By |

I can’t write – I’m still giggling about the fact that every time I start singing this, even with lyrics in front of me, I start singing the English lyrics of A Mighty Fortress Is our God. And then getting mad when ‘in us its rivers flowing’ doesn’t rhyme with “on earth is not an equal” until I realize I sang the wrong words.

Seriously, though, I can’t get the Lutheran hymn out of my head enough to focus on Kenneth Patton’s lyrics.

Which, as is typical of his writing, quite good, quite inspiring, and oh so Unitarian Universalist.

We are the earth upright and proud; in us the earth is knowing.
Its winds are music in our mouths, in us its rivers flowing.
The sun is our hearthfire; warm with the earth’s desire,
and with its purpose strong, we sing earth’s pilgrim song;
in us the earth is growing.

We lift our voices, fill the skies with our exultant singing.
We dedicate our minds and hearts, to order, beauty bringing.
Our labor is our strength; our love will win at length;
our minds will find the ways to live in peace and praise.
Our day is just beginning.

I like its groundedness – not we are on the earth, but we are the earth. It’s eco-theologian Sallie MacFeague’s “we are earthlings”… it’s the interdependent web of all existence reminding us we’re part of it too. It’s an amazing set of lyrics.

I just can’t get past wanting to sing the words of the old Lutheran hymn. And it’s such a unique meter (8.7.8.7.6.6.6.7) that no other hymn tune has – so to sing it differently means one of our composers has to get busy. And I kinda hope they do – because I don’t use this hymn precisely because it’s set to Ein’ Feste Burg, and I would dissolve into uncontrollable giggles if I did, and that probably wouldn’t have the effect I would be going for.

 

 

By |

As I’m going through this section, entitled The Life of Integrity, I realize I use (or should use) these hymns a lot – and somehow am not at all getting bored, like I have with other sections of our hymnal. (I’m lookin’ at you, Christmas…)

It’s not surprising, as our Universalism calls us to love the hell out of this world. And as I scan back through a few years of services, it seems that one of these hymns from this category shows up easily 75% of the time. I admit I am feeling a little guilty for using them too much. But maybe they are filled with the messages most worth repeating – they say we only really preach one sermon, after all.

What I like about this hymn (and the others in this section) is that there’s both an openness and an urgency to the message – that liberal religion has not just benefit but also responsibility:

With heart and mind and voice and hand may we this time and place transcend
to make our purpose understood: a mortal search for mortal good,
a firm commitment to the goal of justice, freedom, peace for all.

A mind that’s free to seek the truth; a mind that’s free in age and youth
to choose a path no threat impedes, wherever light of conscience leads.
Our martyrs died so we could be a church where every mind is free.

A heart that’s kind, a heart whose search makes Love the spirit of our church,
where we can grow, and each one’s gift is sanctified, and spirits lift,
where every door is open wide for all who choose to step inside.

These lyrics are by Alicia Carpenter (commissioned for a Service of the Living Tradition), who also wrote Just As Long As I Have Breath; it is any wonder these two make such a good pair? More than once they have bracketed a service – this one to welcome and set the stage, the other to send out with a call to action.

Regarding the tune – we’ve sung it before, awkwardly I think, in The Winds of Change. But the German tune Mach’s Mit Mir, Gott works extremely well here. I’d love to hear a recast in a different time signature, or played with a swing, because it can get a bit stodgy; perhaps a 6/4 (my new favorite time signature) would help it out? Lord, please send me an accompanist who can come over with a keyboard every day and play hymns with me (and maybe bring coffee)… that’s not too much to ask, is it?

—

The image is from UU World’s Flickr page – of Rev. Cheryl Walker preaching at the 2017 Service of the Living Tradition, asking us to decide if we’re trying to make a name or make a difference. I was honored to be one of the many on stage, recognized for the transitions in our ministries.

By |

So…. bear with me on this: today’s hymn is the Jan to yesterday’s Marcia.

Everyone loves Wake Now My Senses. it’s a popular ordination hymn. It makes some of us cry. It is easy to sing and suits so many sermons.

And there, on the bottom of the right hand page, tucked away so as you hardly notice, is Make Channels for the Streams of Love. It’s not the favorite, it’s not well known, it’s overshadowed and often ignored. I can just hear this hymn whining to the Hymnal Commission about being stuck on that page and not having its own so it can shine. Just as second-born Jan Brady was always in her older sister Marcia’s shadow on The Brady Bunch, so too does this hymn sometimes sit in the shadows of a more popular hymn.

