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I’ve been wandering around the house for the better part of an hour, singing this sweet little piece by Tom Benjamin, with two questions on my mind:

First, what can I possibly say about this piece I quite like, when it’s short, theologically and ethically sound, and just plain pretty?

Second, and perhaps more importantly: is it an introit, a chalice lighting, a prayer, a response, or a benediction?

Be Thou with us,
now and always,
now and always,
blessed be.

Seriously, it could be any of those things. It could be sung to welcome all into the worship space at the top of the service. It could be sung as we invite the light into our chalices (reminiscent of a pagan line when calling in the directions, “be thou with us, spirit of fire.” It could be sung at the end of a pastoral prayer, or be the prayer itself. It could be a sending forth as a variation on “we extinguish this flame, but not the…” that many congregations use for extinguishing the chalice. It could be sung as the final notes of a service, blessing all who leave the worship space.

This might be the most utilitarian short piece we have, and one of my favorites.

Blessed be.

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For some people, Christmas is nothing but joyful – everything goes well, the right people are in the room, the right presents are under the tree, the right food is on the table, the right music is in the air.

For others of us, Christmas is more complex. We’re not where we want to be or who we want to be with, gifts are too little or too callous, we are struggling in any number of ways, or there are difficult relationships that will likely result in difficult moments.

I wonder, with Rob Eller-Isaacs “Litany of Atonement” set to music as the hymn today, if it might not be more helpful to go in to the day’s celebrations with a spirit of forgiveness instead of an expectation of dread. What happens when we begin our possibly fraught Christmasses with forgiveness and love?

[spoken] For remaining silent when a single voice would have made a difference …

We forgive ourselves and each other; we begin again in love.

[spoken] For each time that our fears have made us rigid and inaccessible …

We forgive ourselves and each other; we begin again in love.

[spoken] For each time that we have struck out in anger without just cause …

We forgive ourselves and each other; we begin again in love.

[spoken] For each time that our greed has blinded us to the needs of others…

We forgive ourselves and each other; we begin again in love.

[spoken] For the selfishness which sets us apart and alone…

We forgive ourselves and each other; we begin again in love.

[spoken] For falling short of the admonitions of the spirit…

We forgive ourselves and each other; we begin again in love.

[spoken] For losing sight of our unity…

We forgive ourselves and each other; we begin again in love.

[spoken] For those and for so many acts both evident and subtle which have fueled the illusion of separateness…

We forgive ourselves and each other; we begin again in love.

It never would have dawned on me to sing this to myself on Christmas morning – except here it was when I opened the hymnal today, and I realized that I was already bracing for what could be some frustrating moments later today. Singing/speaking this to myself helped. I realized how much anxiety I was holding and was able to breathe it out a bit. How long it lasts, I can’t say. But I can say that in this moment, with the day of celebration ahead, I feel better about what will come, and maybe I can at last find some of that Christmas spirit.

For this gift – a beautiful sung response with gorgeous accompaniment by Les Kleen to a rich and meaningful litany – I give great thanks.

Merry Christmas, one and all.

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I think I first learned this song in high school, about the same time I heard about apartheid in South Africa. Yet I am pretty sure I never related the two – I know our music teachers didn’t do that, and at that age I wasn’t in a religious education program that helped me understand the world in context (I was in a youth group at a small non-denominational, more-or-less fundamentalist church where we talked bible, not justice).

I began to wonder, as I sought recordings of today’s hymn to share, and found mountains of YouTube videos of high school choirs, if music teachers are doing a better job of connecting the music they sing to the context the music comes from.

Because the context is rich – there is much we can learn about the United States past and present from examining South African apartheid, from the creep of discriminatory legislation to the ways in which resistance to those laws bend the moral arc of the universe toward justice.

And as we see over and over again, music makes a difference. We have talked about it here a lot – the enslaved Africans in America, the civil rights movement, Estonia’s singing revolution, and more. Music spreads, music informs, music reaches deep in and grabs hold of our spirits, music shifts our energy and can change our minds.

Oh freedom, oh freedom,
oh freedom, freedom is coming!

Oh yes I know, oh yes I know,
oh yes I know, freedom is coming!

Oh freedom, oh freedom,
oh freedom, freedom is coming!

Technically, this song – if unfamiliar – will require some good song leaders, as the power comes from the interwoven parts. Drums will help too. Each part is really easy, but the coordination of them can be complex – hence the contradictory singability tags.

