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Welcome to the Freedom section of our hymnal, perhaps one of the most fraught sections – not because the songs aren’t good, or important to preserve, but because there’s no guiding language in the hymnal that helps us use the music with due diligence, and thus we wind up with misappropriation and colonization and a thousand other problems, just because “we have it, so we can sing it” is the unspoken rule.

It’s not necessarily going to be a fun section for us to go through. I admit, I’m already bracing for it, because I have opinions, and I know others do too. But I am committed to the practice, and so I will sing, and write, and probably contradict myself a time or two.

So strap in, folks. We’re about to get real with freedom songs.

The section starts with this hymn, which instantly makes me think of the US Civil War. Here are Jacob Trapp’s lyrics:

Let freedom span both east and west, and love both south and north,
in universal fellowship throughout the whole wide earth.

In beauty, wonder, everywhere, let us communion find;
compassion be the golden cord close-binding humankind.

Beyond all barriers of race, of color, caste, or creed,
let us make friendship, human worth, our common faith and deed.

Then east and west will meet and share, and south shall build with north,
one human commonwealth of good throughout the whole wide earth.

I’m not entirely certain I’m NOT supposed to think of the Civil War, even though there is a bounty of references to people from the other side of the planet. I say that, because the tune is an African American spiritual tune (adapted and harmonized by Harry T. Burleigh, an African American composer from Erie, PA). And while the tune is African American in origin, it has a distinctly Gaelic influence, again evidence of the convergence of the West Africans with the Irish and Scottish in Appalachia.

And lyrics like “south shall build with north” – combined with this tune, which for all the world could have been popular in the 1860s – bring images of the war and its aftermath to mind. Even if we also talk about east and west and castes.

It’s definitely a hymn that has made me go ‘hmmm”….not because there’s anything distinctly objectionable in it. In fact, it’s pretty inclusive for a lyric written in the mid-20th century. But something feels a tad… off. It’s just a feeling I have.

Like maybe, because I can’t stop thinking about the US Civil War when I sing this hymn, I recognize how much we are still fighting it, and how hard and sad it is.

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I am so confused.

This is a Kwanzaa hymn. The only one we have, apparently.

It is placed in this second source section, between In Time to Come and Freedom. I understand, from a sources point of view, why this isn’t slipped in between the Christmas and Epiphany hymns, but still.

Its lyrics (which are shockingly generic UU, except for “the lights of Kwanzaa”) are from an anonymous source, without even a clue from Between the Lines where they were found.

Its tune a very lovely little piece written by UU Musicians Network stalwart Betty Jo Angelbranndt (may she rest in peace), but definitely, if I may be so bold, a white people’s tune. For Christmas.

I am so confused. Kwanzaa is a celebration of African heritage in African American culture. And all we can manage is an anonymous lyric set to a white composer’s Christmas hymn?

I’m very confused. And awfully ashamed of us.

When all the peoples on this earth know deep inside their precious worth
when every single soul is free, we’ll earn the name Humanity.

The choice to be the best we can begins the day we say, “I am.”
The unity for which we sigh will never come through hate or lie.

The lights of Kwanzaa now proclaim that when we share our inner flame
and nurture root and branch with pride, we’ll harvest peace both far and wide.

Dear Anyone who might be on the next Hymnal Commission:

Do better.

Thanks,
the rest of us.

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I was hoping Jacqui James would bail me out today.

I was really hoping there would be some long explanation of the origins of this song – that the lyricist, Ehud Manor, had written this in response to a particular moment/tragedy/event that I could expand upon, or that the composer, Nurit Hirsch, had discovered an ancient melody that he modernized in a unique way.  Something. ANYTHING to capture my interest as we come to the close of this seemingly endless section In Time To Come.

But no, in Between the Lines, James has written simply this:

Well hell.

Okay, so there’s no there there. It’s just another song expressing belief in a better tomorrow. In case we didn’t have enough of those already in the hymnal.

Now be clear: I like this one. I am fond of whatever quality it is that makes Jewish music distinctive, despite being not at all Jewish. It’s easy to sing, it’s got better than decent lyrics, and it’s going to be with me all day because of its prime ear worm qualities. I have used it and will used it. I just don’t have anything else to say about it. It’s a song. A good, decent, hopeful song.

Soon the day will arrive when we will be together,
and no longer will we live in fear.
And the children will smile without wondering whether
on that day thunderclouds will appear.

(Chorus)
Wait and see, wait and see what a world there can be
if we share, if we care, you and me.
Wait and see, wait and see what a world there can be
if we share, if we care, you and me.