But folks, it deserves to shine. Set to the Land of Rest tune (which we have sung twice already in Heap High the Farmer’s Wintry Hoard and When We Wend Homeward), this text by Irish author Richard Trench contains a loving, lovely, and important message.

Make channels for the streams of love where they may broadly run;
and love has overflowing streams to fill them every one.

But if at any time we cease such channels to provide,
the very founts of love for us will soon be parched and dried.

For we must share, if we would keep this gift all else above;
we cease to give, we cease to have — such is the law of love.

Or, as Jimmy Durante (and many others) sang,

You’ve got to give a little, take a little,
And let your poor heart break a little.
That’s the story of, that’s the glory of love.

I hope you sing this more. I hope I sing this more. Because it’s so easy to stay angry and get angrier, to stay isolated and get more isolated, and then become parched and dried. We have to always love more, love more, love more.

By |

One of the joys of belonging to a congregation that’s just 20 years old is that the history is recent, and there are a lot of firsts to be part of.

On May 27th of this year, there were a lot of firsts: I was co-ordained by the First Universalist Church of Southold, where I was serving and who has ordained dozens in their 187 year history…. and the Unitarian Universalist Congregation of Saratoga Springs, making this their first ordination. This was, of course, my first (and only) time being ordained. And I am the first person in my ancestry in many, many generations – perhaps since the early 1600s – to be ordained. For many friends, it was the first time they’d participated in an ordination. In attendance (and also participating) were not only their current minister (the resultant call of Saratoga’s first ministerial search) but also their first, founding minister. And while he was not in attendance, Saratoga’s first interim minister, Thomas Mikelson, was present through his words, written for this, the first hymn we sang that day.

A day of firsts.

And I’m glad this hymn is a part of that memory and my history; it’s one of my favorites, far surpassing Rank by Rank Again We Stand (which we’ll get to in September) as the perfect hymn to use in rituals like ordinations and installations. Mikelson draws us all in to the wide net of ministry, recognizing that we are all called.

Wake, now, my senses, and hear the earth call;
feel the deep power of being in all;
keep, with the web of creation your vow,
giving, receiving as love shows us how.

Wake, now, my reason, reach out to the new;
join with each pilgrim who quests for the true;
honor the beauty and wisdom of time;
suffer thy limit, and praise the sublime.

Wake, now, compassion, give heed to the cry;
voices of suffering fill the wide sky;
take as your neighbor both stranger and friend,
praying and striving their hardship to end.

Wake, now, my conscience, with justice thy guide;
join with all people whose rights are denied;
take not for granted a privileged place;
God’s love embraces the whole human race.

Wake, now, my vision of ministry clear;
brighten my pathway with radiance here;
mingle my calling with all who will share;
work toward a planet transformed by our care.

Set to the Irish dance that is Slane, it reminds us that all that we are called to is a dance with the Mystery – that as much gravitas as our call requires, it also requires us to enter that call with a light and loving heart.

I honestly have not one bad thing to say about this hymn – as long as it’s not played as a dirge, of course.

And it will always live on in my memory as the first hymn of my ordination. May it also always live on as a reminder of my call.

—

From my ordination – the amazing Rev. Kimberly Quinn Johnson leading the processional, singing this hymn.

By |

Of course this is the hymn today, as I set out on 14-hour trip home from SUUSI that was called Blessed Is the Path. And in fact, I’m a little surprised no one used this in their worship this week… except that it’s probably a bit stodgier than most of what we sing here.

Yet it is a favorite hymn of mine, one I find myself using (or wanting to use) a lot. Perhaps it’s because I talk about our journeys a lot – all kinds of journeys, from personal journeys to collective, from spiritual to intellectual, from historical to prophetic. Unitarian Universalist Mark DeWolfe’s lyrics are simply gorgeous:

Sing out praises for the journey, pilgrims, we, who carry on,
searchers in the soul’s deep yearnings, like our forebears in their time.
We seek out the spirit’s wholeness in the endless human quest.

Look inside, your soul’s the kindling of the hearth fire pilgrims knew.
Find the spirit, always restless, find it in each mind and heart.
Touch and hold that ancient yearning, kindling for a newfound truth.

