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There’s a funny opening in an episode of Family Guy, where the guys are sitting at the Drunken Clam, and a Barry Manilow concert is announced. At first they make fun of it, but slowly, they are comfortable enough to confess how much they love Manilow and are soon like excited teenagers as they plan to see him in concert.

I feel a little like this, especially in the company of my friends who are lovers of much less schmaltzy English composers like Benjamin Britten. But the truth is, I love Ralph Vaughn Williams, who set this English folk tune in a lovely arrangement. He did hymnody a great service with his settings and compositions. He parted from his contemporaries and leaned into the beautiful folk tunes of England and France, and wrote lush, harmonious pieces that are a joy to listen to and a joy to sing. And I am definitely a fan of this tune.

I also rather like the lyrics, with some rich metaphors and turns of phrase, although their place is complex: is it a winter hymn? An Advent hymn? A praise hymn? Some part of all three, I suspect.

All beautiful the march of days, as seasons come and go;
the hand that shaped the rose hath wrought the crystal of the snow;
hath sent the hoary frost of heaven, the flowing waters sealed,
and laid a silent loveliness on hill and wood and field.

O’er white expanses sparkling clear the radiant morns unfold;
the solemn splendors of the night burn brighter through the cold;
life mounts in every throbbing vein, love deepens round the hearth,
and clearer sounds the angel-hymn, “Good will to all on earth.”

O Thou from whose unfathomed law the year in beauty flows,
thy self the vision passing by in crystal and in rose.
Day unto day doth utter speech, and night to night proclaim,
in ever changing words of light, the wonder of thy name.

My problem is this: the tune’s a bit cheery and springy and seems a tad odd in this setting. It will seem odd in future posts too – I go back to my comment a few weeks ago about how meter doesn’t always mean the lyrics fit. For me, it’s a hair too happy a tune, especially for lyrics like “laid a silent loveliness” and “life mounts in every throbbing vein, love deepens round the hearth”… I don’t want spritely trills while singing those lyrics, I want a lush, lengthened melody line there.

And for all this grousing, I sang this with some measure of gusto. The tune almost requires a full-bodied sing with its lilt and intricate movement. So I don’t know. Maybe this series has me looking at these hymns with a more critical eye than is necessary. Maybe it’s the mood, and it will pass, and soon I will be transported again into the mystery, inspiration, and comfort of singing hymns. Who knows?

What I know is that despite my thinking this marriage of tune and lyric doesn’t quite work, I am glad for the singing.

 

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I feel like I am supposed to be reverent about the Hungarian tune, because we have a connection to Hungary.

I feel like I am supposed to be reverent about the lyrics, because it’s brimming with meaning.

But the truth is, the entire thing leaves me cold and not very reverent at all. I’m having the same problem I have had before – with tunes that are puzzling to sing and lyrics that don’t go anywhere. It doesn’t help that the lyrics have an odd pattern – 11.11.11.5 – so right off, we’re ending six beats early.

Bells in the high tower, ringing o’er the white hills,
mocking the winter, singing like the spring rills;
bells in the high tower, in the cold foretelling
the spring’s upwelling.

Bells in the old tower, like the summer chatter
from darting bright birds, as the grapes turn redder;
bells in the old tower, now the wine is brimming,
new life beginning.

Bells in the stone tower, echoing the soft sound
of autumn’s mill wheel, as the wheat is spun round;
bells in the stone tower, see, the bread is yeasting
for time of feasting.

Bells in the cold tower, ‘midst the snow of winter
sound out the spring song that we may remember;
bells in the cold tower, after the long snowing
come months of growing.

I mean, look at that. Awkward.

Now I am aware that the wonderful and talented Elizabeth Alexander has reset the lyrics to a new tune in Singing the Journey, which we’ll get to in early 2018. I’ve not sung that one either, but I hope she’s made an adjustment for that clunky non-ending. Because this is just…. well, awful.

There. I said it. I’m not having it, okay? It’s an unsatisfying tune, with equally unsatisfying lyrics. Truly, it just sits there, and doesn’t even end. It’s like Vladimir and Estragon in the last scene of Waiting for Godot.

 

 

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Finally – a hymn about the feminine divine.

I’m not surprised these lyrics are by the Rev. Dr. Kendyl Gibbons – I love her writing and have used her words often in services, including her wonderful piece on the “love is patient, love is kind” passage from I Corinthians 13, which I use in my Share the Love service.