Some have dreamed, some have died to make a bright tomorrow,
and our vision remains in our hearts.
Now the torch must be passed with new hope, not in sorrow,
and a promise to make a new start.

(Chorus)

I guess Freud was right. Sometimes a song is just a song.

—

(And sometimes a sunrise behind a tree is just a picture to use because no other images come to mind.)

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The Matriarch hates this hymn.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

—

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

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I can’t decide if I’m just annoyed by this practice right now, or if the songs in this section are annoying me personally right now, or if really, I have stumbled into a difficult section and hymns like this annoy just about everyone.

Suffice it to say, I’m annoyed.

First off, I’m not so sure I am fond of the recasting of Christian hymns; I’m fine with finding ways that the original lyrics might hold new, expansive meaning for us, and I love using music in unexpected places. But this isn’t the first, nor do I expect it to be the last, example of a decidedly Christian lyric – in this case, by Jane Laurie Borthwick – being changed to remove its original intent.

Second off, I’m rather annoyed that this once Christian hymn has been set to a tune that is so strongly associated with a different set of lyrics, “Stand Up, Stand Up for Jesus” – I mean, it’s like they wanted us to think about Christian ideas REALLY BADLY but didn’t want to say it.

Seriously – I spent enough time in a Methodist church in my youth that I just can’t hear this tune without singing “Stand up, stand up for Jesus, ye soldiers of the cross…” and then cringe at the militarism. Forget how lovely the lyrics try to be about world community. The tune is as encoded with militarism as is the tune for Onward Christian Soldiers, which we sing as Forward Through the Ages.

Here are our lyrics:

Now is the time approaching, by prophets long foretold,
when all shall dwell together, secure and manifold.
Let war be learned no longer, let strife and tumult cease,
all earth a blessed garden and God the god of peace.

Let all that now divides us remove and pass away,
like mists of early morning before the blaze of day.
Let all that now unites us more sweet and lasting prove,
a closer bond of union, in blessed lands of love.

O long-expected dawning, come with your cheering ray!
Yet shall the promise beckon and lead us not astray.
O sweet anticipation! It cheers the watchers on
to pray, and hope, and labor, till all our work is done.

On their own, with no context and no melody, they’re not bad. Not great, certainly (and I am also annoyed with that old way of rhyming “prove” and “love”), but not horrific. But knowing they were originally about the second coming of Christ, and set to that tune?

Yep, I’m annoyed.

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It is easier to write about things you care deeply about, whether for good or for ill, than it is to write about things that are, well, fine, and don’t really bother you one way or the other.

Such is the case here. This is a fine hymn. Sure. It works. It’s got decent lyrics but not ones I’m swooning over. Oddly, the tune sounds like an introit, and I can imagine using the last verse exactly that way. It’s a bit weirder singing it four times – I can’t imagine if we sang all six verses; for what it’s worth, the two verses omitted are inspired by the Lord’s prayer but certainly are not out of line for our theologies:

Hallow our love,
hallow the deaths of martyrs,
hallow their holy freedom,
hallowed be your name.

Your kingdom come,
your Spirit turn to language,
your people speak together,
your Spirit never fade.

So…yeah. Decent modern hymn from two Canadians; what’s funny is that in Between the Lines, James has a nice biography of the composer, Robert J. B. Fleming. And for the lyricist? “Francis W. Davis (1936-1976) was a Canadian.” So there’s that. Sorry.

Anyway, here’s our decent hymn, for which I have no real feeling one way or the other.

Let there be light,
let there be understanding,
let all the nations gather,
let them be face to face.

Open our lips,
open our minds to ponder,
open the door of concord
opening into grace.

Perish the sword,
perish the angry judgment,
perish the bombs and hunger,
perish the fight for gain.

Let there be light,
open our hearts to wonder,
perish the way of terror,
hallow the world God made.

(Disclaimer: I know all Canadians are not Doug and Bob McKenzie, but I just could not resist. Plus, it got you to click….)

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Y’all, this song brings up the same commentary about aspiration, and the same commentary about cultural appropriation, and the same commentary about gender inclusion, and the same commentary about zipper songs that I’ve offered before and will be compelled to offer again.

And the truth is, I’m too tired to make the same arguments again. I fear this is one of those times when “ditto” is exactly the right answer, resolving in a predictable “use it with care and caution” and, more often than not “I’m not inclined to use it.”