Stand we now upon the threshold, facing futures yet unknown.
Hearth behind us, wayside hostel built by those who knew wild roads.
Guard we e’er their sacred embers carried in our minds and hearts.

An aside – while training friend and colleague Elizabeth Assenza to take over as a Union chapel minister, we giggled a lot at “forebears” because it didn’t scan to our eyes correctly. We wanted it to say “forebearers” because we weren’t quite sure four bears were quite up to the task.

And now you will never look at that word the same way again. Our work here is done.

Now back to the hymn – a lush lyric set to a lovely if somewhat squarely notated – and thus played – tune by the English composer Henry Purcell. I wonder if it would make it drag if done in a 6/8 time signature; it certainly would dance a bit more. Or maybe we find a new tune.

But no matter. I like the Purcell, and I don’t know why I’m stuck on trying to change it, but, well, there it is.

Bottom line: this is a favorite of mine, and it’s a good, useful hymn. I’m grateful for it.

By |

So… I’m not sure about this one.

On the one hand, it’s a wonderful piece about our first source – our personal experience of awe and wonder, singing praise to the “star of truth”  – which is a wonderful name for that which some call God.

On the other hand, there seems to be a bit of humanist snark in the second verse – ‘though ancient creed and custom may point another way’ – which seems to point away from anything which some call God.

I guess my uncertainty lies in not being entirely sure who or what it is that lyricist Minot Judson Savage (who also wrote Seek Not Afar for Beauty) thinks we are singing praises to and why.

O star of truth, downshining through clouds of doubt and fear,
I ask beneath thy guidance my pathway may appear:
however long the journey, however hard it be,
though I be lone and weary, lead on, I follow thee.

I know thy blessed radiance can never lead astray,
though ancient creed and custom may point another way;
or through the untrod desert, or over trackless sea,
though I be lone and weary, lead on, I follow thee.

I’m prepared for dozens – baker’s dozens! – of you to have a clearer view of this hymn (set to a sweet Finnish melody called Nyland). I admit I’m a bit sinus foggy and headachy this morning, which never helps with clarity. And I’d welcome a discussion about the hymn.

The good news is that even headachy, the tune is sweet and it was a lovely song to start my day with. I sometimes have to remember that the experience of this spiritual practice does matter as much as the words I put on the page. And that experience was sweet.

By |

I entered this morning’s hymn with trepidation; I’m familiar with it and I’ve sung it a few times, but I was a bit anxious about what is really a charming little melody, wondering whether it would be a problem the way the Austria tune can be.

Between the Lines was no help really; James says simply that this is an Alsatian tune, with a translation of verse 1 by Arthur Kevess and new lyrics from Elizabeth Bennett.

That’s it.

Before we go too far, here are the lyrics as we have them in the hymnal:

Die Gedanken sind frei, my thoughts freely flower.
Die Gedanken sind frei, my thoughts give me power.
No scholar can map them, no hunter can trap them,
no one can deny: Die Gedanken sind frei!

My thoughts are as free as wind o’er the ocean,
and no one can see their form or their motion.
No hunter can find them, no trap ever bind them:
my lips may be still, but I think what I will.

A glimmering fire the darkness will brighten;
my soaring desire all troubles can lighten.
Though prison enfold me, its walls cannot hold me:
no captive I’ll be, for my spirit is free.

Good strong lyrics representing free thought. But what of the original? Was it as freely thinking?

As it turns out, yes.

This song first became popular during the 1840s, after the Carlsbad Decrees and then during the 1848 German Revolution, Die Gedanken Sind Frei was a popular and important protest song. A direct translation from the German goes like this:

Thoughts are free, who can guess them?
They fly by like nocturnal shadows.
No man can know them, no hunter can shoot them
with powder and lead: Thoughts are free!

I think what I want, and what delights me,
still always reticent, and as it is suitable.
My wish and desire, no one can deny me
and so it will always be: Thoughts are free!

And if I am thrown into the darkest dungeon,
all these are futile works,
because my thoughts tear all gates
and walls apart: Thoughts are free!

So I will renounce my sorrows forever,
and never again will torture myself with whimsies.
In one’s heart, one can always laugh and joke
and think at the same time: Thoughts are free!

I love wine, and my girl even more,
Only her I like best of all.
I’m not alone with my glass of wine,
my girl is with me: Thoughts are free!