But oh, is it worth it. This is such a joyful, lively, energizing song.

May all feel the freedom this song demands.

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One of the Facebook memes going around right now is about memories – namely, asking for people to post memories of you, with a fair bit of delight at the answers. If my friend and colleague Ashley DeTar Birt were to ask, I would be hard pressed to pick just one memory, as our friendship, which began the first week of seminary and continues to this day, is full of great moments.

But the moment I would choose right now would be hearing her sermon “The Prism and the Paint” wherein she used Genesis 1 to search for better ways to talk about light and dark, white and black, good and evil. Using acrylic paints, crystals, and a lamp, she reminded us that the creation story calls day and evening “good” because it is not “void.” As Ashley reminded us, white is the sum of all colors when using light, and black is the sum of all colors when using paints. Light and dark are fullness. Light and dark – whether about the natural world, or our souls, or our skin colors – are good.

This Taizé song, by Jacques Berthier, expresses the fullness of darkness, where we can find sustenance for the journey.

Spanish:
De noche iremos, de noche
que para encontrar la fuente,
sólo la sed nos alumbra,
sólo la sed nos alumbra.

English:
By night, we hasten, in darkness,
to search for living water,
only our thirst leads us onward,
only our thirst leads us onward.

French:
De nuit nous irons dans l’ombre,
car pour decouvrir la source,
seule la soif nous éclaire,
seule la soif nous éclaire.

Italian:
Di notte andremo, di notte,
per incontrare la fonte,
solo la sete c’illumina,
solo la sete ci guida.

German:
In Dunkler Nacht woll’n wir ziehen,
lebendiges Wasser finden,
Nur unser Durst wird uns leuchten,
nur unser Durst wird uns leuchten.

One of the things I love about the music of the Taizé Community is that it’s meant to be sung in the language you choose; in a Taizé service, you will sometimes hear the words of many tongues crossing over one another in the same rich harmonies. It’s a beautiful thing to experience. And I am glad our Hymnal Commission offered the words in five languages here.

It is beautiful, haunting melody, perfect for a Winter Solstice vespers. (If only I’d gotten to this one last week, cry my clergy friends who led solstice services last night!)

It is beautiful, haunting, and full.

It is good.

—
For your listening pleasure:

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Let us live in peace… let us die in peace.

Wow.

The song’s origins are, not surprising, found in the years following the attacks on 9/11:

This song is the inspiration of a Muslim residing in the United States, Samir Badri. Samir recruited the composer(Ted Warmbrand), a Jew, to set his words to a tune, after they both were featured at a Peace rally in Arizona before the U.S. bombing of Afghanistan and then Iraq.

As a song of peace in time of war, it is simply perfect.

And to me, considering how many are fighting ‘the wars at home’ – poverty, racism, xenophobia, homophobia, sexism, ableism – it is in fact a perfect song for today too.

Daoona nayeesh beesalaam;
daoona nayeesh Beeamaan;
daoona nansij;
Ahlaam;
daoona namoot beesalaam.

The English translation from Arabic:

Let us live in peace.
Let us live in inner peace.
Let us weave our dreams together.
Let us die in peace.

Imagine if we sang this with energy at marches and protests against discriminatory laws and tax scams. Imagine if we sang this as a lament at our vigils for transfolk being murdered, for people of color being denied justice, for what will now be a growing number of people dying from poverty and lack of health care, for families torn apart by deportation.

Imagine if we actually lived and died in peace.

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Some useful musical/performance notes from the UUA Song Information page:

This song can been shared in different ways: Energetically, meditatively, with audience singing along (as echoes after each phrase), and/or with instrumental breaks allowing for English translation during the piece. It has been sung in 3/4, 12/8, and 4/4 time. Sometimes the composer adds the one word ‘tag’ “aHlaam” (dreams) only at the end and sometimes the song fades out with it. At other times he uses it as a bridge to return to the verse. When unaccompanied or with only percussion “aHlaam” can become a descant under the melody. It was put there to assure people could sing at least one word in Arabic. A pause can be added before the last line, “let us die in peace.”

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The image is from Pixabay contributor Gerd Altmann – even though Pixabay offers royalty-free photos for editorial and non-commercial use without attribution, I wanted to name the photographer in this case because it is such a striking image.

