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First – apologies for the delay this morning. A great ministers’ retreat also meant late nights and early mornings and I decided turning off my alarm was a smart move.

Second – I don’t have much for you today. I could blame it on the grogginess of a long sleep, but really, there’s not much to say. ‘Jubilate deo’ means ‘make a joyful noise to God’  (or rejoice, or praise) and our round based on the first verse of Psalm 100, “Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all ye lands.”

I suppose I could talk at length about Michael Praetorius, a 16th century German composer, but there’s nothing much saying “ooo” to me right now, other than the reason why a German man born Schultz is called Praetorius: apparently ‘schultze’ means mayor, which in Latin is ‘praetor’ and for some reason, it was common to Latinize names.

Anyway, this is a fine round, although it’s not a favorite and never a go-to. In case you don’t know it. I’ve posted a YouTube of a Lutheran children’s choir singing it – it’s quite good.

Jubilate Deo.
Jubilate Deo.
Alleluia!

And here are the Lutheran kids:

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The pic has nothing to do with the song. It’s just a pretty fall scene, similar to some I have been seeing the last few weeks.

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I’m sitting with colleagues at White Eagle Conference Center near Hamilton, NY, with 22 colleagues retreating together. What strikes me about moments like this is how apart from time yet completely in the stream of time we are at these things – in the midst of programming last night, I learned a young neighbor died. I don’t have a ministerial responsibility there, but I do have responsibility as a neighbor.

And then comes along this song – which I sang with the amazing Lynn Gardner and Wendy Bartel last night – a prayer of deepening that, along with these friends, holds me in loving arms.

Voice still and small, deep inside all,
I hear you call, singing.
In storm and rain, sorrow and pain,
still we’ll remain singing.
Calming my  fears, quenching my tears,
through all the years, singing.

Our hymn was written by John Corrado, who was our lyricist way back in the first week. I should note that the original lyric used the phrase “in dark and rain”; our hymnal commission wisely changed it to “in storm and rain” – which I think works better anyway.

This hymn speaks deeply to me right now, as I process the news from a distance. I don’t have a ministerial responsibility, but I do have responsibility as a neighbor. It’s hard, but a song like this, which holds complexity so beautifully, offers solace and comfort.

Grateful for this place, grateful for this space, grateful for these friends and colleagues, grateful for this song.

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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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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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The truth that passes understanding right now is how it’s been a year already.

A year ago today, I started this spiritual practice. At the time I thought I’d reflect a little on my own experience of singing and maybe have some interesting conversations with some friends who noticed. I did not anticipate this becoming a Thing, with musicology and literary analysis and providing indices and categorizations. I most certainly did not anticipate the number of people following, the great and funny and insightful comments (here and on Facebook), nor the friendships with members of the STLT hymnal commission, from whom I’ve learned so much about and beyond the hymns.

To all of you – frequent or infrequent readers – thank you.

The practice continues, of course… after today there are still 45 more pieces in this hymnal, then another 75 in Singing the Journey. What happens in February after it’s complete is still a question, but for now, let’s turn our attention to today’s hymn.

Another entry in the praise and doxologies section, this Robert Weston verse, set to the old Geneva Psalter tune Donne Secours, is both hopeful and haunting. I suppose, of course, if the words had been set to a different tune, it would be less haunting – this one is minor and slow. I don’t have a suggestion – the few tunes in this 11.10.11.10 meter I listened to are all minor and slow. But it’s possible.

Anyway, here are the lyrics:

This is the truth that passes understanding,
this is the joy to all forever free:
life springs from death and shatters every fetter,
and winter turns to spring eternally.

Is it me, or does this seem to be a little confusing? In my mind, I’m back to the Hymn by Hymn Extra I did with Michael Tino wherein we talk about how Spring is not Easter. Here we’re three lines in, and it’s all good Universalist theology, and then boom, it’s back to nature in a metaphor that doesn’t really work for me. The seasons are not the same as eschatology.

And I’m not sure when or how I would use this – certainly not as a doxology, perhaps as a choral response at a memorial service for someone who wanted some theology but not too much because they sometimes eschewed Sunday services in favor of hikes.

I will tell you one truth that doesn’t pass my understanding – I have a bright future ahead of me as a curmudgeon. 🙂

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It’s 24 hours since nearly five dozen people died and nearly 600 were wounded by a single gunman wreaking terror in Las Vegas. And I still don’t have words, only the heaviness in my heart that is both sad and outraged.

That is, I suppose, why the Universe keeps doing this: putting cheerful, aspirational, hopeful songs in front of me when things seem at their worst. And I offer the Universe that annoyed chuckle that says, “I see what you did there, dammit.”

