep, it’s great’ and then I look for more to say.

I love this hymn. It’s great. The melody, a late 15th century French tune by Franciscan monk Jean Tisserand, is lush and a bit bittersweet, and provides a perfect mood for these last three absolutely perfect verses of Christina Rossetti’s poem “What Good Shall My life Do to Me?”

O filii et filiae, Alleluia.

O ye who taste that love is sweet,
set waymarks for the doubtful feet
that stumble on in search of it.
Alleluia.

Sing hymns of love; that some who hear
far off, in pain, may lend an ear.
Rise up and wonder and draw near.
Alleluia.

Lead lives of love; that others who
behold your lives may kindle too
with love, and cast their lot with you.
Alleluia.

Two last notes, and then I’m heading on the last leg toward home from SUUSI.

The hymn tune is called O Filii et Filiae, which in Latin means “o sons and daughters” – and yes, it’s problematic now in terms of gender expansiveness. However, it is also the title of this rather famous-in-Catholic-circles tune, and I am not sure we can or should change it.

Also: this first line is the priest’s ‘get your attention’ line. It’s the “gather around and listen up” line. It absolutely sets the mood of the piece, too. If you use this as a congregational hymn, you probably want the song leader to sing the first line and then the congregation to sing the verses. Or, consider a song leader, then the choir on the verses, with everyone joining in on the ‘Alleluia.” or, drop that first line altogether and just do the verses. But know you have options, because this tune is somewhat unfamiliar in form, and it may prove to be a good way to teach it.

So this hymn? Yep, it’s great.

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Of course this is the hymn today, as I set out on 14-hour trip home from SUUSI that was called Blessed Is the Path. And in fact, I’m a little surprised no one used this in their worship this week… except that it’s probably a bit stodgier than most of what we sing here.

Yet it is a favorite hymn of mine, one I find myself using (or wanting to use) a lot. Perhaps it’s because I talk about our journeys a lot – all kinds of journeys, from personal journeys to collective, from spiritual to intellectual, from historical to prophetic. Unitarian Universalist Mark DeWolfe’s lyrics are simply gorgeous:

Sing out praises for the journey, pilgrims, we, who carry on,
searchers in the soul’s deep yearnings, like our forebears in their time.
We seek out the spirit’s wholeness in the endless human quest.

Look inside, your soul’s the kindling of the hearth fire pilgrims knew.
Find the spirit, always restless, find it in each mind and heart.
Touch and hold that ancient yearning, kindling for a newfound truth.

Stand we now upon the threshold, facing futures yet unknown.
Hearth behind us, wayside hostel built by those who knew wild roads.
Guard we e’er their sacred embers carried in our minds and hearts.

An aside – while training friend and colleague Elizabeth Assenza to take over as a Union chapel minister, we giggled a lot at “forebears” because it didn’t scan to our eyes correctly. We wanted it to say “forebearers” because we weren’t quite sure four bears were quite up to the task.

And now you will never look at that word the same way again. Our work here is done.

Now back to the hymn – a lush lyric set to a lovely if somewhat squarely notated – and thus played – tune by the English composer Henry Purcell. I wonder if it would make it drag if done in a 6/8 time signature; it certainly would dance a bit more. Or maybe we find a new tune.

But no matter. I like the Purcell, and I don’t know why I’m stuck on trying to change it, but, well, there it is.

Bottom line: this is a favorite of mine, and it’s a good, useful hymn. I’m grateful for it.

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Here at SUUSI, we have a yearly theme; this year’s is “Blessed Is the Path,” and the resulting worship services have explored the many ways we are on our path, what we may encounter on the path, and what it means to say ‘yes’ to the path.

Of course, my mind has spent a little energy thinking about the path I’m heading down; a path that’s mine and mine alone. Friend and colleague Karen Armina (formerly Quinlan) reminded us of these words from Joseph Campbell:

If you can see your path laid out in front of you step by step, you know it’s not your path. Your own path you make with every step you take. That’s why it’s your path.

Our hymn today is about the paths we make. It’s not about looking back at our accomplishments (for which we do also give praise) but about looking forward to the next step – the untilled field, the open sea, the roads ahead.

Our praise we give for harvests earned,
the fruits of labor garnered in;
but praise we more the soil unturned
from which the yield is yet to win.

Our praise we give for harbor’s lee,
for moorings safe in waters still;
but more the leagues of open sea,
where favoring gales our canvas fill.

