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It feels a little like cheating that this was our closing hymn yesterday, and I’ve had it as an earworm for 24 hours – and it’s been on my mind since I first chose it for this service weeks ago.

And in this case, I don’t even care that only verse one is original, and that Eugene Navias, a Minister of Religious Education and 1977 winner of the Angus McLean Award for excellence in religious education, wrote the second and third verses for us. I don’t mind at all, because (a) the original invokes ‘Ebenezer’ (Hebrew for ‘stone of God’), which is referenced in Samuel 7:12 and is used to say it’s only because of God that we are able to do anything, which is very NOT Unitarian or Universalist in theology; and (b) Navias captures some of my own theistic humanism – namely, saying that which we look to (which some call God) reminds us to look to each other and work together and love together.

I used this as the closing hymn for a sermon talking about how religious community can be and should be a place of sanctuary for our souls and spirits. As I say in the sermon,

At its best, religious community is a shelter from the storm. It is a space set apart where we can release our weltschmerz (world weariness) and breathe into the present moment. And yet it isn’t a place that simply holds the holy for us; rather, it helps us integrate our faith into the rhythm of our daily lives. It makes space for restoring loving and intimate connections with each other. It is the small rituals and gestures we undertake with each other in this sacred space that give everyday life its value and meaning, that comfort us, make us feel at home, rooted and generous. It is the safe space for learning and discussion that prepares us lovingly for the hard work of justice and compassion ahead. It is the ever-present invitation to stop, be still, and give thanks.

We sing this hymn in gratitude for the communities we intentionally create to support us, for the reminder that we are more than the sum of our parts, for the vision that we must remember to keep before us.

Come, thou fount of ev’ry blessing, tune our ears to sing thy grace.
Streams of mercy never ceasing, call for songs of loudest praise.
While the hope of life’s perfection fills our hearts with joy and love,
teach us ever to be faithful, may we still thy goodness prove.

Come, thou fount of ev’ry vision, lift our eyes to what may come.
See the lion and the young lamb dwell together in thy home.
Hear the cries of war fall silent, feel our love glow like the sun.
When we all serve one another, then our heaven is begun.

Come, thou fount of inspiration, turn our lives to higher ways.
Lift our gloom and desperation, show the promise of this day.
Help us bind ourselves in union, help our hands tell of our love.
With thine aid, O fount of justice, earth be fair as heav’n above.

I love this hymn. I love our words, plus I love the tune (Nettleton). It recharges me and sends me forth. It is, for me, a moment to be present with and among others, to stop, be still, and give thanks.

—

The photo is of Paint Branch UU (photo from the UUA site page for Welcoming Congregations), chosen because of the love and sanctuary this religious community is showing in this beautiful rainbow picture.

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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.)

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This is a beautiful benediction. A sustaining send-off. An alliterative affirmation.

What I love about the lyrics is the acknowledgement that this work is hard, and it’s always been good. Something I’m not entirely certain I noticed until now, as many times as I have sung this. (Another favorite of my former minister’s, plus another great tune by Tom Benjamin).

There’s that old joke – why are Unitarians so bad at hymn singing? because they are always reading ahead to see if they agree with the lyrics. Yet I think that even when we know the tune well, we tend to miss the nuance. And this is nuanced – this isn’t all ‘rah rah rah’ – it’s ‘this is hard. There will be pain, doubts, bitterness, fear – but take courage.

That this hymn is in the Exemplars and Pioneers section, of course, isn’t surprising. The hymn calls us to look to the past and see that it’s possible. And even though I am a middle-aged white woman, the first names that came to mind were Harriet Tubman and the newly resuscitated Frederick Douglass – heroes whom many in our nation seem to think only deserve notice one month a year, but whose contributions to love and justice are insurmountable and inspirational.

When I sing this hymn, I am reminded that our heroes aren’t heroes because it was easy, but because it was hard, and because they were right. This is indeed a hymn for our age – we need gentle, loving songs that hold us in our fears and still call us to putting our faith into action.

Be that guide whom love sustains.
Rise above the daily strife:
lift on high the good you find.
Help to heal the hurts of life.