Not surprisingly, this also became popular again in the 1930s and 40s in German; in at least one example of Nazi resistance, a member of the White Rose Resistance (Sophie Scholl) would play the song on her flute outside the prison where her father had been detained for calling Hitler “a scourge of God.”

So we’re getting closer to why this might be in our hymnal, but just as there are dozens of protests songs around the world that we’ve never heard of much less included in our living tradition, how did this one get our attention?

And then I read this, in Wikipedia:

The Weavers recorded the song at a live concert in the 1950s. Pete Seeger also recorded the song, solo, back in the 1950s. The Limeliters recorded the song in 1962 on their Folk Matinee album. Pete Seeger recorded the song once more in his Dangerous Songs!? album in 1966.

It all makes sense now.

And yes, I used this in my service on January 21st. We need to remember that what we are experiencing is not normal, and that we must keep our minds freely flowering.

—

Image is of cornflower, the national flower of Germany. I was going to show edelweiss, but it’s honestly not as lovely. Plus, it’s Austrian. Plus, it plants an earworm, and goodness knows I wouldn’t do THAT to you. Not me. Perish the thought.

By |

I don’t wanna do this any more if it means I have to be eloquent and insightful about hymns like this one.

Now I am sure there were good reasons for the Hymnal Commission to include it. The lyrics – written by Unitarian minister, professor at Meadville, and church historian Charles Lyttle – are indeed a tribute to our frontier congregations: this was written for the centennial of the Unitarian Society in Geneva, Illinois. It contains a lot of personal-to-them metaphors and phrases. And I’m sure, the commission felt it important to honor that part of our living tradition, especially since we can be so Boston-centered.

I get it. I really do.

But here is another example of a hymn that goes nowhere, and worst of all, is set to that damn Nicea tune (Holy, Holy, Holy). And you KNOW I have opinions about that one.

Anyway, here are the lyrics:

Bring, O Past, your honor; bring, O Time, your harvest,
golden sheaves of hallowed lives and minds by Truth made free;
come, you faithful spirits, builders of this temple:
“To Holiness, to Love, and Liberty.”

Ring, in glad thanksgiving, bell of grief and gladness,
forth to town and prairie let our festal greeting go.
Voices long departed in your tones re-echo:
“Praise to the Highest, Peace to all below.”

Shrine of frontier courage, Sinai of its vision,
home and hearth of common quest for life’s immortal good,
stand, in years oncoming, sentinel of conscience,
as through the past your stalwart walls have stood.

Church of pure reformers, pioneers undaunted,
company of comrades sworn to keep the spirit free;
long o’er life’s swift river preach th’eternal gospel:
faith, hope, and love for all humanity.

To be honest, sitting in my temporary digs at SUUSI with a view of the Smoky Mountains, having already heard and sung inspiring music (and we’ve hardly gotten started yet), I am not in a good headspace to be singing the praises of this plodding hymn that, yes, I sang all four freaking verses of because I’m dedicated to this damn practice.

But I really don’t want to wax eloquently about this one, because… ugh.

—

Photo is of the Unitarian Society in Geneva, IL. A pretty church.

By |

Proof that this spiritual practice has changed me: Whenever I see an adaptation note at the bottom of the page now, I first go hunt down the original lyrics, because there’s a very good chance we did more than adjust some God, gender, and empire language. And there are times when I find that frustrating, because we’ve changed the meaning and intention, and that does dishonor to the original composer/lyricist. (See, for instance, my frustration with Holy, Holy, Holy.)

However, sometimes the adaptation is welcomed – and in the case of this hymn, quite well done by Beth Ide, who was a minister of religious education.

I’m actually going to start with the original lyric, written by William DeWitt Hyde, a Congregationalist minister who long served as president of Bowdoin College:

Creation’s Lord, we give Thee thanks That this Thy world is incomplete;
That battle calls our marshaled ranks; That work awaits our hands and feet.

That Thou hast not yet finished man; That we are in the making still,
As friends who share the Maker’s plan As sons who know the Father’s will.

Beyond the present sin and shame,  Wrong’s bitter, cruel, scorching blight,
We see the beckoning vision flame, The blessèd kingdom of the right.

What though the kingdom long delay, And still with haughty foes must cope?
It gives us that for which to pray, A field for toil and faith and hope.

Since what we choose is what we are, And what we love we yet shall be,
The goal may ever shine afar—The will to win it makes us free.