Our praise we give for journey’s end,
the inn, all warmth and light and cheer;
but more for length’ning roads that wend
through dust and heat and hilltops clear.

Soren Kierkegaard is famously quoted as saying “Life is lived forward but understood backward.” The path ahead – unturned, unsailed, untraveled – makes sense only because we look back and know that what we do creates a life well lived.

Now I know I’m waxing poetic this morning and not saying much about the hymn itself. So let me pause to say the tune is a gorgeous piece by Percy Carter Buck, and the lyrics are part of a longer piece written by Unitarian minister John Coleman Adams.

It is a lush and lovely hymn, one I would definitely use at an ingathering or a sending off. Or maybe another time of the year – because our journey never ends until we do, and the time we are on the path is a lot longer than the preparation or reflection.

As I and my colleagues across denominations are wont to say, that’ll preach.

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I entered this morning’s hymn with trepidation; I’m familiar with it and I’ve sung it a few times, but I was a bit anxious about what is really a charming little melody, wondering whether it would be a problem the way the Austria tune can be.

Between the Lines was no help really; James says simply that this is an Alsatian tune, with a translation of verse 1 by Arthur Kevess and new lyrics from Elizabeth Bennett.

That’s it.

Before we go too far, here are the lyrics as we have them in the hymnal:

Die Gedanken sind frei, my thoughts freely flower.
Die Gedanken sind frei, my thoughts give me power.
No scholar can map them, no hunter can trap them,
no one can deny: Die Gedanken sind frei!

My thoughts are as free as wind o’er the ocean,
and no one can see their form or their motion.
No hunter can find them, no trap ever bind them:
my lips may be still, but I think what I will.

A glimmering fire the darkness will brighten;
my soaring desire all troubles can lighten.
Though prison enfold me, its walls cannot hold me:
no captive I’ll be, for my spirit is free.

Good strong lyrics representing free thought. But what of the original? Was it as freely thinking?

As it turns out, yes.

This song first became popular during the 1840s, after the Carlsbad Decrees and then during the 1848 German Revolution, Die Gedanken Sind Frei was a popular and important protest song. A direct translation from the German goes like this:

Thoughts are free, who can guess them?
They fly by like nocturnal shadows.
No man can know them, no hunter can shoot them
with powder and lead: Thoughts are free!

I think what I want, and what delights me,
still always reticent, and as it is suitable.
My wish and desire, no one can deny me
and so it will always be: Thoughts are free!

And if I am thrown into the darkest dungeon,
all these are futile works,
because my thoughts tear all gates
and walls apart: Thoughts are free!

So I will renounce my sorrows forever,
and never again will torture myself with whimsies.
In one’s heart, one can always laugh and joke
and think at the same time: Thoughts are free!

I love wine, and my girl even more,
Only her I like best of all.
I’m not alone with my glass of wine,
my girl is with me: Thoughts are free!

Not surprisingly, this also became popular again in the 1930s and 40s in German; in at least one example of Nazi resistance, a member of the White Rose Resistance (Sophie Scholl) would play the song on her flute outside the prison where her father had been detained for calling Hitler “a scourge of God.”

So we’re getting closer to why this might be in our hymnal, but just as there are dozens of protests songs around the world that we’ve never heard of much less included in our living tradition, how did this one get our attention?

And then I read this, in Wikipedia:

The Weavers recorded the song at a live concert in the 1950s. Pete Seeger also recorded the song, solo, back in the 1950s. The Limeliters recorded the song in 1962 on their Folk Matinee album. Pete Seeger recorded the song once more in his Dangerous Songs!? album in 1966.

It all makes sense now.

And yes, I used this in my service on January 21st. We need to remember that what we are experiencing is not normal, and that we must keep our minds freely flowering.

—

Image is of cornflower, the national flower of Germany. I was going to show edelweiss, but it’s honestly not as lovely. Plus, it’s Austrian. Plus, it plants an earworm, and goodness knows I wouldn’t do THAT to you. Not me. Perish the thought.

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I don’t wanna do this any more if it means I have to be eloquent and insightful about hymns like this one.

Now I am sure there were good reasons for the Hymnal Commission to include it. The lyrics – written by Unitarian minister, professor at Meadville, and church historian Charles Lyttle – are indeed a tribute to our frontier congregations: this was written for the centennial of the Unitarian Society in Geneva, Illinois. It contains a lot of personal-to-them metaphors and phrases. And I’m sure, the commission felt it important to honor that part of our living tradition, especially since we can be so Boston-centered.