Be that helper nothing daunts —
doubt of friend or taunt of foe.
Ever strive for liberty.
Show the path that life should go.

Be that builder trusting good,
bitter though the test may be:
through all ages they are right,
though they build in agony.

Be that teacher faith directs.
Move beyond the old frontier:
though the frightened fear that faith,
be tomorrow’s pioneer!

Amen.

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My love/hate relationship with lyricist John Greenleaf Whittier continues.

As regular readers may remember, I have loved some of his lyrics; I loved the movement in No Longer Forward or Behind and the call to action hidden under Immortal Love… and I have hated others; I found the ‘people suck’ attitude of The Harp at Nature’s Advent frustrating and off-putting.

So – Whittier’s winning, 2-1, going into today’s hymn.

Aaaaaand we’re tied.

Okay, so I don’t HATE this one, but I am bored by it. First, it doesn’t go anywhere; it’s four verses of yay, let’s pretend love and peace have already won. And then let’s make some noise about it – a la Psalm 150 with all its cymbals and trumpets. For me, the entire hymn can be summed up in the first verse, so Johnny, why are you making us sing three more verses? I’m bored.

And that boredom sent me to Between the Lines, where I discovered the lyrics are from a poem Whittier wrote called “A Christmas Carmen.” (A carmen is a song or incantation.) The original poem is here – three longer verses, ABOUT CHRISTMAS. This is a very Christian poem about how Jesus brings peace to the land, because the Savior Is Born; it fits right in with the eschatological underpinnings of the Advent season, the whole Son of God/Son of Man thing (see the lyrics of Joy to the World ).

THIS IS A CHRISTMAS POEM PROMOTING A VERY PARTICULAR THEOLOGY.

And whoever set snippets of this poem to music decided to pull out the parts they like and hope we ignore the rest.

Okay, so maybe my beef isn’t with Whittier, it’s with whoever cobbled together this… this…. thing that sits opposite Spirit of Life in our hymnal (tomorrow’s hymn). It goes into the pile of hymns we sing whose original meaning has been sucked out/reversed/colonized. Ugh, ugh, ugh. This is a Christian poem about Christmas, not a ‘yay, peace, and we had something to do with it’ song.

So Johnny, I’m still not a fan, but I feel like I can’t blame you for this – let’s call it a draw; we now stand at 2-1-1.

Sound over all waters, reach out from all lands
the chorus of voices, the clasping of hands!
Rise, hope of the ages, arise like the sun,
all speech flow to music, all hearts beat as one!

Sing bridal of nations, with chorals of love!
Sing out the war vulture and sing in the dove!
With glad jubilation sing hope for the world;
the great storm is ending, the clouds are all furled.

Sound trumpets of triumph for marches of peace,
east, west, north, and south, let the long quarrels cease!
Sing songs of great joy that the angels began,
give glory to children, to woman and man!

Hark! Joining the chorus the heavens resound!
The old day is ending, a new day is crowned!
Rise, hope for the ages, arise like the sun,
all speech flow to music, all hearts beat as one!

For the curious, here’s the poem in its original form, found at Poem Hunter (and by the way, in the second verse, the meaning of ‘bridal’ is unclear – it might relate to the Christian idea that we are brides of Christ, but it might also be a riff from the old English word meaning a feast (Merriam-Webster tells us that it implied a feast where a lot of alcohol was consumed, and the word ‘ale’ comes from the same root meaning.):

Sound over all waters, reach out from all lands,
The chorus of voices, the clasping of hands;
Sing hymns that were sung by the stars of the morn,
Sing songs of the angels when Jesus was born!
With glad jubilations
Bring hope to the nations!
The dark night is ending and dawn has begun:
Rise, hope of the ages, arise like the sun,
All speech flow to music, all hearts beat as one!

II.
Sing the bridal of nations! with chorals of love
Sing out the war-vulture and sing in the dove,
Till the hearts of the peoples keep time in accord,
And the voice of the world is the voice of the Lord!
Clasp hands of the nations
In strong gratulations:
The dark night is ending and dawn has begun;
Rise, hope of the ages, arise like the sun,
All speech flow to music, all hearts beat as one!