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About 12 years ago, I was honored to be one of ten people asked to pilot a new credentialing program through the UU Musicians Network; it was so exciting to be part of this group, to be deepening and learning and seeing a possible future serving our faith in this way. Among the ten was Widdy, a joyful, funny, and caring music director from Wisconsin, who made me feel welcome even though I’d only joined the UUMN a year prior.

Thus, it made me sad when only a year in, he announced he would be leaving the program to enter seminary – I was going to miss him a lot. Of course, I had to drop out myself, a only a few short months later due to health concerns, and then of course found my own way into seminary a couple of years after that. But I always felt great fondness for him, especially when singing this song. Widdy – known to most as Rev. Ian Riddell – doesn’t know this, but just seeing his song on the page and rejoicing in our friendship does as much for my feeling peaceful and at ease as does this graceful setting of a Buddhist meditation.

May I be filled with loving kindness. May I be well.
May I be filled with loving kindness. May I be well.
May I be peaceful and at ease.
May I be whole.

May you be filled …

May we be filled …

I have used this in so many different settings and for so many topics – because we need the reminder. Over and over. Between this and Sarah Dan’s Meditation on Breathing, we have the makings of a chant cycle to get us through all of these hard times – times when we need to be brought back to ourselves and reminded of our interconnectedness.

May we all be whole.

—

The image is the not-yet-updated seven principles wheel; Ian had developed this new way of examining the principles and handwrote it. After he shared it on Facebook, I set it graphically. There are some updates to be made, and one day we’ll get it printed on things, but for now, it is what it is, and I’m glad Ian let me play with his grand idea. I will say this: it preaches really well, this new way to look at the seven principles.

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Y’all took the joy right out of this one for me.

You know who “you” are – you who dislike this one, you who find the Zulu difficult, you who argue against the word “God” in the translation, you who think it’s overused or too cheesy, you who won’t use it for other reasons you will delineate in your comments.

You see, right before I went to prepare the coffee, I opened the hymnal, saw the title, and I started singing it while I cleaned the pot, added water, added grounds. As I got into the joyful groove, I started thinking about what to write, and I started reading in my mind all the comments you will be making, and by the time I poured my first cup and opened the laptop, all the joy was gone.

Dammit.

This is a joyful song of liberation. As written on the UUA Song Information page,

A South African freedom song that comes from the Apartheid Era. It is not clear whether the original composition was in Zulu or Afrikaans, although today we sing it in Zulu and English. It is said to have been composed by Andries van Tonder around 1950. However, we credit Anders Nyberg, musical director of Fjedur, a Swedish choral group, with discovering it on one of his trips to Cape Town. In 1984 he arranged it for a Western four-voice setting.

The structure of “Siyahamba” is cyclic rather than sequential. The lyrics consist of one phrase that is repeated with permutations. Cyclical forms emphasize a spirit of community and allow for a physical response during the performance. This may explain this song’s popularity as a processional and offertory as well as a protest or marching song. “Siyahamba” is appropriate for both sacred and secular settings for it could be sung, “We are standing in the light of peace.” The song may be accompanied by drums, bell, and shakers; and it can be sung a cappella with male voices which is favored by the Zulu tradition.

Joyful. This is supposed to be a joyful song, but in this case, criticisms I know this song faces (because I have heard them for real, not just in my imaginings) has made not only this part of the practice difficult, but also the singing part. I… I just wanted to be in that joyful place for a moment longer, as joy is so hard to come by lately.

Anyway. I like it and use a lot of words along with/instead of ‘marching’ – singing, dancing, praying, living, shouting, working, etc. etc. etc.

Zulu:
Siyahamb’ ekukhanyen’ kwenkhos’,
siyahamb’ ekukhanyen’ kwenkhos’.
Siya hamb’ ekukhanyen’ kwenkhos’,
siya hamb’ ekukhanyen’ siyahamb’ ekukhanyen’ kwenkhos.
Siyahamba, hamba, siyahamba, hamba,
siyahamb’ ekukhanyen’ kwenkhos’.
Siyahamba, hamba, siyahamba, hamba,
siyahamb’ ekukhanyen’ kwenkhos’.

English:
We are marching in the light of God,
we are marching in the light of God.
We are marching in the light of God,
we are marching in the light of, the light of God.
We are marching, marching, we are marching, marching,
we are marching in the light of God.
We are marching, marching, we are marching, marching,
We are marching in the light of God.