But then I started to think about personal tragedies that leave us sad and/or outraged, things that only one or two of us might bring into the sanctuary on a Sunday morning… and I wonder what it feels like to them when we start a service with a song like this. It must feel like you’re out of phase, and I suppose it can feel like either an invitation or an affront. I mean, it’s peppy and happy and just so damn….joyful.

Now let us sing, sing, sing                      Sing to the power of the faith within.
Now let us sing, sing, sing                      Sing to the power of the faith within.
Lift up your voice, be not afraid;             Lift up your voice, be not afraid;
sing to the power of the faith within.     sing to the power of the faith within.

Sing to the power of the hope within …

Sing to the power of the love within. …

Sing to the power of the joy within. …

What I hope, however, is that the penultimate line – “lift up your voice, be not afraid” – might offer some release.

Because while I am still sad and outraged, singing this (albeit with one part in my head), and singing “be not afraid” did change me a little. I took it slowly at first, with a quiet and almost contemplative feel; and yes, there is something to the power of the faith within.” and the hope, and the love. By the time I got to the joy, I was… okay. Not cured; nothing short of going back in time can cure this. But I was more okay than when I started.

May we all find things in the coming days to help us be okay so that we can do the work that our faith calls us to.

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Hey, now this one is interesting.

Back in the 1920s, the humanist-theist battle was already taking shape, and much the same as now, worship becomes the battleground for such controversies. Charles Lyttle, minister and professor of church history at Meadville, wrote these lyrics for a doxology “as a bridge” between the two theological factions.

Praise God, praise God, the love we all may share.
Praise God, praise God, the beauty everywhere.
Praise God, the hope of good to be.
Praise God, the truth that makes us free.
Amen.

Knowing how much some of our modern UUs struggle with the word “God” and/or the word “praise” – I wonder how this would be received today. I like it, personally, but then, I’m a theist. And because it’s set to that rolling Doxology by Patrick Rickey, I think it’s gorgeous and welcoming.

But more, I think it’s interesting that the humanists would have been okay with “praise God” 100 years ago. Hmmm….things to ponder….

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I have no idea why I have never heard nor sung this song. It seems a shame, because it is lovely.

And I’m not sure what else to say. The music, by Patrick Rickey, is a lush, rolling piece in 12/8; it’s fairly easy to sing, but just tricky enough to keep you interested. And the lyrics, well…y’all know I love an alleluia. And y’all know I love some Belletini. So…Belletini writing Alleluias? Winner.

Alleluia! sang stars that gave us birth!
Alleluia! resounds our home, the earth!
Alleluia! shall echo ‘cross the skies.
Alleluia! when peace has shown us wise.
Amen.

The tune is called Doxology, but I don’t personally know any congregations that use this as such. I’d love to hear about them, though, and might suggest this as an alternative to Old 100th.

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We have now entered (and rejoiced, and came in) a new phase in this practice – the short songs. The rounds, the doxologies, the introits, the chalice lightings, and the benedictions.

I have no idea how this section will feel. I admit that this morning it feels a little disappointing, as there’s not much to grab on to here. I worry that the spiritual practice will become thin because the songs are, and I wonder how sustaining this very different level of engagement will be. I may very well be falling into the loving, complex arms of Jason Shelton’s Morning Has Come on November 20, heaping loads of praises upon the return to hymn forms and loads of lyrics and page turns, not just the hymn I adore (spoiler alert).

But for now, we enter this time of short songs with this chalice lighting. The words are from an anonymous source, and the melody is by Praetorius.

Rise up, O flame,
by thy light glowing,
show to us beauty,
vision, and joy.

So… I never use words or music for lighting the chalice, because I think it draws attention from the lighting of the chalice. We have really just one symbol, one object, that binds Unitarian Universalists together, and it isn’t because the mothership told us to, but because the image of the chalice and the meaning of the chalice spread from congregation to congregation, from gathering to meeting to assembly, and organically it has become the one ritual object that features in – as far as I know – all UU congregations. The only object. (We can talk about all the other things that feature in our congregations at some point, like coffee, fake fights, and white people – but that’s outside the scope of this particular moment.)

To me, lighting a chalice with a song or spoken words emphasizes that which gets plenty of play throughout the rest of the service – words and music. But lighting the chalice in silence, with our attention on the flame, puts our intention into the flame and sets the space apart. It is a signal that this isn’t business – or busy-ness – as usual, but rather a time out of time. And whether our chalices are big metal masterpieces, like our GA chalice, or a small bowl with a candle, or somewhere in between, it is that moment of lighting our chalice that calls together a group of Unitarian Universalists into worship like no other.