III.
Blow, bugles of battle, the marches of peace;
East, west, north, and south let the long quarrel cease
Sing the song of great joy that the angels began,
Sing of glory to God and of good-will to man!
Hark! joining in chorus
The heavens bend o’er us!
The dark night is ending and dawn has begun;
Rise, hope of the ages, arise like the sun,
All speech flow to music, all hearts beat as one!

Postscript: I had absolutely no idea what image to use today, so I offer you a big cat in a box. Because it delights me a hell of a lot more than this hymn does. So there.

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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?

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I have no cohesive train of thought this morning – the truth is, the Overwhelm strategy of the Bannon White House is dangerously close to sweeping me up in its grasp. And the idea of forming a cohesive set of reflections on this hymn seems a bridge too far for me today. I mean, I couldn’t even sing all three verses at once this morning, thanks to the weltschmerz I’m experiencing. So…random thoughts:

I’m not a fan of this tune for this sentiment – it feels too cheery, and to be honest, too associated with Here We Have Gathered (360). This hymn needs something strong and intentional – the way yesterday’s tune was strong. It’s an awkward meter – 10.10.10.10.10 – so it’s not like a ton of tunes fit that. So I long for something different.

True fact: every time I look at this hymn, even in passing, I think of the song from the musical Godspell. While it plays with genre and the idea of temptation within its staging, it also has some strength our setting lacks.

Another thought: I love the first verse, and I love the second – especially in these days. And in these days, I would use the first two and then preach on it. I don’t like that this hymn wraps up the story so quickly. Sometimes we need songs that present the issue and don’t conclude anything – or else, what the heck is a sermon for? For me, I’m not dismissing it because of the God’s will like, I’m dismissing it because we set up that we’re terrible, people suck, but oh yay, it’ll all work out by the end of the song, without us actually having to do anything.

I might be a bit cynical this morning.

Turn back, turn back, forswear thy foolish ways.
Old now is earth, and none may count its days;
yet humankind, whose head is crowned with flame,
still will not hear the inner God proclaim —
”Turn back, turn back, forswear thy foolish ways.”

Earth might be fair, its people glad and wise.
Age after age our tragic empires rise,
built while we dream, and in that dreaming weep:
would we but wake from out our haunted sleep,
earth might be fair, and people glad and wise.

Earth shall be fair, and all its people one;
nor till that hour shall God’s whole will be done.
Now, even now, once more from earth to sky,
peals forth in joy that old undaunted cry —
”Earth shall be fair, and all its people one.”

Interesting note: this hymn is based on a passage from Ezekiel (33:6-16) – a prophet whose words seem awfully prescient in these days. My friend, the Reverend Dawn Fortune, preached on it this past week – a sermon as fiery as Ezekiel’s wheel. It’s worth a listen.

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This is traditionally a cheery piece – one of the few songs Unitarian Universalists feel comfortable clapping to. Everybody knows it and harmonizes to it and it feels sweet and simple and fun.

This morning, after a Saturday full of the unreasonable ban against some of our Muslim neighbors – which, despite a stay from a federal judge, is still being enforced; the dire predictions of war from China; and this morning’s news that the National Security Council no longer has any military members but only ideological sycophants… this morning, “This Little Light of Mine” is a call to arms.

It can be so easy to hide under the covers in fear, or be paralyzed by the overwhelming need, or sit back and say “my days of activism are over.” But we cannot. To quote Bernice Johnson Reagon, “we who believe in freedom cannot rest.”

And this song – again from the African American spirituals tradition – reminds us to show up. Despite the pain and fear and anger, we have to let our light shine – a light of freedom, justice, equality, openness, courage, compassion, peace, love.

Let us turn this song from a sweet, light, happy song to a song of defiant protest and resistance.

(And if you really want to get inspired, listen to this version, sung by Sweet Honey in the Rock.)

This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine.
This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine.
This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine.
Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.

Ev’rywhere I go, I’m gonna let it shine…

Building up a world, I’m gonna let it shine…

Amen.

