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I thought a lot about how to approach the next 12 entries in our hymnal – three tunes, nine different lyrics – and while I could dive into all the words and let the music fall where it may, that seemed to discredit the music, which requires attention. So – today I’ll talk about the tunes, and then the next nine, hit each of the nine quatrains.

Now together, these pieces form one of 27 possible doxologies – a common liturgical element that comes out of the Christian tradition yet possibly based in the Jewish tradition. The doxology, or “words of praise,” is typically a short, communal song of praise that may be a sung response (such as a section of the Kaddish in a Jewish service or the “Gloria Patri” in a Catholic service) or as an affirmation of faith (such as “Glory be to the Father” in many Protestant services). Unitarian Universalist congregations sometimes use doxologies in similar fashion. They become the ‘best known hymn’ because we sing it every week.

Now what we sing it to… ah, that’s today’s question.

Most UU congregations that I have been in that sing a doxology use what STLT notes is the “modern form” of Old Hundredth. Where yesterday’s appearance featured the original key and rhythm – elongated ends of the phrases, a lush, singable key, the commonly used tune for modern doxologies is a shortened rhythm written in G major for reasons passing understanding. (Seriously, what’s wrong with D major?)

Yet our Hymnal Commission offers two other tunes that may be used – and I wish more did.

One is the Tallis Canon, a gorgeous piece written in the mid 1500s by English composer Thomas Tallis; I’ve waxed poetic about the tune before; here is our opportunity to truly make it a ringing-thru-the-sanctuary round.

The other is a tune I’m not as familiar with – Vom Himmel Hoch (“from heaven on high”), from the Geistliche Leider by Valentin Schumann. We sang this once before, but I was too busy getting ready to attend the Women’s March in NYC to actually notice the tune. It’s not as lush as the Tallis Canon, and certainly not as familiar as Old Hundredth, yet I suspect it will be a better match for some of the quatrains we’ve got coming up.

So… those are our tunes. All are readily available to listen to at Small Church Music. And tomorrow, I will begin singing the lyrics; my plan is to sing them to all three tunes and make suggestions as to which one I think works best.

Off we go!

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I couldn’t come up with a good image for today, so here are some decorative gourds for the season.

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Dear music directors and accompanists: Old Hundredth can be set in D major.

I make this an announcement, because it offended at least two musicians I have worked with when I suggested that we might transpose Old Hundredth down at least to F if not to D. “But it’s in G major and that’s where it’ll stay!” they argued. Because, oh, I don’t know, they forgot that musicians transpose things all. the. time. I don’t know why I encountered such pushback over the tune that congregations across the denominations have been using for centuries – I don’t know why they stuck with the high key when it was clear the congregations had lower voices. Saratoga Springs had no problem going to F major; it became warmer and more welcoming. Bringing it down to D makes it warmer still.

So now that I realize we have a setting of it in D major, right there on the page (set, by the way, in the original rhythm). In this case, it’s got three verses, which makes it a great introit kind of song. Here are our lyrics:

All people that on earth do dwell,
sing ye aloud with cheerful voice;
let hearts in exultation swell;
come now together and rejoice.

O welcome in this day with praise;
approach with joy your God unto;
give thanks, and faith proclaim always,
for it is seemly so to do.

For we believe that life is good,
love doth abide forevermore;
truth, firmer than a rock hath stood,
and shall from age to age endure.

They’re fine. A little fiddly in the second verse, and I’m not a fan of the phrase ‘it is seemly so to do’, but over all, pretty good. These lyrics are an Alicia Carpenter recast of the original version by Scottish cleric William Kethe. A paraphrase of Psalm 100, this was one of over two dozen psalm pieces he wrote for the 1561 Anglo-Genevan Psalter.

And given that information, we now know why the tune is called Old Hundredth. And it’s set in a nice, low, comfortable, warm and welcoming D major.

So there.

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The truth that passes understanding right now is how it’s been a year already.

A year ago today, I started this spiritual practice. At the time I thought I’d reflect a little on my own experience of singing and maybe have some interesting conversations with some friends who noticed. I did not anticipate this becoming a Thing, with musicology and literary analysis and providing indices and categorizations. I most certainly did not anticipate the number of people following, the great and funny and insightful comments (here and on Facebook), nor the friendships with members of the STLT hymnal commission, from whom I’ve learned so much about and beyond the hymns.

To all of you – frequent or infrequent readers – thank you.