So… all that being said about this spiritual, let me share two thoughts:

First: There’s a different version of this song that is embedded in the old-time gospel tradition that has been covered by countless gospel singers and choruses. It’s rousing and cheery and definitely old school. This is one of my favorites:

Second: I was trying to read a bit about the imagery of Zion in spirituals, and while my first google search didn’t result in much, I did run across Thomas Wentworth Higginson’s piece for the June 1867 Atlantic Monthly, entitled “Negro Spirituals.” A Union officer (and a Unitarian minister), Higginson was instrumental in the success and survival of the Port Royal Experiment (Later the Penn School, now the Penn Center) which taught the three R’s and other skills to the runaway and later newly freed people.

Now if you read the article, you will, of course, be confronted with the attitudes of the time – even the most enlightened white person of the day still carried with them a tangible systemic racism. But if you can get beyond that, you’ll find something quite amusing:

Remember when I talked about the encoding of spirituals – that they carried important information about the Underground Railroad? It was key to their survival, even while the white ears who heard the songs just thought they were religious in nature. Well…. Good ol’ Thomas had himself a moment with one of these songs:

“O, Jordan bank was a great old bank !
Dere ain’t but one more river to cross.
We have some valiant soldier here,
Dere ain t, &c.
O, Jordan stream will never run dry,
Dere ain’t, &c.
Dere’s a hill on my leff, and he catch on my right,
Dere ain’t but one more river to cross.”

I could get no explanation of this last riddle, except, “Dat mean, if you go on de leff, go to ‘struction, and if you go on de right, go to God, for sure.”

For sure. Nothing to see here, white man. I know you’re on my side, but there’s nothing to see here. Move along now. For sure.

Heh heh.

Anyway… here’s the lyrics. Make of this song what you will, but be careful and cautious in its use.

I’ve got a new name over in Zion,
I’ve got a new name over in Zion,
I’ve got a new name over in Zion!
It’s mine, it’s mine, it’s mine,
I declare, it’s mine!

I’ve got a mother over in Zion,
I’ve gat a mother over in Zion,
I’ve got a mother over in Zion!
She’s mine, she’s mine, she’s mine,
I declare, she’s mine!

I’ve got a father over in Zion,
I’ve got a father over in Zion,
I’ve got a father over in Zion!
He’s mine, he’s mine, he’s mine,
I declare, he’s mine!

I’ve got a new life over in Zion,
I’ve got a new life over in Zion,
I’ve got a new life over in Zion!
It’s mine, it’s mine, it’s mine,
I declare, it’s mine!

Photo is of a path near the Sea Islands, Georgia. No idea if it looked like that 150 years ago, but it’s awfully pretty.

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Is it cheating to just say “ditto”?

Yesterday I talked about these aspirational hymns, that by and large (except for some tripping over language – today’s is the binary “sons and daughters”) are pretty good and visionary and all that we hope we, and Unitarian Universalism, and the world, can be. Then I talked about how really frustrated I am that we are on the brink of all this goodness and how can it be 2017 and we are still so seemingly far away?

Is it cheating to say I feel the same way after singing this hymn, and maybe the one after that too? Because I’m sensing a theme here.

Now…earlier this morning (when the cat awakened me before the crack of dawn), I looked briefly at social media, and an acquaintance reminded me of an episode of The West Wing, (“Hartsfield’s Landing”) where the president returns from a trip to India bearing gifts – namely, chess boards. He proceeds to set up a couple of games while the staff deal with an international crisis (and wait up for early primary results out of New Hampshire). One of the games is with Sam, who is let in on some of the international intrigue; as the situation is resolved, thanks to some pretty impressive global chess, Sam wonders aloud “how do you do it?” The president replies, “see the whole board.”

I mention this, in this rambling “ditto” of a blog post, because I think about how important it is for religious professionals to be holding the vision in the midst of crisis, to see not just the next move, but the move after that and ten moves after that. Things feel terrible right now, but there is a larger game being played, one that – if we see it – we can win.

This hymn – all of these hymns in this “In Time to Come” section – are us seeing the whole board.

Wonders still the world shall witness never known in days of old,
never dreamed by ancient sages, howsoever free and bold.
Sons and daughters shall inherit wondrous arts to us unknown,
when the dawn of peace its splendor over all the world has thrown.

They shall rule with winged freedom worlds of health and human good,
worlds of commerce, worlds of science, all made one and understood.
They shall know a world transfigured, which our eyes but dimly see;
they shall make its towns and woodlands beautiful from sea to sea.

For a spirit then shall move them we but vaguely apprehend —
aims magnificent and holy, making joy and labor friend.
Then shall bloom in song and fragrance harmony of thought and deed,
fruits of peace and love and justice — where today we plant the seed.

Our moves today affect what happens next…and what happens after that. Let us work today, but see the whole board.