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I don’t know where to begin with this one – while it is a joyful song of determination to sing, there are so many layers of complexity, and as a middle-aged white woman, I feel uncomfortable making any assumptions or proclamations about the things that make me go “hmm” here. So I’ll pose some questions and let those be my reflection.

According to Jacqui James in Between the Lines, the Hymnal Commission decided to rename the tune “Ethelred” to honor pioneering African American minister Egbert Ethelred Brown. Yet this is a traditional spiritual. So… cool? Not cool because it is still white people making a change to a song of the enslaved? Shortsighted but decent? Or totally excellent? (I know a member of that commission reads this blog, so I hope he’ll jump in with some insight.)

Also curious: many of the spirituals in our hymnal are called “spiritual” but this one is called “folk tune” – and I wonder why it’s parsed that way.

A question for ministers and music directors – how freely do you change/shift zipper songs like this to be more inclusive? We’re coming up on some more soon that sing to brothers and sisters, which reinforces a gender binary we now know to be incomplete. So do you add a verse? Change a verse and leave out another? Sing it as is to honor its origins (not knowing for certain what the original words are anyway)?

And then, if you do make changes, are you colonizing another’s music, or following a time-honored folk tradition? Can a folk musician like Reggie Harris change it because he is black, but not Joe Jencks because he is white? What are the rules? Are there rules?

I guess my questions come up in my attempts to be better as an ally but not treat it all so preciously either. I know that no matter what your place of privilege, you never get allyship 100% right, but I’d like to always be doing a little better, and music is one place where I can tangibly enter the work.

I’m on my way to the freedom land.
I’m on my way to the freedom land.
I’m on my way to the freedom land.
I’m on my way, great God, I’m on my way.

I asked my sister, come and go with me..

I asked my brother, come and go with me….

If they say no, I’ll go anyhow….

I’m on my way, and I won’t turn back…

And… as a song for our times, this certainly is one. We’re taking up the call to resistance, and asking those around us to come with us, to resist oppression and be free. And for people with marginalized identities, it is a matter of life and death. Yet: I hesitate to use this song for a new purpose without interrogating it first.

Yeah, this work is hard. But it’s a good hard.

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Thank all that is holy for this practice.

When the world is on fire and every day is another tanker truck of kerosene, it’s easy to get lost in the flames and forget ourselves, our joys, our pleasures, our soul. The fire is meant to burn our souls away – and so practices like this are a big reminder to me that not only do I still have a soul, but that the not-related-to-the-fire thoughts and ideas must be celebrated to keep the soul cool and safe.

Two not-related-to-the-fire and not-related-to-each-other thoughts came to me while I sang this hymn – a fine hymn about courage and wisdom with a rousing melody. (A hymn that I suspect many pass by because of the G word, which is too bad because it’s really a hymn about us.)

First thought was about the author, Harry Emerson Fosdick. If you don’t know about him, he’s worth googling – the short version is that Fosdick fought hard against fundamentalism in the 1920s and 30s and was a notable force in the social gospel movement (the idea that we must do the work Jesus’s ministry calls us to – justice, compassion, etc. – work that Universalist Clarence Skinner said we’ve been doing all along, let’s not talk about how you’re late to the party but be glad you showed up at all). Fosdick, who was the minister at Riverside Church in NYC (across the street from Union Theological Seminary), was apparently so compelling a preacher that his sermons were printed for the purpose of being read by other ministers around the country. He was so influential, fundamentalists still consider him a ‘false teacher’ to be taught against, because his posthumous influence is so great. And it makes me happy that we have Fosdick’s words in our hymnal.

God of grace and God of glory,
on thy people pour thy power;
crown thine ancient church’s story;
bring its bud to glorious flower.
Grant us wisdom, grant us courage,
for the facing of this hour, for the facing of this hour.

Lo, the clouds of evil ‘round us
hide thy brightness from our gaze;
from the fears that long have bound us,
free our hearts to faith and praise.
Grant us wisdom, grant us courage,
for the living of these days, for the living of these days.

Cure thy children’s warring madness;
bend our pride to thy control;
shame our wanton, selfish gladness,
rich in things and poor in soul.
Grant us wisdom, grant us courage,
make thy peace our daily goal, make thy peace our daily goal.

