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As the Gish gallop of terrible politics, violence, natural disasters, and a shocking lack of compassion continues to fill our news feeds, we turn now to this canon by Methodist composer Natalie Sleeth.

Whose lyrics, when translated from the Latin, mean “let us be joyful today.”

Joy is hard to find some days – harder than hope, I think. But…and I’m just musing a bit here… I think joy is part of what’s at the heart of compassion. I am not sure I can explain it well right now; it’s an idea that’s just occurred to me as I started singing this song. But there’s something to it… something to joy, and hope, and relief that’s all woven together.

Anyway…things to think about as we sing this joyful song in the midst of these hard days.

Gaudeamus, gaudeamus, gaudeamus hodie.
Gaudeamus, gaudeamus hodie.

Gaudeamus,
gaudeamus hodie.

Gaudeamus, gaudeamus,
gaudeamus hodie, hodie.

And if after singing it you still need some help to touch joy, watch these kids sing the song (I should note that while some of the kids are nearly emotionless, others more than make up for it and it’s fun to watch them):

Gaudeamus hodie – Natalie Sleeth from Music@BelPres on Vimeo.

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I have sung this a thousand times since childhood, around the campfire, at vigils, even once at an evening memorial service. It’s as familiar as my own skin.

Yet when I think of it, I don’t think of the vigil or the campfire or the memorial service. I think of M*A*S*H.

In particular, the episode “Dear Sis” – where Father Mulcahy writes a letter to his sister, ‘the Sister’, about how ineffective he feels as pastor to this rag tag flock of medical personnel stuck half a world away in a war they don’t understand. He talks about watching the doctors and nurses saving lives, helping the injured, making a difference, yet all he can do is offer last rites and perhaps a bit of comfort.

Yet what he doesn’t realize – until the end – that small gestures of kindness and his simple presence among these busy, overworked, scared people bring them comfort, connection, a sense of their humanity, and most of all, moments of peace.

At the end of the episode, Hawkeye raises a glass to the priest and encourages the group to sing this song. “‘Dona Nobis Pacem.’ I can translate it for you,” he jokes. “No need,” replies Father Mulcahy, a sly smile on his face. And then they begin singing.

Dona nobis pacem, pacem;
dona nobis pacem.

The image of these people, wearing fatigues and showing fatigue, trying to capture a moment of Christmas spirit, and asking for peace…well, it knocks me out every time. The care these people show for their chaplain and each other speaks volumes of the work this simple priest accomplishes by his very presence among them.

You may find a million better versions, but I think you’d be hard pressed to find a more emotionally powerful one.

Give us peace, indeed.

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Next on the Countdown, it’s the original one hit wonder. (I’m apparently channeling the late Casey Kasem right now… a throwback to my misspent youth.)

While a working organist, composer, and teacher most of his life, German musician Johann Pachelbel produced more than 200 pieces throughout his lifetime, earning himself a place as one of the most important composers of the middle Baroque  era. But as prolific and popular as he was, he only ever hit the charts with his Canon in D.

Here’s a version on original instruments:

Our chaconne, based on the Canon in D, uses the word “alleluia” for vocalizing. It is a rather lovely way to honor the hit in voice. It’s laid out in a way that should make sense for leading a congregation, but it would require some teaching and strong leading. I’d start it with the choir, and then get them to help the rest of the congregation.

Alleluia, alleluia. Alleluia, alleluia.
Aleluia, alleluia, alleluia, alleluia,
alleluia, alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.
Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.

That is, if you’re not sick to death of the piece.

I admit to having loved it a lot, so much so that I bought an album called Pachelbel’s Greatest Hit, which features 14 different versions, by artists ranging from Arthur Fiedler to Isao Tomita.  And then I got sick of it. Not as sick as comedian Rob Paravonian, but pretty sick of it. I leave you with the hysterical rant from Paravonian, because we all need something to laugh about now and then:

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Image is the cover of the CD, drawn by cartoonist Patrick McDonnell, who draws the popular comic Mutts.

