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O God of stars and sunlight, whose wind lifts up a bird,
in marching wave and leaf-fall we hear thy patient word.
The color of thy seasons goes gold across the land:
by green upon the treetops we know thy moving hand.

O God of cloud and mountain, whose rain on rock is art,
thy plan and care and meaning renew the head and heart.
Thy word and color spoken, thy summer noons and showers —
by these and by thy dayshine, we know thy world is ours.

O God of root and shading of boughs above our head,
we breathe in thy long breathing, our spirit spirited.
We walk beneath thy blessing, thy seasons, and thy way,
O God of stars and sunlight, O God of night and day.

Another day, another unfamiliar hymn. This time, the tune (Bremen) is, if not actually a song I have sung, at least a song like many other songs I have sung; it’s of that early 18th century German formulaic, rather easily anticipated with one brief surprise hymn tune. Which of course, makes it easy to sing.

I think sometimes we forget the value of easy, seemingly familiar tunes, because they’re not wildly interesting. And I think it’s why some of the more modern hymns might fail – they are looking for interest, not easy singability. Musical interest is important – we don’t want to fall asleep while singing; but familiar musical patterns are easier for non-musicians to get the hang of.  It’s why zipper songs like Come and Go With Me and There Is More Love Somewhere work so well – the pattern, both of tune and lyric, are familiar to our Western bones and are easy to pick up.  Anyway – a long way to go to say this isn’t a spectacular tune but a serviceable one for this lyric, if not the most inspired match. (I’d have gone for Lancaster myself – the tune of O Day of Light and Gladness. But that’s me.)

This is a soaring lyric – by poet John Holmes (who, by the way, was a teacher of Ann Sexton). It is a beautiful paean to the Immanent God, the God in all things, in and above all the earth. “O God of cloud and mountain, whose rain on rock is art” – wow. How can we not want to sing praises to this God, even if we don’t believe in God? To sing to the poetry and awesomeness of the planet – to sing praise to stars and sunlight, night and day – is to sing about ourselves and all that is beyond ourselves.

A celebration of life, indeed. And one we need, in these tumultuous, trying days. It’s easy for us to read the news and think about the possibilities and become forlorn, full of world weariness and ennui. This hymn – this glorious, soaring praise for this glorious planet – is a balm to our souls.

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Immortal love, forever full, forever flowing free,
forever shared, forever whole, a never-ending sea!

Our outward lips confess the name all other names above;
but love alone knows whence it came and comprehendeth love.

Blow, winds of love, awake and blow the mists of hate away;
sing out, O Truth divine, and tell how wide and far we stray.

The letter fails, the systems fall, and every symbol wanes;
the Spirit overseeing all, Eternal Love, remains.

I finished singing this hymn and thought ‘the tune betrays the lyric.’

This is a powerful lyric – “blow the mists of hate away”… “tell how far and wide we stray”… “the letter fails, the systems fall”… powerful words demanding we answer the call of Love and seek justice. We believe first in Love and the power of Love to make us agents of change, truth, justice, and compassion. This is a strong, time to show up, walk the talk, get woke and stay woke lyric. And one that reminds us that Love remains the constant – the one thing we can lean on, count on, avail ourselves of, learn from, embody.

And…it’s set to a light Irish air.

The truth is, I often overlook it when choosing hymns because I hadn’t dug deep into it before, had not realized the force that is Whittier’s words. “Immortal love, forever full”…okay, let’s remember you on Valentine’s Day…next.

But it is amazing. It deserves a better, stronger tune. Our own hymnal is limited – this tune, called St. Columba, is the only one in our hymnals with this meter (8.6.8.6) – yet there are at least 150 other tunes with this meter (according to the site Small Church Music). So what are we doing here? Why did the folks who set this tune in the first place think this was the right match?

It’s time to find a new tune – one that is commiserate with the bold call of Whittier’s words. One that propels us into action. One that reminds us what Love looks like when it is Lived.

Words by John Greenleaf Whittier, set to an Irish melody

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Just as long as I have breath, I must answer, “Yes,” to life;
though with pain I made my way, still with hope I meet each day.
If they ask what I did well, tell them I said, “Yes,” to life.

Just as long as vision lasts, I must answer, “Yes,” to truth;
in my dream and in my dark, always that elusive spark.
If they ask what I did well, tell them I said, “Yes,” to truth.

Just as long as my heart beats, I must answer, “Yes,” to love;
disappointment pierced me through, still I kept on loving you.
If they ask what I did best, tell them I said, “Yes,” to love.

It is a bit of a relief to turn to a hymn I know well, whose lyrics are very familiar.

Which also makes this day an interesting challenge, because it would be easy to sing through without paying attention. If yesterday’s hymn was like learning the steps of a complex dance, today’s is a dance I know so well I have forgotten its actual form.

And so I sang it a second time, paying attention to the lyric – and I noticed something difficult and uncomfortable in the third stanza: “disappointment pierced me through, still I kept on loving you.” Now on one hand, this is the beauty of our covenant and of unconditional love – despite the hard times, disappointments, struggles, love still abides.

But the political atmosphere right now – with sexual assault being headline news and many women struggling with the doubts and traumas of their own assaults (physical and emotional) – this line screams out to me. I think of the women who believed their partner’s abuse was somehow their fault. The women who lean on “but I still love him” as reason enough to stay. The women who are told they are a disappointment and it’s only because no one else will love them that he stays.

