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This one nearly speaks for itself – it asks the question many of us ask of those who seem to take a perverse joy at the suffering of others. Over and over, in the face of laws and judgments that seek to punish the victims, the oppressed, the suffering, we ask of those people: what if it were your daughter? what if it were your child? what if you were in need of sanctuary? what if you had nothing to eat, no roof, no comfort?

And, discomfortingly, these are questions we have been asking for centuries, if not millennia. William Blake’s poem, “On Another’s Sorrow”, from which our hymn is deftly crafted, asked this in the 18th century. How hard-hearted have humans been! How cold, calculating, and disdainful humans have been!

And this makes me weep. In my heart of hearts, I believe that humans are essentially good, that we are born good. And yet, over and over, there is evidence not only that evil exists in the world but also that some may have a propensity for it – or at least a lack of empathy that allows evil to flourish. This, more than anything, is what causes my weltschmerz – my world weariness.

This hymn – and the longer Blake poem – are intended to swell the mystic chords of memory by the better angels of our nature. To me, the hymn is a sad, haunting reminder of how few actually hear those mystic chords.

Can I see another’s woe,
and not be in sorrow too?
Can I see another’s grief,
and not seek for kind relief?

Can I see a falling tear,
and not feel my sorrow’s share?
Can a father see his child weep,
nor be with sorrow filled?

Can a mother sit and hear
infant groan, an infant fear?
No, no, never can it be!
Never, never can it be!

The tune is another favorite – another delicious melody from the 16th century. Its minor key and flowing lines are solemn and bittersweet. A perfect match for these words.

—

The image is also by William Blake, illustrations created for an illuminated edition of Dante’s Divine Comedy. Learn more here.

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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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There are some who consider this to be THE UU Hymn – it is perhaps the best well known of the insider songs, used throughout the denomination as an invocation, a sung response to joys and concerns, a hymn of meditation, even a song of welcome to membership (in my home congregation, if someone signed the book outside of a membership Sunday ritual, those who were near would gather to speed-sing this to the new member).

I’m not so sure we’re using it right. Carolyn McDade purposely wrote this as a personal prayer. In a 2007 interview in UU World, McDade reflects with contributing editor Kimberly French on the initiating event, a meeting for Central American solidarity:

What she remembers most clearly was the feeling she had. “When I got to Pat’s house, I told her, ‘I feel like a piece of dried cardboard that has lain in the attic for years. Just open wide the door, and I’ll be dust.’ I was tired, not with my community but with the world. She just sat with me, and I loved her for sitting with me.”

McDade then drove to her own home in Newtonville. “I walked through my house in the dark, found my piano, and that was my prayer: May I not drop out. It was not written, but prayed. I knew more than anything that I wanted to continue in faith with the movement.”

And thus, this prayer was written. A request for support, for rest, for renewal, for perspective.

Not, as it happens, a declaration of theology.

Because as a declaration of theology, it stinks. It’s incredibly self-serving, individualistic, narrowly focused. As a prayer, it is clear and focused and perfect for its intention. But it should never have become The Song. For the … oh, who am I kidding, I don’t have any readers who don’t know this one… but here are the lyrics anyway – look at them as though you are reading a statement of belief:

Spirit of Life, come unto me.
Sing in my heart all the stirrings of compassion.
Blow in the wind, rise in the sea;
move in the hand, giving life the shape of justice.
Roots hold me close; wings set me free;
Spirit of Life, come to me, come to me.

See what I mean? Great lines, focus on compassion and justice, inclusive name of that which some call God, but it’s all ME ME ME ME. I recall a conversation with fellow Unionite Ranwa Hammamy about this, where we wondered: what happens when you make it a collective prayer?

Spirit of Life, come unto us.
Sing in our hearts all the stirrings of compassion.
Blow in the wind, rise in the sea;
move in the hand, giving life the shape of justice.
Roots hold us close; wings set us free;
Spirit of Life, come to us, come to us.

Still not a theology, but a beautiful communal prayer, and maybe on the right path …shifting from the individual to the beloved community, a struggle we’ve been having our entire existence (certainly since Emerson shocked the establishment with his commencement speech at Harvard Divinity lo those many years ago).

And maybe praying for us, instead of me, will help us get out of our own way. As Nancy McDonald Ladd described at General Assembly last year, we must stop focusing on the “fake fights we waste our time on,” as others struggle against injustice. Instead, we should be focused on “real struggles and real battles” and not “confined by the smallness of our loving.” She said,

“The world does not need another place where like-minded liberals hang out and fight about who is in charge. … we need to lean into the real fights of our age. … 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.”

Spirit of life, come to us… Come to us.

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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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From the “I never really understood it until now” department comes this hymn.

Wow.

This is a familiar hymn to me, with its rolling triplets and pulsing, pushing melody. The tune sits for me in the same category as “Do You Hear the People Sing” from Les Miz – strong, defiant, meant to rouse and inspire. (I love the version I just linked to – it features Jean Valjeans from 17 different countries.)

But I don’t think I ever really read the lyrics – although I wonder if the lyrics would have ever seemed so relevant as they do today. These words could be preached from the pulpit or proclaimed at a protest. They should be echoing through the halls of Congress and every state legislature, read to journalists and news chiefs. I mean, this calls us to the moment, to be brave or be cowards (I’m lookin’ at you, Ryan and McConnell), to stand with truth, to decide whether to support greed and manipulation or generosity and truth. Now is the moment to decide.

And what gives me hope is that millions have shown what it looks like when a nation decides to stand up for good – Standing Rock, the Women’s March, the Muslim ban protests, the rogue twitter accounts from governmental science organizations (EPA, NASA, etc.), the media’s willingness to call a lie a lie, the daily calls and letters people are making to members of Congress. It’s happening. And it’s effective.

The moment has come, and people are deciding for the good side.

Once to every soul and nation comes the moment to decide,
in the strife of truth with falsehood, for the good or evil side:
then to stand with truth is noble, when we share its wretched crust;
ere that cause bring fame and profit, and ‘tis prosperous to be just.

Though the cause of evil prosper, yet ‘tis truth alone is strong;
though its portion be the scaffold, and upon the throne be wrong.
Then it is the brave one chooses, while the coward stands aside,
till the multitude make virtue of the faith they have denied.

One lyrical note:  again, our hymnal commission has pieced together lyrics for two verses from four verses; as originally written, they do include a fair bit of language that lands in a much more Christian theology. I’ve linked the original lyrics here. Sometimes that piecing together gets awkward and changes the meaning in a way that the hymn becomes toothless. However, they (a) did it much more artfully here than they have elsewhere, and (b) I think the message is stronger the way we have it now.  While this is a lyric written by a Unitarian (James Russell Lowell), you can see the shifts in our own theology from the late 1800s to today.

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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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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.