Fill us with a living vision,
heal our wounds that we may be
bound as one beyond division
in the struggle to be free.
Grant us wisdom, grant us courage,
ears to hear and eyes to see, ears to hear and eyes to see.

My other thought made me giggle. I am a big fan of a British mystery series called Midsomer Murders – it is everything you’d want in a British mystery: small village life, intricate relationships, multiple murders, and a fair bit of snark. The show, now entering its 20th year, is part good mystery, part taking the piss and poking fun of the British mystery.  And because they have some lightness (and gorgeous scenery), I find them to be oddly comforting in these uncomfortable days.

The episode I watched yesterday, “Secrets and Spies,” involves a series of murder at a country home run by former MI agents. The eldest of them is obsessed with his death and demands regular runs of the hearse to the crematorium, always singing “Bread of Heaven” – another set of lyrics set to this tune. It becomes a common theme in the episode, and it’s catchy enough that you might hum it after seeing the episode. Like I did. And so turning to today’s hymn, to be honest, all I could do in the first verse or two was sing “Bread of Heaven” really loud at the “Grant us wisdom” line and giggle uncontrollably. Which, of course, made me think of the pilot episode of Vicar of Dibley, where Geraldine instructs the congregation to shout that out. Which made me giggle even more. Which I think, in these soul-worn days, is a good thing.

So if you ever use this in a service and I’m in the room, don’t be surprised if you hear giggling.

 

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Blech.

Seriously – it was like I had bit into a sour lemon or sipped some turned milk when I sang this. I honestly don’t know when I’ve ever had such a reaction to a song as I have sung; I’ve had lots of “um…what” and “dang, I cannot get this” moments, particularly the first time singing through a complex score. But this one isn’t complex. It’s just… awful.

It starts with a tune that is indelibly imprinted with the lyrics “Onward, Christian Soldiers / Marching as to war / with the cross of Jesus / going on before.” I love repurposing hymn tunes, but it’s hard to separate the tune from those militant lyrics. And learning that WIlliam Sullivan (of Gilbert & Sullivan) wrote the tune doesn’t help. While their light operettas rank high for me for their cleverness and singability, they are all – from The Mikado to Iolanthe to HMS Pinafore – are all about duty. And they all feature major generals and admirals and all manner of military positivity.

The lyrics we use emerge from the late 19th century as well, from Unitarian minister and hymn writer Frederick Hosmer, and heaven help us, carry that same militarism that is found in the original lyrics. “Forward…in unbroken line”… “heroes for it died” … “not alone we conquer” … “loss or triumph” …. Blech.

Forward through the ages, in unbroken line,
move the faithful spirits at the call divine:
gifts in differing measure, hearts of one accord,
manifold the service, one the sure reward.

(Chorus) Forward through the ages, in unbroken line,
move the faithful spirits at the call divine.

Wider grows the vision, realm of love and light;
for it we must labor, till our faith is sight.
Prophets have proclaimed it, martyrs testified,
poets sung its glory, heroes for it died. (Chorus)

Not alone we conquer, not alone we fall;
in each loss or triumph lose or triumph all.
Bound by God’s far purpose in one living whole,
move we on together to the shining goal. (Chorus)

I won’t use this hymn. It honestly scares me a little to think modern Unitarian Universalists would take up a fight in this manner. Yes, fight – of course, always fight for what is just and right and inclusive and expansive. But this feels very … just wrong in its manner of fighting. And I can’t imagine it would go over well with congregants who fought (or fought against) the 20th century wars, especially Vietnam.

There are many other great hymns to talk about commitment and action and rallying us for the resistance ahead. This one doesn’t work anymore.

Blech.

Postscript: some might argue that we need to preserve this as part of our history – which says to me there’s a new book to be written, one that collects our musical history so we don’t lose them but don’t use them, because they no longer are in line with our theology and principles. Hmmm. Maybe this project is two books?

 

Image by Susan Herbert, for purchase here: http://www.chrisbeetles.com/gallery/animals/cats/gilbert-and-sullivan.html