But I digress. Gibbons offers us an image of the feminine divine that is (gasp!) not just motherhood! Halleluiah! The heavens opened and the angels sang, “it’s about freaking time!”

I say this, because over and over we have “mother God” or “mother spirit” or other paeans to women couched in motherhood. I am grateful for the framing of women and the feminine divine in many aspects – include the aspect of justice seeker.

Lady of the seasons’ laughter, in the summer’s warmth be near;
when the winter follows after, teach our spirits not to fear.
Hold us in your steady mercy, Lady of the turning year.

Sister of the evening starlight, in the falling shadows stay
here among us till the far light of tomorrow’s dawning ray.
Hold us in your steady mercy, Lady of the turning day.

Mother of the generations, in whose love all life is worth
everlasting celebrations, bring our labors safe to birth.
Hold us in your steady mercy, Lady of the turning earth.

Goddess of all times’ progression, stand with us when we engage
hands and hearts to end oppression, writing history’s fairer page.
Hold us in your steady mercy, Lady of the turning age.

This hymn works for me today, especially, when I find myself worn down by men, mansplaining, misogyny, and madness. I don’t want to be told how to feel, how things I know already should be, how I shouldn’t make noises or make waves, or just this constant, pervasive insistence that men are more important. I’m worn down. I’m tired. I’m angry. And thus, Gibbons’ call to the Goddess to “stand with us when we engage hands and hearts to end oppression” is a reminder of all the women throughout history who have made a difference in everyone’s lives – and who continue, daily, to answer the call for justice for all, not just women. (Note to self: this would make a great Women’s History Month sermon.)

Two more things, and then I’ll go, because I’m at my sister’s for the holiday and there’s cranberry sauce to be made:

First, the tune. It’s familiar to me, but not because of singing this particular hymn in our congregations. I am fairly certain we sang it a few times in chapel at Union, but I can’t seem to remember what lyrics we used – certainly they were more Christian ones. I was surprised when I picked it up, realizing that while the hymn was unfamiliar, the tune certainly was.

Second, the format: it’s been bugging me that when this publishes to Facebook and email, you get my opening line, and then the lyrics all in an unformatted box. I love having the lyrics at the top for reference, but I think having my words up top is more important, so I’ll try putting the lyrics in the middle of the page. Let me know what you think – it’s not like I don’t still have over a year to tweak this further…

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The Universe has a sense of humor.

Morning has broken like the first morning,
blackbird has spoken like the first bird.
Praise for the singing! Praise for the morning!
Praise for them, springing fresh from the Word!

Sweet the rain’s new fall sunlit from heaven,
like the first dewfall on the first grass.
Praise for the sweetness of the wet garden,
sprung in completeness where God’s feet pass.

Mine is the sunlight! Mine is the morning
born of the one light Eden saw play!
Praise with elation, praise every morning,
God’s recreation of the new day!

It is, for me and millions of us, dark days. Hard mornings. As one colleague said on Facebook, I go to sleep and all is well, then I wake up, remember, and I cry. For those both shocked at the election results and scared of what might happen if the attitudes expressed in the campaign come to fruition, these are hard days, as we deal with a deep sense of foreboding and struggle to find a path forward.

So of course, I am starting the Morning series of hymns. Bright, shiny, beautiful dawns. And of course it starts with this otherwise popular, easy to sing, inspiring hymn, made popular in the 1970s by Cat Stevens.

Of course.

And of course, it’s a bright and crisp autumn morning here. The song matches the weather.

Oh Universe, what are you like?

The sermon kinda writes itself, doesn’t it. Always dark before the dawn, one day at a time, tomorrow is another day, etc. And the truth is, I’m not ready to write that sermon yet, or even that blog post. I’m not ready for the re-creation of a new day. I’m not ready to praise much of anything. I think that’s okay. If I were to bypass my own emotional process, I would be doing neither me nor anyone else any good.

But what I suspect these next few hymns will do for me – and maybe for you too – is hold the door open for when I’m ready to walk toward it. Some little musical reminders that life calls us on, that the world is forever turning, that we are still here.

Anyway. Be good to yourself in these days. Do the next right thing. Hold space. Love.

 

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In case you forgot our Christian roots…

Unto thy temple, Lord, we come
with thankful hearts to worship thee;
and pray that this may be our home
until we touch eternity:

The common home of rich and poor,
of bond and free, and great and small;
large as thy love forever more,
and warm and bright and good to all.