And that deserves all the attention we can give it.

 

Image by Del Ramey, from First Unitarian – Louisville.

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I don’t even know where to begin, so I guess I’ll begin with this morning’s experience of singing.

As frequent readers know, I’m an Anglophile – a lover of British television, British film, the British Isles, and at least once, a British person. Knowing this was today’s hymn before I cracked open the hymnal, I started humming the tune (by English composer Walford Davies) in the shower, and it felt – feels – quintessentially British. I was transported to the Proms, and a scene from a Merchant-Ivory film, and it reminded me of Holst and Elgar and that early 20th century English classical music that seems an antidote to the romanticism of the French.

And as I shampooed, I remembered that the lyrics are troubling at best. Here’s what we have from the original by John Huntley Skrine, abridged and new words added by our man Carl Seaburg:

Rank by rank again we stand,
from the four winds gathered hither.
Loud the hallowed walls demand
whence we come and how, and whither.
From their stillness breaking clear,
echoes wake to warn or cheer;
higher truth from saint and seer
call to us assembled here.

Ours the years’ memorial store,
honored days and names we reckon,
days of comrades gone before,
lives that speak and deeds that beckon.
From the dreaming of the night
to the labors of the day,
shines their everlasting light,
guiding us upon our way.

Though the path be hard and long,
still we strive in expectation;
join we now their ageless song
one with them in aspiration.
One in name, in honor one,
guard we well the crown they won;
what they dreamed be ours to do,
hope their hopes, and seal them true.

Trust me, you don’t want to know Skrine’s original lyrics – which were written at the height of British Imperialism at the end of the 19th century. Seaburg did an okay job of softening the Empire language, and lines like “what they dreamed be ours to do” is inspiring. Sometime in the last 20 years, an additional verse was added by Kendyl Gibbons:

Never from that summons swerve;
Hark the prophets’ living chorus!
Truth and freedom still to serve
Show the present path before us.
As we dream, so shall we dare;
Hands to service, hearts to prayer.
Clouds of witness call us on,
That a nobler day may dawn.

It’s not bad, and “as we dream so shall we dare” is also a kick-ass line.

But oh, the problems. Empire. Abelism. And a song written, likely, for convocation (this appears in a handbook of songs for the University of Wales, compiled by Davies – with this tune, Reunion, written for this purpose). And of course at the time, we have men going to university in part to continue ruling the British Empire, which is already beginning to show signs of cracking in the wake of World War I. It’s not wonder this somewhat militarized tune and language would be used; even though in that context ‘rank by rank’ alluded to the various academic levels, rank also alludes to the military.

Surprisingly, information on this – especially the tune – was hard to find. A quick search for the tune turned up empty, and it took a while to even find reference to this song outside of our annual Service of the Living Tradition. I finally found a PDF of the hymnal it comes from (for those who want to follow along, click here – it’s on page 303 of the book and 345 of the PDF itself). The lyrics show up on Hymnary, but not the tune, which was a later addition. I finally found a recording of the tune here, in an obscure section of a folksinger’s website (Mary Ellen Wessels). I should also note that this was in Hymns of the Spirit and Hymns for the Celebration of Life, so it has a long history in our liberal religious tradition.

But the search, and my experience with this hymn, is frustrating and complex. And this is a hymn most of us sing once or twice a year. Has anyone sung this when they’re not processing at an ordination, installation, or Service of the Living Tradition? And most of us dislike the song but love the pomp and circumstance. A few still love it, and so it stays as part of our tradition. Can we redeem it? It seems that every year after General Assembly, we talk on Facebook about different lyrics – suggestions include

Rank by rank again we meet,
from the four winds gathered hither.
Loud the hallowed walls entreat
whence we come and how, and whither.

or

Rank by rank come we once more,
from the four winds gathered hither.
Loud the hallowed walls implore
whence we come and how, and whither.

or

We can get rid of it altogether for these handful of times a year, because while it is an historic part of our living tradition, we are easily able to preserve it (see the piles of old hymnals we have) and – because our living tradition CHANGES – we can choose something new. When I hear about how different the Service of the Living Tradition was not that long ago, it seems strange that we have such a fuss over changing the music we use. And if it makes us better as a result, why not?

And… I will still hum this tune now and then because it’s pretty good for a school processional.

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Photo (via UU World) is of Rev. Cheryl Walker preaching at the 2017 Service of the Living Tradition.