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If it seemed like I phoned it in a bit the last few days, well, you’re not wrong. The truth is, I could blame it on being sick, but mostly I blame it on my personal fears that I wouldn’t treat the freedom songs from the African American spirituals tradition well – and in fact I may have been unclear or hurtful more than once in my efforts to seek balance and information. For all this, I apologize.

What I won’t apologize for, however, is a sense of pride in myself that despite the horrible sinus headaches and annoying coughs, I have kept this up. Much like those hard weeks after the election, I felt a sense of commitment to myself and the process. And that matters. (Now if I could only feel the same sense of commitment to exercise…)

Anyway… we’re on to the Labor and Learning hymns, beginning with this iconic song of the labor movement. In learning more about the song, I ran across an interview with singer-songwriter John McCutcheon, who spoke of his admiration of this song, which is

able to say everything you need to say in four lines. I tried to write verses for it and they were just pointless. … They can’t be improved. It was like a perfect distillation of the sentiment of the song. … the way it talks about the basic, the most basic things about communities and unions, and … it’s just a perfect song as a piece of craft work.

The song, like most folk music, has its own stories, with various sources claiming various origins. In his songbook Where Have All the Flowers Gone, Pete Seeger says this:

Waldemar Hille, editing the People’s Songs bulletin in 1948, once showed me two short verses he found when researching U.S. labor history:

Step by step the longest march can be won, can be won.
Many stones can form an arch, singly none, singly none.
And by union, what we will can be accomplished still;
drops of water turn a mill, singly none, singly none.

It was printed in the preamble to the constitution of an early coal miner’s union. Says Wally, “good verse.” Says I, “What’s the tune?”

“I don’t know,” says Wally, “I suppose some old Irish tune might fit it. Like the song from the Irish famine of the 1840’s, ‘The Praties they Grow Small.’”

“Let’s try it,” says I. It fit. And has been sung to that melody ever since.

And so this is the melody we sing. Two simple, compact, complete couplets – a perfect introduction to this section, and a good section to be starting on this day after the International Women’s Day general strike, A Day Without a Woman. There will be more space to talk about women and the labor movement in upcoming songs… so I’ll save my energy for those.

For now, I leave you with this wonderful, short, meaningful song. I’m glad we sing it.

 

 

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When I started this practice, I intended to talk about what was on my mind, what the song brought up for me. As it has evolved, I have incorporated a lot of history, literary criticism, and musicology, along with my thoughts and feelings.

My thought today is that this song, thought to be a response to the Emancipation Proclamation, must speak for itself.

Oh, freedom, oh, freedom, oh, freedom, over me;
and before I’d be a slave,
I’d be buried in my grave,
and go home to my God and be free.

No more moaning, no more moaning, no more moaning over me;
and before I’d be a slave,
I’d be buried in my grave,
and go home to my God and be free.

There’ll be singing, there’ll be singing, there’ll be singing over me;
and before I’d be a slave,
I’d be buried in my grave,
and go home to my God and be free.

A final note: while today is a general strike, A Day Without Women, I recognize that actually striking is a privileged position, and most women will not be able to completely strike, even if it’s just their work at home for family. For me, I signed up for events before the strike was announced that I cannot back out of, nor should I. Instead, I will wear red, and I will remember that at my worst I have more freedom than most, and that my work must be in part to ensure all who identify as women are free.

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This is a great piece – best sung a capella, with three strong song leaders to help fill in the rich harmony.

I often forget about it, this sweet song written by cantor Linda Hirschhorn, and I’m not sure why. So when it comes up in conversation or I hear a snippet of it, I go ‘oh yeah, that’s a good song.’ And then promptly forget it again.

I don’t have much more to add today – still fighting off the crud. But I like it and I wish we sang it more… it’s a beautiful sung prayer. You can hear it here, courtesy of the Church of the Larger Fellowship and the Oakland Chancel Choir:

Circle ‘round for freedom, circle ‘round for peace,
for all of us imprisoned, circle for release,
circle for the planet, circle for each soul,
for the children of our children, keep the circle whole.

Amen.

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Oh the things you learn when you challenge your assumptions…

In late January, I co-led an interfaith service focused on resistance, which featured the support of the local AME Zion choir; thus, while music came from several sources, we did lean heavily on the gospel genre, and we chose this song as our sending call. I was surprised to hear the choir sing “stayed on Jesus” – because I had only ever heard “freedom” and I thought “huh” – I guess this is their adaptation of this spiritual to fit their religious needs. I was, in fact, pretty certain that the lyric was changed TO Jesus at some point.

When I opened the hymnal today, I again read “Words and Music: African American spiritual (1750-1875). Assumption confirmed.

Or not.

