It is hard to sing this hymn and not see an indictment of the character of the person who currently occupies the White House. The person this hymn describes is the person we want as our president – strong, self-reliant, truthful, not swayed by the attractions of fame, power, and wealth.

And I think about this man who took the oath less than four weeks ago, and I realize how unhappy he probably is, and I feel a sense of pity. I’m sorry that he was brought up in an environment that likely prized winning over loving, acquisition over compassion, self-promotion over self-knowledge. I am sad for the little inner child that cries at night to be seen and loved, because I doubt the man has ever given his inner child one iota of thought, or love, or grace, or apology.

Our first principle calls us to affirm and promote the inherent worth and dignity of every person – we don’t have to like them, but we have to affirm their inherent worth. In our brighter moments, this is easy. In our darker moments, it’s a struggle. But I’d like to think that we who value the self-possessed and compassionate character defined in this hymn can open our hearts to include some sadness for the boy who never learned this and thus became the man we alternately fear and revile.

How happy are they born or taught,
who do not serve another’s will;
whose armor is their honest thought,
and simple truth their highest skill;

Whose passions not their rulers are;
whose souls are still, and free from fear,
not tied unto the world with care
of public fame or private ear;

Who have their lives from rumors freed,
whose conscience is their strong retreat,
whose state no flattery can feed,
nor ruin make oppressors great.

All such are freed from servile bands
of hope to rise, or fear to fall;
they rule themselves, but rule not lands,
and, having nothing, yet have all.

On a musical note – the tune suits the lyrics, but the lyrics don’t always scan well, meaning I sometimes tripped over which syllable goes where or figuring out exactly what word I was singing over several notes (“ruin” and “happy” especially tripped me up in the singing).

I think it’s a decent hymn and would use it now that I’ve discovered it. In fact, it might be spawning a sermon idea… yeah, that’ll preach.

This is another hymn I suspect many of us bypass because of the not-really-the-title title; it’s been honestly off-putting to me and I suspect others.  But it is an intriguingly appropriate pairing with Nancy McDonald Ladd’s sermon from General Assembly last year. As Kenny Wiley reported in UU World,

McDonald Ladd’s sermon lamented the “fake fights we waste our time on,” like “what color to paint the church bathroom,” as others struggle against injustice. McDonald Ladd’s words repeatedly brought cheers and ovations from the crowd as she weaved together personal narrative, humor, and her vision for a Unitarian Universalism focused on “real struggles and real battles” and not “confined by the smallness of our loving.”

We struggle with this. We create our little fiefdoms, our ways of doing things, and woe betide the person who doesn’t follow our rules! I loved this sermon and refer to it often, as it (like the hymn) calls us back to our hearts, our call, and our faith. Here, McDonald Ladd knocks it out of the park (transcribed from the video):

“I am not one to speak against an honest fight; but we need to lean into the real fights of our age. We need to do the work before us, not let another 50 years pass before we ask again what in the world we have been doing all that time while the dream goes unrealized. We need to keep it real – and keeping it real means admitting what we are here for in the first place. In spite of what every congregational satisfaction survey says, we did not come here for the coffee, and we did not even come for the great music. We don’t even come from our excellent ministers. We don’t. We come because we have a deep, aching need for an encounter with the holy that crosses our borders and expands our hearts. We come to be a part of something so much larger than ourselves. And we cannot do that holy work together unless we are really willing to set aside our own need to win and reach out our hands and seek the deeper understanding that comes with difference.”

That’s so important now. We are seeing so much infighting – not just in congregations about fights that don’t matter, but also among active participants in the resistance in fights about the quality and commitment of each other. The second verse in the hymn really got to me here, because I am watching friends struggle to support each other because our individual fears and hurts seem harder to bear than the collective pain we experience. Can we see each other in the midst of this and have the time and patience and compassion to be present?

From the crush of wealth and power something broken in us
all waits the spirit’s silent hour pleading with a poignant call,
bind all my wounds again.

Even now our hearts are wary of the friend we need so much.
When I see the pain you carry, shall I, with a gentle touch,
bind all your wounds again?

When our love for one another makes our burdens light to bear,
find the sister and the brother, hungry for the feast we share;
bind all their wounds again.

Ev’ry time our spirits languish terrified to draw too near,
may we know each other’s anguish and, with love that casts out fear,
bind all our wounds again.

This song, with a really lovely tune I didn’t know, reminds us that we must lead with love.

(I got to the binary language in the third verse and remembered this was written and published at a certain time before we understood gender as a spectrum. Since the lyricist, Kendyl Gibbons, is still an active minister, I bet she’d be amenable to a lyric shift.)

I want to love this song. Really, I do.

It’s certainly a popular one that lots of people know. And here’s the thing: This song should be amazing and inspiring and strong – and I suspect in its original form, as crafted by Carolyn McDade herself, it was. I imagine that on guitar, it has a driving rhythm, and that the lyrics tumble forth in a ragged, folky, Dylanesque manner. I imagine selecting this for the hymnal was a no brainer. The words are tremendous, and the tune is easy to pick up.

But it has sadly become a sing-songy, rather long and annoying piece of music that many of us use sparingly because we fear a revolt.

And so I am looking for a little help – to find versions that capture what I suspect is a less pedestrian and more inspiring, less ooompa and more driving. Because that is what this lyric – inspired by two kickass prophets (Isaiah and Amos) requires. This isn’t “oh, look, nice aspirations,” this is “remember Noah’s flood? Ain’t got nothing on this justice we’re bringin’ down.” This isn’t a pop song,  this is King’s “I Have a Dream” speech.

We’ll build a land where we bind up the broken.
We’ll build a land where the captives go free,
where the oil of gladness dissolves all mourning.
Oh, we’ll build a promised land that can be.

(Chorus)
Come build a land where sisters and brothers,
anointed by God, may then create peace:
where justice shall roll down like waters,
and peace like an ever flowing stream.

We’ll build a land where we bring the good tidings
to all the afflicted and all those who mourn.
And we’ll give them garlands instead of ashes.
Oh, we’ll build a land where peace is born.
(Chorus)

We’ll be a land building up ancient cities,
raising up devastations from old;
restoring ruins of generations.
Oh, we’ll build a land of people so bold.
(Chorus)

Come, build a land where the mantles of praises
resound from spirits once faint and once weak;
where like oaks of righteousness stand her people.
Oh, come build the land, my people we seek.
(Chorus)

So can someone help me out with an arrangement that doesn’t make me think we’re singing a toothless campfire song?