Now I for one will not be deterred, and I recommend the YouTube rabbit hole of Siyahamba versions. They span the globe, ages, and abilities. They are formal and informal, accompanied and a capella, inside and outside, but all joyful.

May you find something in this joyful South African song of freedom to bring you joy.

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I’m a little bit embarrassed this morning.

You see, I went on and on about how much I love yesterday’s hymn, and then I turn the page and realize not only do I not know the next one, I’m not sure I ever gave it a second glance. There it sits, in the shadow of the Fire of Commitment, just waiting for me to notice it, it’s first line telling me it’s willing to wait.

Like love does, I guess.

I forget that while I might feel embarrassment, love feels no judgment, throws no shade. It just waits for us. It is patient and kind. And still, I’m a bit embarrassed that I regularly preach a piece on I Corinthians 13 (the famous love passage from the letters of Paul) and have somehow completely ignored this hymn, which would an absolutely perfect part of that liturgy.

It’s a shame, because it’s beautiful. The tune, by Methodist hymn composer Daniel Charles Damon, harkens back to the old shape note songs I wrote so fondly about when singing through Singing the Living Tradition.

Love knocks and waits for us to hear, to open and invite;
Love longs to quiet every fear, and seeks to set things right.

Love offers life, in spite of foes who threaten and condemn;
embracing enemies, Love goes the second mile with them.

Love comes to heal the broken heart, to ease the troubled mind;
without a word Love bids us start to ask and seek and find.

Love knocks and enters at the sound of welcome from within;
Love sings and dances all around, and feels new life begin.

According to Hymnary, the lyrics are inspired by several psalms, the Song of Solomon, the gospel of Matthew, and the book of Revelation. It’s that last bit that gives the hymn its opening metaphor; Revelation 3:20 says

Listen! I am standing at the door, knocking; if you hear my voice and open the door, I will come in to you and eat with you, and you with me.

Love just needs an invitation. I think we forget that in all of our talk about love. We forget that whether we are looking for more love, answering the call of love, giving songs of love, letting love guide us, or rejoicing in love… love doesn’t barge in. We have to invite it in.

Wow.

Yeah. That’ll preach.

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One of my favorite December Sundays is the one a minister designates as “Mitten Tree Sunday.” For those who haven’t experienced this wonderful service, it begins with a Christmas tree on the chancel, empty but for some lights. Often, the Candace Christiansen story that inspired the service is told, other times different stories about giving and grace appear – told, acted out, or otherwise referenced. And then the invitation comes, and everyone has the opportunity to decorate the tree with mittens, and gloves, and hats and scarves and other cold-weather accessories. After the service, those items are donated to a group that can suitably distribute them to those in need.

It is a small, but a tangible way to live out the call reflected in the Gospel of Matthew, chapter 25, verses 31-41. Which, of course is also the call of this hymn, by Jose Antonio Oliver, which is inspired by the liberation theology of Peruvian priest and theologian Gustavo Gutiérrez, which emphasizes a concern for the liberation of the oppressed.

Cuando el pobre nada tiene y aún reparte,
cuando alguien pasa sed y agua nos da,
cuando el débil a su hermano forta lece,
va Dios mismo en nuestro mismo caminar;
va Dios mismo en nuestro mismo caminar.

Cuando alguno sufre y logra su Consuelo,
cuando espera y no se cansa de esperar,
cuando amamos, aunque el odio nos rodee,
va Dios mismo en nuestro mismo caminar,
va Dios mismo en nuestro mismo caminar.

Cuando crece la alegria y now inunda,
cuando dicen nuestros labios la verdad,
cuando anoramos el sentir de los sencillos,
va Dios mismo en nuestro mismo caminar,
va Dios mismo en nuestro mismo caminar.

Cuando abunda el bien y llena los hogares,
cuando alguien donde hay Guerra pone paz,
cuando “hermano” le llamamos al extraño,
va Dios mismo, en nuestro mismo caminar,
va Dios mismo en nuestro mismo caminar.

The English translation is by the Rev. Martin A. Seltz, a Lutheran (ELCA) minister/musician:

When the poor ones, who have nothing, still are giving;
when the thirsty pass the cup, water to share;
when the wounded offer others strength and healing:
we see God, here by our side, walking our way;
we see God, here by our side, walking our way.

When compassion gives the suffering consolation,
when expecting brings to birth hope that was lost;
when we choose love, not the hatred all around us;
we see God, here by our side, walking our way,
we see God, here by our side, walking our way.