May thy whole truth be spoken here;
thy gospel light forever shine;
thy perfect love cast out all fear,
and human life become divine.

This is a very Christian hymn.

It is also a very Unitarian Universalist hymn.

Christian, because it imagines a transcendent, omnipresent, loving Divine… because it proclaims the message of Jesus… because it reflects on the kingdom of heaven….and yeah, because it references the gospel.

Unitarian Universalist because it imagines God as Love….because it affirms our first principle… because it reminds of us our call to help heal the world.

I point out the obvious in my processing this morning, because sometimes its helpful – especially in ecumenical and interfaith settings – to point out that we hold dear the core of Jesus’s ministry and that it informs who we are today. I like to say we take the assertions to their inevitable conclusions. For me, this hymn makes that connection clear. Yeah, at first I went “huh” at the language, especially seeing a “Lord” where that word has been so carefully excised elsewhere. But when you take a longer view, it may not be the specific theology of a plurality of UUs, it certainly reflects our theological foundations. And in these days of the run up to the election, its kind of nice to start the day with a hymn that reminds me of that greater truth – perfect love casts out fear. Yes.

Plus, the tune (Duke Street) totally works with this one.

 

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So….

(Chorus) Name unnamed, hidden and shown, knowing and known. Gloria!

Beautifully moving, ceaselessly forming,
growing, emerging with awesome delight,
Maker of Rainbows, glowing with color,
arching in wonder, energy flowing in darkness and light:

(Chorus)

Spinner of Chaos, pulling and twisting,
freeing the fibers of pattern and form,
Weaver of Stories, famed or unspoken,
tangled or broken shaping a tapestry vivid and warm:

(Chorus)

Nudging Discomfort, prodding and shaking,
waking our lives to creative unease,
Straight-talking Lover, checking and humbling
jargon and grumbling, speaking the truth that refreshes and frees:

(Chorus)

Midwife of Changes, skillfully guiding,
drawing us out through the shock of the new,
Woman of Wisdom, deeply perceiving,
never deceiving, freeing and leading in all that we do:

(Chorus)

Daredevil Gambler, risking and loving,
giving us freedom to shatter your dreams,
Lifegiving Loser, wounded and weeping,
dancing and leaping, sharing the caring that heals and redeems.

… after what became a three-day discussion about Bring Many Names, I know this kind of hymn was and still is important for those who need to re-imagine God.

And truthfully, even the lyrics here – for the most part – are pretty decent. I like the premise, that there are still many names for God that we don’t know and only discover through time and experience. And some of Wren’s names are pretty awesome – Daredevil Gambler, Spinner of Chaos, Weaver of Stories – I’m totally in. Not so much with Lifegiving Loser, although I understand where that comes from and why it’s there. And as some have pointed out, some of the names can be problematic.

Maybe my problem is less with lyrics in Wren’s hymns and more with tunes; as my colleague Thom Belote rightly noted, the tune for Bring Many Names is “pure treacle.” This tune feels awkward and unwieldy – again, maybe good for a soloist or choir, but clunky for a congregation. There’s no way I’d spring this on people on a Sunday morning without an incredible amount of preparation.

My other quibble is that Wren’s lyrics are seemingly endless – in an effort to broaden and expand, they go on…and on… and on. They seem like nothing more than a list. Nothing, really, happens in any sort of progression. It’s recitation (albeit poetic and different), with no movement.

And maybe that’s the real problem with a hymn like this. It’s hard to sing and we get bored. At least I did.

I’m gonna use some of these names for God, though.

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Titles are deceiving…

View the starry realm of heaven,
shining distant empires sing.
Skysong of celestial children
turns each winter into spring, turns each winter into spring.

Great you are, beyond conception,
God of gods and God of stars.
My soul soars with your perception,
I escape from prison bars, I escape from prison bars.

You, the One within all forming
in my heart and mind and breath,
you, my guide through hate’s fierce storming,
courage in both life and death, courage in both life and death.

Life is yours, in you I grow tall,
seed will come to fruit I know.
Trust that after winter’s snowfall
walls will melt and Truth will flow, walls will melt and Truth will flow.

I have never sung this hymn. I have never really even paused to read the lyrics. I think once or twice I have noticed that it was written by notable Unitarian minister and martyr Norbert Capek. But I’ve easily flipped past, because we’ve got so many “ooo, look at God in nature” hymns already.

Mea culpa.