Rough, eh? I think so. It screams to me of that awful theology based on the Revelation of John that suggests there’s a metric shit-ton of hell to pay at Armageddon; on the plus side, this is saying “Jesus is coming, better get busy doing the ministry while we wait” and not – as modern Dominionists suggest – “Jesus is coming and we’re gonna make the conditions favorable to bring down Armageddon.”

Hyde’s hymn isn’t scary as all that, but it is most certainly not about the god of process theology, who Ide saw in Hyde’s text and in our own theologies. And thus, with some careful editing and some creative loving (see what I did there?) we now have an amazing, if still difficult hymn:

Creative love, our thanks we give that this, our world, is incomplete,
that struggle greets our will to live, that work awaits our hands and feet;

That we are not yet fully wise, that we are in the making still —
as friends who share one enterprise and strive to blend with nature’s will.

What though the future long delay, and still with faults we daily cope?
It gives us that for which to pray, a field for toil and faith and hope.

Since what we choose is what we are, and what we love we yet shall be,
the goal may ever shine afar — the will to reach it makes us free.

Now just because Ide changed the language to reflect a creator god rather than an omnipotent god, this doesn’t mean it’s all light and fluffy. No – this is serious. Here’s what she’s saying: We’re glad there’s work to be done. We are grateful there are still problems in the world for us to respond to.  We’re glad to be part of creating the world we want to see. We’re glad the moral arc of the universe is long so we can help build the beloved community, not just benefit from it.

No really, this is what Ide’s adaptation is saying. Think about this for a minute. I know I keep pausing as I write to think about it. That first verse… lord have mercy.

And here, I pause, and I wonder if this is a privileged stance to take.

How would I feel about this if I were a person of color? Would I stop at the first line and say “no, not so much with the incomplete…I’m tired now.” Or…would I approach it with side-eye and an “oh, so you finally figured this out, eh?” Or… would I approach it with some other view, including but not limited to that which I first approached with – the “oh, we get to be part of this creation and try to reach for the big goal.”

I don’t know, but as I write this, I recognize the traps this one may have left for us. (I welcome comments and commentary on this.)

A quick note about the tune, another gorgeous, lush, beautiful melody arranged by the master, Ralph Vaughan Williams. If you don’t know it, listen to the original setting here – the original carol is part of a longer piece called “Fantasia on Christmas Carols.”

 

By |

These are the days I wish I was a pianist, or lived with one.

Because while I have listened to a recording of this hymn at Small Church Music, I feel like I want to play with this rather square tune by Frederick Charles Maker. I don’t want to change it, partly because the tune was written for this text by John Greenleaf Whittier and partly because there’s something lush in the melody. But the way I have heard it, it’s square and old timey, and I bet if I were a pianist or living with one, we’d be the kind of people who could reimagine the accompaniment.

And if we did that, I’d probably use this hymn – although I would take Whittier’s first line, “Dear Lord and Father of Mankind” one step further than our Hymnal Commission knew to do in 1993, and I’d make it something like “Dear God of All Humanity.” These lyrics are pretty great otherwise:

Dear Mother-Father of us all forgive our foolish ways.
Reclothe us in our rightful mind,
in purer lives thy service find, in deeper reverence, praise.

In simple trust like theirs who heard, beside the Syrian sea,
the gracious calling of the Word,
let us, like them, our faith restored, rise up and follow thee.

O Sabbath rest by Galilee, O calm of hills above,
where Jesus knelt to share with thee
the silence of eternity, interpreted by love.

With that deep hush subduing all our words and works that drown
the tender whisper of thy call,
as noiseless let thy blessing fall as fell thy manna down.

Drop thy still dews of quietness, till all our strivings cease;
take from our souls the strain and stress,
and let our ordered lives confess the beauty of thy peace.

Now barring the first line business, the lyrics are almost entirely Whittier’s, with just a couple of adjustments by our Hymnal Commission that I think make it stronger – mainly the second verse. Here’s Whittier’s, with the changed words in bold:

In simple trust like theirs who heard,
beside the Syrian sea,
the gracious calling of the Lord,
let us, like them, without a word,
rise up and follow thee.

I think our version is better, and I’m glad for it. It’s clearer that we are being called not by one man but in service to that which is greater and more powerful than all humanity and yet is the best of humanity.

All in all, a good hymn. I just long for a better arrangement…

—

The photo is of Syrian refugees along the Syrian Sea. In case we forget what we are called to.