Even as I sang this, seeing it as a powerful song speaking to the call of freedom and justice through the ages, I wondered about that Jesus line. So… I trotted over to the internet, and discovered this: “Reverend Osby of Aurora, Illinois created this revamp of an old gospel song ‘I woke up this morning with my mind stayed on Jesus’ while spending time in Hinds County jail during the freedom rides.”

It was then spread and became a signature song of the civil rights movement (you can read more in Pete Seeger’s book Everybody Says Freedom: A History of the Civil Rights Movement in Songs and Pictures).

And so, while it might have roots as a spiritual (I can’t find anything to confirm or deny this at 8:15 on a Sunday morning), it is – as we have it today – a song of the civil rights movement.

Oh, I woke up this morning with my mind stayed on freedom.
Woke up this morning with my mind stayed on freedom.
Woke up this morning with my mind stayed on freedom,
Hallelu, Hallelu, Halleluia.

I was walking and talking with my mind …

I was singing and praying with my mind …

Oh, I woke up this morning with my mind …

And it’s a song we need today, because we are fighting the same fights and we can’t ever forget.

—

The image is of the Freedom Singers at a 1963 event.

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Hurrah for the Hymnal Commission, who noted at the bottom of the page that this was a code song used by the Underground Railroad, much like Wade in the Water and Swing Low, Sweet Chariot, to communicate the map to freedom.

I won’t go through the whole song – there are plenty of sites that do that for you. Of course, the drinking gourd is the big dipper, ‘when the sun comes back and the first quail calls’ is springtime; the second two verses are remarkably explicit.

The question, of course, is whether they’re too explicit, and was this version written after the Civil War? There’s some evidence to suggest that might be the case, although it’s also possible that it’s not at all contradictory to have some lyrics codified in various forms long after the original was sung, thanks to oral tradition.

(Chorus)
Follow the drinking gourd,
follow the drinking gourd,
for the old man is awaiting for to carry you to freedom,
follow the drinking gourd.

When the sun comes back and the first quail calls,
follow the drinking gourd.
The old man is awaiting for to carry you to freedom,
follow the drinking gourd.

(Chorus)

Now the river bank makes a mighty good road,
the dead trees will show you the way.
Left foot, peg foot, traveling on,
follow the drinking gourd.

(Chorus)

Now the river ends between two hills
follow the drinking gourd.
There’s another river on the other side,
follow the drinking gourd.

(Chorus)

Whether or not we believe that exactly these verses are what was sung in 1860, this song is a potent reminder of the bravery of Harriet Tubman and those – white and black – who worked the Railroad. It’s a potent reminder of the strength and power of music. And it’s a tribute to the enduring heart and soul of the oppressed.

Again, we must sing it with care. Of course. But I think we have been left enough breadcrumbs that we’re unlikely to enter this one without some care.

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I think I know why white people don’t sing this song well.

I may be late to the party on this, but it dawned on me as I was singing: we don’t know what it’s like to NOT be free.

Sure, we get close if we’re female, or queer, or live with a disability, or trans. We know the hard, scary restrictions and compromises to our rights. But if we’re one or more of those things and we’re white, we get a pass. Because we don’t have, in our living memory, a deep, soul-rooted knowledge of what it means to be in chains. We just don’t.

We white people can sing this all day long, and groove to versions of this song by John Legend and the Roots, and Nina Simone, and Natalie Cole (who sang it at the White House in 2010), or even the original, by NYC jazzman Billy Taylor – but the truth is, we can only listen to the deep, soul-rooted longing of the African Americans for whom this is reality.

I wish I knew how it would feel to be free.
I wish I could break all these chains holding me.
I wish I could say all the things I could say,
Say ‘em loud, say ‘em clear for the whole world to hear.
Say ‘em loud, say ‘em clear for the whole world to hear.

I wish I could share all the love in my heart,
remove all the bars that still keep us apart.
I wish you could know what it means to be me,
then you’d see and agree everyone should be free.
Then you’d see, and agree everyone should be free.

I wish I could give all I’m longing to give.
I wish I could live like I’m longing to live.
I wish I could do all the things I can do,
though I’m way overdue I’d be starting anew.
Though I’m way overdue I’d be starting anew.

I wish I could be like a bird in the sky.
How sweet it would be if I found I could fly.
I’d soar to the sun and look down at the sea,
then I’d sing ‘cause I’d know how it feels to be free.
Then I’d sing ‘cause I’d know how it feels to be free.

For what it’s worth, I love the song, and I have sung it with gusto, because in my heart of hearts, I wish everyone could be free. But I can’t sing it the way it’s meant to be sung, because I can’t pretend for a second that I understand the longing in my deep, soul-root.

—

Picture of Billy Taylor, composer of this song.

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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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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.