Sure, the first verse is lovely and nature filled. But this second verse… “my soul soars with your perception; I escape from prison bars.” And the verses after… “courage in both life and death”… “trust that after winter’s snowfall walls will melt and Truth will flow.”

Damn.

A look to the bottom of the page – the tune is called Dachau. And I remember this, from the Dictionary of Unitarian and Universalist Biography:

On the 28th of March, 1941, Čapek and his daughter, Zora, aged 29, were arrested by the Gestapo and taken to Pankrac Prison. Zora was accused of listening to foreign broadcasts and distributing the content of some BBC transmissions; Čapek himself of listening to foreign broadcasts and of “high treason.” Several of his sermons were cited as “evidence” of the latter charge. Listening to foreign broadcasts was a capital offense under the Protectorate. Two separate trials were held, the first at Pankrac Prison soon after their arrest; the second, an appeal of the original decision, at Dresden in April 1942. The appeals court found Čapek innocent of the treason charge, recommending that, given his age, the year between his arrest and the appeals trial be counted toward his jail time. The Gestapo, ignoring the court’s recommendation, nonetheless sent Čapek to Dachau, Zora to forced labor in Germany. Čapek’s name appears among prisoners sent on an invalid transport on October 12, 1942 to Hartheim Castle, near Linz, Austria, where he died of poison gas.

And I think to myself of all the people of faith who maintained their faith in the worst of atrocities – Čapek, yes, and Bonhoeffer and Frankl – and I think of all that our faith calls us to do, and how we find the courage to do so.

And my mind goes to my colleagues who are heading to Standing Rock to answer the call to clergy to come pray… and the call that went out 51 years ago to clergy to join King in Selma… and all of the times our faith calls us to face down atrocities, because our faith helps us find the courage to do so.

I’m not heading to Standing Rock because of various commitments here – but I support those who are going, and I pray with those who are, and I pray that all who are there remain safe.

“Life is yours – in you I grow tall.” May we all grow tall, and courageous, and may the truth flow.

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Bring many names, beautiful and good;
celebrate in parable and story,
holiness in glory, living, loving God:
hail and hosanna, bring many names.

Strong mother God, working night and day,
planning all the wonders of creation,
setting each equation, genius at play:
hail and hosanna, strong mother God!

Warm father God, hugging ev’ry child,
feeling all the strains of human living,
caring and forgiving till we’re reconciled:
hail and hosanna, warm father God!

Old, aching God, grey with endless care,
calmly piercing evil’s new disguises,
glad of new surprises, wiser than despair:
hail and hosanna, old, aching God!

Young, growing God, eager still to know,
willing to be changed by what you’ve started,
quick to be delighted, singing as you go:
hail and hosanna, young, growing God!

Great, living God, never fully known,
joyful darkness far beyond our seeing,
closer yet than breathing, everlasting home:
hail and hosanna, great, living God!

In my opinion, this hymn needs to be retired.

To be honest, I groaned when I turned to the page and saw which hymn it was.

First, it is a fairly annoying tune to repeat seven times – and it’s hard to omit a verse because then you’re omitting an aspect of god. But ugh – it’s such an annoying tune I stopped after three and then just sang the last line to end on a resolved chord.

Second, it’s got some troubling stereotypes: “Strong mother God, working night and day.” Really? The father God is warm, “hugging ev’ry child” – Dad’s being loving and kissing the hurts away while Mom is toiling away at creation? Are you kidding me? No. Just no.

I’m not that thrilled with how the lyrics paint young and old, either, as though only the old ache and only the young learn?

There are admittedly a few lovely moments – the last verse is terrific – “joyful darkness far beyond our seeing” is a nice turn of phrase. But I am not going to praise an entire hymn because it stumbles into poetic once or twice.

And yes… I get why this might be important for some people coming in to this faith from others who painted a vengeful, controlling image of a strong male God. But there are so many other hymns that explore the ways Unitarian Universalists understand the Divine, without using stereotypes and an annoying, kill-me-now tune.

I don’t want to talk about aching Gods and overworked housewife Gods, I want to talk about a God that can’t be described in trite stereotypes but needs expansive and gorgeous language to give a hint of what God might be.

I want to talk about all that might be God even if we can’t or won’t name it as God because of all the damage that word has done.

I want to talk about what God means to how we live with and among one another.

I want to talk about how we live on this amazing planet in this amazing time of the creative humans and see what we can do together to be together, work together, love together because that is God.