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We now enter what we might call “The New Eden” section but which we actually call “In Time To Come” – this section is very aspirational, very “kingdom of heaven.” Which, I suppose, is needed, and helpful – goodness knows Dr. King’s “I have a dream” motivated people to reach for it, to believe in something better. Even Barack Obama’s “yes we can” was similarly hopeful and visionary. And when we compare it to the backward thinking “make America great again” it’s a needed corrective and comfortable reframing.

Here are the lyrics – and don’t get tripped up by the word “race” in the first line – our lyricist John Addington Symonds was writing from a Victorian English literary perspective, where the word was used instead of “humanity” or worse, “mankind.” (I really don’t know what he was talking about in the first line of verse 3 – maybe one of you has a clue?)

These things shall be: a loftier race
than e’er the world hath known shall rise,
with flame of freedom in their souls,
and light of science in their eyes.

Nation with nation, land with land,
unarmed shall live as comrades free;
in every mind and heart shall throb
the pulse of one humanity.

High friendship, hitherto a sin,
or by great poets half-divined,
shall burn a steadfast star within
the calm, clear spirit of the mind.

New arts shall bloom of loftier mold,
and mightier music thrill the skies,
and every life a song shall be
when all the earth is paradise.

My biggest problem with this hymn is not the vision – I’m cool with it. (And the tune feels a little cheery, but this is the same tune as used in #12, O Life that Maketh All Things New, another aspirational song.)

No, problem is not with the hymn at all. My problem is that we should already BE HERE, and how are we not? What the hell happened?

I know there are a lot of answers, and it doesn’t change the reality that we face which is not at all this vision. I don’t feel particularly energized to go look for all the reasons why we’re in a pickle. We just are, and we can’t change the past.

What we can change is the future, and so keeping this peaceful, creative, intelligent, reality based vision of one world in the forefront like a carrot dangling before our eyes may help us remember what it is we’re fighting for.

—

The image is of the Peter Wenzel painting, “Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden.” I just couldn’t resist.

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I would bet I am not the only person who has looked at the bottom of the page of a hymn, seen words like “traditional Asian melody” and flipped past. Not because we don’t appreciate music from other cultures, but because the scales are sometimes unfamiliar and the intervals are tricky for unrehearsed singers. I know that the times I have been asked to learn a song not composed on the pentatonic scale, it’s been a delightful mixture of challenging, surprising, and pleasing.

And… seeing it noted as the source on a hymn when your office administrator is not so patiently waiting for your submission on the order of service and the accompanist really just wants to know what you want the congregation to sing… well, that note makes it easy to flip past, in favor of a more well known but perhaps less perfect choice.

Well, flip no more, my friends, past number 136! I sat down with my little keyboard app and counted out the 6/4 time, and discovered that while there are a couple of surprising intervals, they make sense to our western-trained ears. But what’s really interesting is that just the melody, without knowing the accompaniment, this could have been in one of the shape note books (Southern Harmony, Union Harmony, etc.). Its 6/4 lends itself to a gentle, rolling hint of a lilt; the four-line structure follows a traditional pattern; and each phrase is remarkably predicable in that “we’ve sung a lot of hymns just like this” way. Of course, I don’t know what the accompaniment is like, and it’s possible that all of my ‘gee, this sounds like Appalachian shape note’ flies out the window. But seriously, flip no more, because it’s highly singable.

Of course… I say flip no more, unless the lyrics do you in.

Where gentle tides go rolling by along the salt sea strand,
the colors blend and roll as one together in the sand.
And often do the winds entwine to send their distant call.
The quiet joys of humankind, when love embraces all.

Where road and wheat together rise among the common ground,
the mare and stallion, light and dark, have thunder in their sound.
The rainbow sign, the blended flood still have my heart enthralled,
the quiet joys of what we share where love embraces all.

But we have come to plow the tides, the oat lies on the ground.
I hear their fires in the field, they drive the stallion down.
The roses bloom, both light and dark, the winds do seldom call.
The running sands recall the time when love embraces all.

Maybe it’s just me, but I had to look twice while singing to make sure of what section I was in – yep, still Love and Compassion. I kept getting distracted by the horses, and definitely the whole light and dark business. I also stumbled on what lyricist Richard Farina meant with the reference to Genesis (“The rainbow sign, the blended flood still have my heart enthralled”) – blended flood? I know it stopped me singing, and I bet I’m not the only one. And seriously, what’s all this light and dark business? And that third verse is really just word salad at this point.

I’m not entirely sure if I’m baffled because I’m not feeling especially metaphorical today or because the lyrics really don’t work. Either way, I really love the melody of this hymn and now need to find another 8.6.8.6.8.6 lyric to set to it.

So… flip as you will, but don’t let it be because of a hesitation on the melody.