When our spirits, like a chalice, brim with gladness,
when our voices, full and clear, sing out the truth,
when our longings, free from envy, seek the humble,
we see God, here by our side, walking our way,
we see God, here by our side, walking our way.

When the goodness poured from heaven fills our dwellings,
when the nations work to change war into peace,
when the stranger is accepted as our neighbor,
we see God, here by our side, walking our way,
we see God, here by our side, walking our way.

I love this hymn. I love the lyrics, I love the sentiment, and I love the melody. It is rich, and flowing, and I find it incredibly moving. It’s not often I’m in tears from singing the morning’s hymn, but this one brings me to tears from just thinking about it, no less singing it.

I hope congregations use this – not just on Mitten Tree Sundays but any time of the year when we need to remember that acts of simple generosity is liberation for all.

—

Featured Photo: members of First Universalist Church of Southold, NY, decorating last year’s mitten tree. The photo at the top of this page is the completed tree.

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Among the lessons I have learned during this spiritual practice is that the hymnals of a denomination reflect history. Yes, there’s theological history, and certainly musical history, but there’s also a reflection of political and cultural history, if you pay attention.

Singing the Living Tradition reflects the world as it was in the early 1990s – the cold war had just ended but we still had all those nukes around. Apartheid ended and Nelson Mandela had been freed, but we were embroiled in the first Gulf War with no clear objective or victory in sight. Hence, we have in that hymnal a number of songs about world peace and getting along with one another, along with the emphasis on humanism and other kinds of inclusion.

Singing the Journey, produced 12 years later, reflects the times as well, most particularly the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, and the aftermath of the terrorist attacks in 2001. Hence, we have in this hymnal supplement more songs about world peace and getting along with one another, along with an expanding emphasis on nature-based religions and musical multi-culturalism.

It is this thought that brings us to today’s hymn, an anti-war song that must have felt vital to the STJ hymnal commission. It was written by West Virginia singer-songwriter Karen Mackay, to express her “strong belief in the power of women to influence global culture and bring peace to the world.” It’s got a simple, Appalachian gospel melody that’s easy to pick up and harmonize with, and except for the lack of a verse that expands the gender spectrum, it’s a rather wonderful anti-war song – a perfect addition (especially that last verse) in those first years after 9/11.

If ev’ry woman in the world had her mind set on freedom,
if ev’ry woman in the world dreamed a sweet dream of peace,
if ev’ry woman of ev’ry nation,
young and old, each generation,
held her hands out in the name of love,
there would be no more war.

If ev’ry man in the world had his mind set on freedom,
if ev’ry man in the world dreamed a sweet dream of peace,
if ev’ry man of ev’ry nation,
young and old, each generation,
held his hands out in the name of love,
there would be no more war.
If ev’ry leader in the world shared a vision,
if ev’ry leader in the world shared a sweet dream of peace,
if ev’ry leader of ev’ry nation,
young and old, each generation,
worked for justice and liberation,
holding hands out in the name of love,
there would be no more war.

If ev’ry nation in the world set a true course for freedom,
if ev’ry nation raised its children in a culture of peace,
if all our sons and all our daughters
reached in friendship across the waters,
refusing to be enemies,
there would be no more war.

When I first learned this song in 2005, it felt very fresh and prescient. But like many of our hymns that reflect the times (in both current hymnals), it now feels a bit dated and out of fashion. I started singing this song and wishing that we had verses about today’s problems, because I love it but I am not feeling the need to sing about warring nations right now – there are more pressing issues.

Do note: I’m not advocating not having them – because heaven knows when the next war will erupt, and it will be good to have these songs at the ready. It’s just interesting to note how history informs song choices.

And so the final question, then, is what political and cultural events will shape the next hymnal? Certainly the specter of all-out war doesn’t loom as sharply (except when our Twitter feeds are filled with ill-advised taunts to North Korea); we are much more concerned with the wars at home – black lives matter, immigration justice, health care, financial inequality, feminism, the First Nations, etc. What will our new hymnody look like? And how dated will it feel a dozen years on?

Or is that the cross hymnals in a living tradition bear – that the moment they’re published they are in some ways already out of date?  It’s not a bad problem to have, but it does mean we must pay more and more attention to the new music coming out to fill those gaps between printed books.

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Image is of a peace pole in Plymouth, Massachusetts.