And then I think of the same kinds of manipulations that can happen in our congregations: Those who excuse bad behavior, because “well, he is a longtime member.’ Those who threaten to take their pledge and their membership if a vote doesn’t go their way. Those who believe the bad behavior was because of something the congregation did/didn’t do.

We are struggling, in this time and place, in our homes, communities, and in the nation, with a callousness that demands love despite disappointment, that blames rather than takes responsibility, that gives too long a rope to bad behavior and is unpracticed in the art of calling in and recommitting to covenant.

I don’t know what the answer is. I don’t know what kind of radical, global epiphany we have to have in order to wake up and stay woke. I don’t know what kind of personality characteristic we need to collectively unearth to stand up to that which we know in our guts is wrong, abusive, or harmful. I’d like to think that we’re practicing it in our congregations – churches, synagogues, fellowships, mosques, and circles should be the places where we build these muscles and gain a little bit of courage. But the harm has permeated our walls too – and so what should be safe havens, practice spaces, and soul gyms, become just as harmful, hurtful, and distressing.

“Disappointment pieced me through” – and then I named the problem, I called you back in, we talked about the harm, we developed a plan for reconciliation, we kept each other accountable – and then, “I kept on loving you.”

Let’s not mistake “love” for permission. And let’s stop using “love” as permission. Let’s make sure “love” means calling for, expecting, and giving, the very best of ourselves.

Words by Alicia Carpenter
Music by Johann Ebeling

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Down the ages we have trod
many paths in search of God,
seeking ever to define
the Eternal and Divine.

Some have seen eternal good
pictured best in Parenthood,
and a Being throned above
ruling over us in love.

There are others who proclaim
God and Nature are the same,
and the present Godhead own
where Creation’s laws are known.

There are eyes which best can see
God within humanity,
and God’s countenance there trace
written in the human face.

Where compassion is most found
is for some the hallowed ground,
and these paths they upward plod
teaching us that love is God.

Though the truth we can’t perceive
this at least we must believe,
what we take most earnestly
is our living Deity.

Our true God we there shall find
in what claims our heart and mind,
and our hidden thoughts enshrine
that which for us is Divine.

For me, this is less an inspirational hymn and more a utilitarian hymn – it is a lesson in theology: what do we believe about God? I have used this hymn in services – most notably in my series “Singing About God” – using a handful of verses each week helps introduce the perspective I explore.

But it’s not very inspirational, not like May Nothing Evil Cross This Door. It doesn’t have soaring lyrics or a soaring melody – in fact, the melody (written by a much admired friend) is rather light for such a heady subject. This is not a song I would turn to for meditation or spiritual deepening – it’s a song I turn to when I want to talk about Unitarian Universalist theology.

Not that that’s bad – not everything can have the heart-tugging power of Finlandia (which I’ll explore when we get to #159, This Is My Song). One of the reasons we have hymns, curated and collected, is to hold our theology as it is experienced in our congregations. It’s why the hymnals get revised every so often, or supplements get released – because the theology as we experience it in our congregations changes to meet our souls’ and our world’s needs. Even Singing the Journey, released only 11 years ago, feels a little outdated now, because so much has shifted. And yet, this is what we have for now – this, plus the new songs and lyrics written and shared, that soon become the ‘extra-canonical’ works of our sung theology. (Jason Shelton’s “Life Calls Us On” is one among many examples of this – I fully expect it will be included in a future hymnal.)

So… this is a fine hymn – it does what it is meant to, and it’s easy to sing. I’m glad it’s here.

Words by John Andrew Storey
Music by Thomas Benjamin

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May nothing evil cross this door,
and may ill fortune never pry about
these windows; may the roar
and rain go by.

By faith made strong, the rafters will
withstand the battering of the storm.
This hearth, though all the world grow chill,
will keep you warm.

Peace shall walk softly through these rooms,
touching our lips with holy wine,
till every casual corner blooms
into a shrine.

With laughter drown the raucous shout,
and, though these sheltering walls are thin,
may they be strong to keep hate out
and hold love in.

And so it begins – with a lilting 3/4 tune, which I have heard too many times played like a dirge. It’s full of strong sentiment, but it is a blessing, not a demand. It is a prayer, not a protest….although they are often the same thing.

My point, however, is that this opening hymn is a dance – a waltz, a welcoming, loving blessing to all of the spirits who enter: the book, the congregation, the faith, life itself.

Imagine if we greeted people at the door with a hand jive, then twirling them into our foyers, one-two-three, one-two-three to the ushers who lead them gently to seats and then dance off to meet the next willing, dance-filled congregants?

Imagine if the pianist choir cha-cha’d to the bench, hips gently propelling them to feel the rhythm of the beating hearts filling the room?

Imagine the choir doing the electric slide into the loft, rocking their souls soulfully into place?

Imagine the worship leaders entering with an energetic Charleston, weaving an energetic magic that catches fire?

Imagine the whole congregation moving and breathing in sync, ready to be together because their spirits already are engaged in the dance of welcome and blessing?

 

Words by Louis Untermeyer, music by Robert N. Quaile
Tune: Oldbridge