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I feel like I should be writing something elegant and insightful and perhaps a bit humorous about Taizé , about glorias, about chants and canons. Just yesterday I spoke of how this practice has never (except around the election) felt like a chore. And truly, the practice itself – singing – has never felt that way.

But some days the blogging – a practice I set up and an expectation I developed – feels less for me and more for you. That’s not a bad thing; our spiritual practices at their best lead us to turn back outward after having turned inward. I love that a personal thing has become a public ministry. I love the research, the thinking, the musing, the writing. I love the comments, even if the discussion gets heated sometimes. I love the friendships I’ve developed because of it and all that I have learned. I love it.

And today, all I want to do is sing this Gloria, over and over, Taizé style (because it is a Taizé piece by Jacques Berthier, after all) and sod the research and musicology and lit crit and theological discussion.

Gloria, gloria, in excelsis Deo!
Gloria, gloria, Alleluia, Alleluia!

Yeah. I’m not gonna write about any of that stuff and just play this YouTube video that has really no good visuals but a gorgeous audio to sing along with.

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Yay! Another alleluia! Today’s is made better for two reasons:

First, my colleague and friend Amy Zucker Morgenstern wrote this in the comments for yesterday’s Alleluia:

The word doesn’t really mean “praise the lord.” It means “praise Yah,” one of the many Hebrew euphemisms for God, since God’s name is unpronounceable. Some of them do translate to Lord (the Hebrew Adon, particularly) but Yah really doesn’t. Hallel = praise, yah = that unnamable power we usually call God or Lord or The Holy One. Isn’t that great?

Second, the round is based on the Alleluia section of Mozart’s motet “Exsultate, jubilate” and is one of my favorite pieces from that era. Have a listen to the original piece, mastered here by Chinese-Australian soprano Shu Cheen Yu:

High praise indeed. (pun intended.)

The lyrics are simple. I hope you can follow along…

Alleluia, alleluia; alleluia, alleluia.
Alleluia, alleluia; alleluia, alleluia.
Alleluia, alleluia.

The round is simpler to sing, of course, with three parts more simply scored. But when it comes together… well, it isn’t Shu Cheen Yu, but it’s pretty joyful.

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So – I can’t be the only one who sees Tom Hulce when I think Mozart, right? This motet doesn’t appear in the film or stage versions of Amadeus, but it’s still the image that came to mind.

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I love alleluias.

Sure, the word means “praise the Lord” and I’m not big on the word “Lord”, but as a word of praise, it’s gorgeous and lyrical and pretty much no matter how its sung, I am in. This one’s in a pretty round from an unknown source, one that I wish all choirs had in their back pocket and could pull out at a moment’s notice to punctuate a part of the service as needed. A sermon on hope? This. A reading that opens us up? This. Easter? Well, of course this.

Alleluia. Alleluia.
Amen. Amen.

And the truth is, there’s not much more to say. This is lovely piece that will get stuck in my brain for the rest of the morning.

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The image is what came up when I typed “alleluia” into the Pixabay search bar. Told you this section could get weird…

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As I mentioned yesterday, the English version of this lyric is a mashup of Luke 2;14 and an Isaac Watts hymn.  I take it on faith that the translation here is good – my go-to on Spanish is currently out of the country, so please, someone, let me know if it’s more or less the same as 381.

De todos bajo el gran sol
surja esperanza, fe, amor
verdad, y belleza cantando,
de cada tierra, cada voz.

I’m not sure I have anything to add, as this is a translation of yesterday’s text.

Except to say it’s beautiful in Spanish, and that I should work toward being more adept at the Spanish language.

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Last week when I started into this doxology section, I ran to the internet to find out a bit more about doxologies – where they come from, why they are used, etc. Of course, I stopped by Wikipedia to see what they had to say, and I discovered a section on Unitarianism. In the text as I found it, the earnest author listed this text, from Isaac Watts, as THE Unitarian Universalist doxology and Old Hundredth as THE tune.

That says two things to me – first, that the section needed to be edited, which I did. But second, that this is very common as a doxology (or as my home congregation calls it, an Affirmation of Faith). In my experience, if a congregation sings a doxology, it is this one – although much like spoken covenants, words do change a little; I never got used to the alterations made by the Southold congregation – their second line is ‘let words of hope…’ and their third line is ‘let joyful songs of praise be sung’.