I get it. I really do.

But here is another example of a hymn that goes nowhere, and worst of all, is set to that damn Nicea tune (Holy, Holy, Holy). And you KNOW I have opinions about that one.

Anyway, here are the lyrics:

Bring, O Past, your honor; bring, O Time, your harvest,
golden sheaves of hallowed lives and minds by Truth made free;
come, you faithful spirits, builders of this temple:
“To Holiness, to Love, and Liberty.”

Ring, in glad thanksgiving, bell of grief and gladness,
forth to town and prairie let our festal greeting go.
Voices long departed in your tones re-echo:
“Praise to the Highest, Peace to all below.”

Shrine of frontier courage, Sinai of its vision,
home and hearth of common quest for life’s immortal good,
stand, in years oncoming, sentinel of conscience,
as through the past your stalwart walls have stood.

Church of pure reformers, pioneers undaunted,
company of comrades sworn to keep the spirit free;
long o’er life’s swift river preach th’eternal gospel:
faith, hope, and love for all humanity.

To be honest, sitting in my temporary digs at SUUSI with a view of the Smoky Mountains, having already heard and sung inspiring music (and we’ve hardly gotten started yet), I am not in a good headspace to be singing the praises of this plodding hymn that, yes, I sang all four freaking verses of because I’m dedicated to this damn practice.

But I really don’t want to wax eloquently about this one, because… ugh.

—

Photo is of the Unitarian Society in Geneva, IL. A pretty church.

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Proof that this spiritual practice has changed me: Whenever I see an adaptation note at the bottom of the page now, I first go hunt down the original lyrics, because there’s a very good chance we did more than adjust some God, gender, and empire language. And there are times when I find that frustrating, because we’ve changed the meaning and intention, and that does dishonor to the original composer/lyricist. (See, for instance, my frustration with Holy, Holy, Holy.)

However, sometimes the adaptation is welcomed – and in the case of this hymn, quite well done by Beth Ide, who was a minister of religious education.

I’m actually going to start with the original lyric, written by William DeWitt Hyde, a Congregationalist minister who long served as president of Bowdoin College:

Creation’s Lord, we give Thee thanks That this Thy world is incomplete;
That battle calls our marshaled ranks; That work awaits our hands and feet.

That Thou hast not yet finished man; That we are in the making still,
As friends who share the Maker’s plan As sons who know the Father’s will.

Beyond the present sin and shame,  Wrong’s bitter, cruel, scorching blight,
We see the beckoning vision flame, The blessèd kingdom of the right.

What though the kingdom long delay, And still with haughty foes must cope?
It gives us that for which to pray, A field for toil and faith and hope.

Since what we choose is what we are, And what we love we yet shall be,
The goal may ever shine afar—The will to win it makes us free.

Rough, eh? I think so. It screams to me of that awful theology based on the Revelation of John that suggests there’s a metric shit-ton of hell to pay at Armageddon; on the plus side, this is saying “Jesus is coming, better get busy doing the ministry while we wait” and not – as modern Dominionists suggest – “Jesus is coming and we’re gonna make the conditions favorable to bring down Armageddon.”

Hyde’s hymn isn’t scary as all that, but it is most certainly not about the god of process theology, who Ide saw in Hyde’s text and in our own theologies. And thus, with some careful editing and some creative loving (see what I did there?) we now have an amazing, if still difficult hymn:

Creative love, our thanks we give that this, our world, is incomplete,
that struggle greets our will to live, that work awaits our hands and feet;

That we are not yet fully wise, that we are in the making still —
as friends who share one enterprise and strive to blend with nature’s will.

What though the future long delay, and still with faults we daily cope?
It gives us that for which to pray, a field for toil and faith and hope.

Since what we choose is what we are, and what we love we yet shall be,
the goal may ever shine afar — the will to reach it makes us free.

Now just because Ide changed the language to reflect a creator god rather than an omnipotent god, this doesn’t mean it’s all light and fluffy. No – this is serious. Here’s what she’s saying: We’re glad there’s work to be done. We are grateful there are still problems in the world for us to respond to.  We’re glad to be part of creating the world we want to see. We’re glad the moral arc of the universe is long so we can help build the beloved community, not just benefit from it.

No really, this is what Ide’s adaptation is saying. Think about this for a minute. I know I keep pausing as I write to think about it. That first verse… lord have mercy.