I want to take hikes in the woods and sit on beaches and picnic by streams and gaze out at changing leaves and talk about the emanating from the rocks and lakes and trees and birds God.

I want to talk about inspiring, creative, love beyond all measure, bigger than us but seen constantly in us and among us, present whether we notice or not God.

I want to talk about God without needing to believe in God.

I want to see God in you, and I want to see God in me.

I don’t want to categorize God. I want to experience God.

 

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Dear weaver of our lives’ design
whose patterns all obey,
with skillful fingers gently guide
the sturdy threads that will survive
the tangle of our days.

Take up the fabric of our lives
with hands that gently hold;
bind in the ragged edge that care
would sunder and that pain would tear,
and mend our rav’ling souls.

Let eyes that in the plainest cloth
a hidden beauty see;
discern in us our richest hues,
show us the patterns we may use
to set our spirits free.

Back in my holy roller days, a member of my prayer circle self-proclaimed herself as having the gift of prophesy. In that space and time, we understood that to be a huge gift, but the way it played out was her telling us things about life in poetic language. And yes, she was doing an MA in creative writing. She’d wax poetic about trees and rebirth, crystals and growth, wind and change. Nothing too wild, but our 18-year-old minds were blown away by her 25-year-old wisdom. At one of our gatherings, she went into ‘prophesy’ mode and talked to me about being a tapestry, a life woven through time with many threads coming together; I wouldn’t be able to see it because I was still young and too close, but it would become significant.

As time wore on and I fell away from that path, I forgot most of what happened in those circles and firmly rejected the harmful doctrines; however, her image of a tapestry has stayed with me, more than 30 years now. I return to it time and time again, thinking about how not just our individual lives but our communities and indeed our world are woven into beautiful tapestries we can only see part of. When something especially good or especially bad happens, I think about what color threads are being used, what the image on the tapestry looks like, how it connects to other parts of the design.

So it’s not surprising that I love the lyrics of this hymn. Me, in my theistic, “god is creator and creating and so are we” understanding of theology, resonates deeply with this weaver of our lives’ design. We are plain cloth and tangled threads; we are the sculpture under the stone; we are the unprocessed film; we are the unplayed notes on the piano – all ready to be and already woven into our life’s tapestry. This is creation and creating, this is possibility and anticipation, this is what is and what’s next.

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For the beauty of the earth, for the splendor of the skies,
for the love which from our birth over and around us lies:
Source of all, to thee we raise this, our hymn of grateful praise.

For the joy of ear and eye, for the heart and mind’s delight,
for the mystic harmony linking sense to sound and sight:
Source of all, to thee we raise this, our hymn of grateful praise.

For the wonder of each hour of the day and of the night,
hill and vale and tree and flower, sun and moon and stars of light:
Source of all, to thee we raise this, our hymn of grateful praise.

For the joy of human care, sister, brother, parent, child,
for the kinship we all share, for all gentle thoughts and mild:
Source of all, to thee we raise this, our hymn of grateful praise.

This is probably in my top five favorite hymns ever.

I loved it as a child, I loved it especially when I learned a solo version during my holy roller days, I loved it even more when I saw that the Unitarian Universalists changed “Lord” to “Source.” (I’m not sure why “glory” was changed to “splendor” – word allergies, I suppose.) I love it every time I hear it, just about every way it’s played (I once heard someone play it like a dirge. It was offensive.), I find myself singing it to myself. I have to be careful to not choose it as an opening hymn too often.

For me, this is a celebration of life – because for me, life isn’t just about the earth and its inhabitants. Life is about our spirits, our souls, our connection to something bigger and greater than us. Even if you don’t believe in God, it’s hard to believe we are completely isolated from each other – we are connected, and we constantly find ways to connect, whether through families and tribes, nations and states, highways and railways, telegraphs and telephones, the internet. We are connected to something greater, even if it is just our collective selves.

This hymn remembers that we’re connected to something greater than ourselves – Source of All. And it’s good, and appropriate that we sing a hymn of praise to that something greater. It’s what helps us find meaning, helps us find purpose, helps us be fully human and fully earthlings.

And in the praising, I find peace. I find comfort, I find assurance.

—

On a musical note (see what I did there?), I really wish everyone would take the breath, as marked, in the chorus. It’s “Source of all, to thee we raise this, [BREATH] our hymn of grateful praise.” Please, if you read this, breathe where you’re supposed to. It’s actually more meaningful and beautiful.