But like I said, this is very common as a doxology, at least in the congregations I have been in.

From all that dwell below the skies
let songs of hope and faith arise;
let peace, good will on earth be sung
through every land, by every tongue.

The lyrics are an abridgment of a two-verse hymn by the very prolific Isaac Watts, a late 17th/early 18th century English hymn composer. We know him from from  Joy to the World. 

Here is Watts’ text:

From all that dwell below the skies,
Let the Creator’s praise arise;
Let the Redeemer’s name be sung
Through ev’ry land by ev’ry tongue.

Eternal are Thy mercies Lord;
Eternal truth attends Thy Word;
Thy praise shall sound from shore to shore
Till suns shall rise and set no more.

Obviously, that won’t do for most of us – even if we are UU Christian, the idea of Redeemer is complicated by our Universalism.

But somewhere along the way – and the names are now lost to history – someone thought the sentiment of Luke 2:14 – “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men” – would be a nice replacement, and so we get peace and good will on earth. The rest then is just poetry.

Now I will say there is nothing in our version that I object to, and it’s quite familiar to me. But I am not sure this is my favorite of the bunch – and I’m not sure why. I am not entirely sure I HAVE a favorite. I wonder if what I need are new doxologies, new songs of praise to stir my well-worn heart.

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This one seems very familiar…

No, I’ve not sung it before, which surprises me a little. If I had, I hope I’d sung it to Vom Himmel Hoch, because that seems the best pairing to my ear. But it seems very familiar. They certainly are a sentiment that makes sense to me – one I’ve certainly preached before.

Rejoice in love we know and share,
in love and beauty everywhere;
rejoice in truth that makes us free,
and in the good that yet shall be.

Seems more familiar in the singing… but I turn my attention to the facts: these lyrics are by Charles Lyttle (with an abridgement by Vincent Silliman and Edwin Palmer). I wrote about him recently, I recall, and find that yes, he wrote the lyrics to Praise God.

Which are remarkably the same.

Seriously. Click the link, then come back here.

::::: hums ‘Girl from Ipanema’::::::

You’re back! See what I mean? It’s almost like Silliman and Palmer took out the God and fleshed out the words to fill the meter. They certainly aren’t as theist – even though Lyttle’s original lyric was meant to bridge the theist/humanist gap – taking away God makes this much more palatable to many of our congregants. But even for this theist, I dig this lyric a lot. Sure, it’s aspirational. Sure, there’s a lot of love lost between members of our congregations, and that work of building beloved community often needs to be done inside our walls as well as outside – but I love the aspirational thought that love and truth are what ground us and that good is what we are working toward.

Yep. It’s a winner.

Even though I know you’re walking away from this not humming the hymn but rather humming ‘Girl from Ipanema” – which you can’t blame on me, but you can blame on the Bosa Nova.

You’re welcome.

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Yes, that’s Ipanema Beach, in Rio de Janeiro.

 

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I wonder sometimes if I’m overthinking these things.

You see, I first looked at our lyric – another one by Ken Patton – and at first cheered at having an artsy doxology text, since I am an artsy minister. Yay, loveliness! Yay all arts, all songs, beauty! Yay all the other stuff! Yay! Ours be the poems of …wait, of all tongues? Ours? Huh? Who is us?

And now I don’t know what to think. Here’s the lyric:

Ours be the poems of all tongues,
all things of loveliness and worth.
All arts, all ages, and all songs,
one life, one beauty on the earth.

I’m a little confused. Are we taking an imperialistic tone here, or are we saying that all of humanity’s artsy stuff belongs to all of us because we’re all human? And if that’s the case, isn’t that a bit too much “I don’t see differences”? Or… is this meant to be a “thanks, God, for giving us all this artsy compulsion and this artsy, lovely planet to be artsy on”?

Seriously – I may be overthinking this one and may need help to get out of my head. Because I don’t want to be suspicious when I encounter praise for artsy-ness, and I’m feeling that way today.