And here, I pause, and I wonder if this is a privileged stance to take.

How would I feel about this if I were a person of color? Would I stop at the first line and say “no, not so much with the incomplete…I’m tired now.” Or…would I approach it with side-eye and an “oh, so you finally figured this out, eh?” Or… would I approach it with some other view, including but not limited to that which I first approached with – the “oh, we get to be part of this creation and try to reach for the big goal.”

I don’t know, but as I write this, I recognize the traps this one may have left for us. (I welcome comments and commentary on this.)

A quick note about the tune, another gorgeous, lush, beautiful melody arranged by the master, Ralph Vaughan Williams. If you don’t know it, listen to the original setting here – the original carol is part of a longer piece called “Fantasia on Christmas Carols.”

 

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This round evokes in me another, which we’ll get to in November:

Where does it come from? Who wrote it? Why is it in here?
Where does it come from? How did it get here?
Mystery. Mystery. This hymn’s a riddle and a mystery.

Okay, so not all of it is a mystery – it is clearly a round whose text comes from perhaps the most famous of all of the lament Psalms, number 137, which was written by the Israelites during their forced exile in Babylon, beginning around 587 BCE. In even this first verse of the Psalm, we understand the longing of a people taken from their homeland.

We do also have in our hymnody a much-more-familiar-to modern-ears reggae version, which we’ll get to in late December, but this version is a lovely round whose composer is unknown. According to Between the Lines, the round is falsely attributed to William Billings – a likely mistake as he was a master of the fugue form, and this round has probably been around for a long time.

I had never heard it before this morning, and it’s a lovely round with a haunting melody. I’d love to know more about it. Here are the lyrics:

By the waters, the waters of Babylon
we sat down and wept, and wept for thee, Zion.
We remember, we remember, we remember thee, Zion.

Psalm 137:1 reads “By the rivers of Babylon— there we sat down and there we wept when we remembered Zion.”

There is, of course, a lot more to say about the whole Psalm, but I want to wait until December, when we get more of the psalm’s text in song. Something to look forward to….

Meanwhile, I am hoping to solve the mystery of this tune. Or at the very least become comfortable with dwelling in the mystery.

—

Painting by 19th century French artist Jacques Joseph Tissot, entitled “By the Waters of Babylon.”

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These are the days I wish I was a pianist, or lived with one.

Because while I have listened to a recording of this hymn at Small Church Music, I feel like I want to play with this rather square tune by Frederick Charles Maker. I don’t want to change it, partly because the tune was written for this text by John Greenleaf Whittier and partly because there’s something lush in the melody. But the way I have heard it, it’s square and old timey, and I bet if I were a pianist or living with one, we’d be the kind of people who could reimagine the accompaniment.

And if we did that, I’d probably use this hymn – although I would take Whittier’s first line, “Dear Lord and Father of Mankind” one step further than our Hymnal Commission knew to do in 1993, and I’d make it something like “Dear God of All Humanity.” These lyrics are pretty great otherwise:

Dear Mother-Father of us all forgive our foolish ways.
Reclothe us in our rightful mind,
in purer lives thy service find, in deeper reverence, praise.

In simple trust like theirs who heard, beside the Syrian sea,
the gracious calling of the Word,
let us, like them, our faith restored, rise up and follow thee.

O Sabbath rest by Galilee, O calm of hills above,
where Jesus knelt to share with thee
the silence of eternity, interpreted by love.

With that deep hush subduing all our words and works that drown
the tender whisper of thy call,
as noiseless let thy blessing fall as fell thy manna down.

Drop thy still dews of quietness, till all our strivings cease;
take from our souls the strain and stress,
and let our ordered lives confess the beauty of thy peace.

Now barring the first line business, the lyrics are almost entirely Whittier’s, with just a couple of adjustments by our Hymnal Commission that I think make it stronger – mainly the second verse. Here’s Whittier’s, with the changed words in bold:

In simple trust like theirs who heard,
beside the Syrian sea,
the gracious calling of the Lord,
let us, like them, without a word,
rise up and follow thee.

I think our version is better, and I’m glad for it. It’s clearer that we are being called not by one man but in service to that which is greater and more powerful than all humanity and yet is the best of humanity.

All in all, a good hymn. I just long for a better arrangement…

—

The photo is of Syrian refugees along the Syrian Sea. In case we forget what we are called to.