The practice continues, of course… after today there are still 45 more pieces in this hymnal, then another 75 in Singing the Journey. What happens in February after it’s complete is still a question, but for now, let’s turn our attention to today’s hymn.

Another entry in the praise and doxologies section, this Robert Weston verse, set to the old Geneva Psalter tune Donne Secours, is both hopeful and haunting. I suppose, of course, if the words had been set to a different tune, it would be less haunting – this one is minor and slow. I don’t have a suggestion – the few tunes in this 11.10.11.10 meter I listened to are all minor and slow. But it’s possible.

Anyway, here are the lyrics:

This is the truth that passes understanding,
this is the joy to all forever free:
life springs from death and shatters every fetter,
and winter turns to spring eternally.

Is it me, or does this seem to be a little confusing? In my mind, I’m back to the Hymn by Hymn Extra I did with Michael Tino wherein we talk about how Spring is not Easter. Here we’re three lines in, and it’s all good Universalist theology, and then boom, it’s back to nature in a metaphor that doesn’t really work for me. The seasons are not the same as eschatology.

And I’m not sure when or how I would use this – certainly not as a doxology, perhaps as a choral response at a memorial service for someone who wanted some theology but not too much because they sometimes eschewed Sunday services in favor of hikes.

I will tell you one truth that doesn’t pass my understanding – I have a bright future ahead of me as a curmudgeon. 🙂

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This is an amazing alleluia that comes out of the Muscogee Creek hymn tradition – which appears to emerge from the congregational line singing tradition.

In a 2014 story on All Things Considered, Dr. Hugh Foley, a fine arts instructor and Native American history professor at Rogers State University in Claremore, OK, explains more about this unexplored tradition:

“We’re talking about a pre-removal music that happened in the early 1800’s and was a combination of African spirituals, Muscogee words and perhaps some influences from their ceremonial songs and then all that being started by the Scottish missionaries who bring in Christianity and their own singing style. All three of those merge into what we now know as Muscogee Creek hymns which are a unique musical product in American and world music history.”

In some ways, this is a continuation of the story that I started thinking about when I heard that great On Being interview with Bela Fleck and Abigail Washburn, when she spoke about the origins of the banjo. Here too is a story of people coming together out of heartbreak and loss and violence and still finding connection. Is it any wonder the music of America is so rich?

Listen to the entire story here.

And.. enjoy a recording of this wonderful piece here.

Heleluyan, heleluyan;
hele, heleluyan;
heleluyan, heleluyan;
hele, heleluyan.

I don’t have much more to say. I love this, and I love learning more about the Muscogee Creek hymn tradition. What a blessing to have this chance to dig deeper.

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It is said that into every hymnal a little cheesy, catchy, happy song must fall.

This one’s ours, folks.

And as far as cheesy, catchy, happy songs go, well, this one covers all the bases and then some. Because in the middle of some rather average invitations – “open your ears to the song” and “open your hearts, everyone” comes the zinger: “don’t be afraid of some change.”

Very sneaky, Louise Ruspini (our composer). I like it a lot. Sure, I suspect Ruspini is thinking about inner change, and that’s important, of course. But I know I’m not the only minister who’s used this one on a day when some change in the system is introduced. Because change is going to come whether you welcome it or not, so you might as well welcome it, right?

Enter, rejoice, and come in.
Enter, rejoice, and come in.
Today will be a joyful day;
enter, rejoice, and come in.

Open your ears to the song…

Open your hearts ev’ryone…

Don’t be afraid of some change…

Enter, rejoice, and come in…

Anyway, if you don’t know the tune, there are a bunch of videos on YouTube. Or ask a random Unitarian Universalist, who will groan, sing it to you, and then share their parody lyrics. Mine – co-written with Randy Becker – are below:

Exit, go out, go away
Exit, go out, go away
Go enjoy the rest of your day
Exit, go out, go away.

—

I was going to share a cheerful pic of ceramic frogs, but I thought it wouldn’t be a bad time to share our message of welcome – thanks to Ellen Rocket and the UUA for these signs of resistance.

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Now this is an entrance song. Welcoming in all kinds of ways, with nothing for us to …wait…nothing for us to be upset… oh … Dammit.

It’s not as good as I’d hoped. “We of all ages, women, children, men, infants and sages, sharing what we can” reads the second verse. It uses binary language for gender. (And it’s repetitive.) So of course I sat here for a time trying to rewrite this one couplet of an otherwise good song by Alicia Carpenter (set to Old 124th).

But then I realized that I don’t have to rhyme anything with ‘men’ because ‘men’ doesn’t rhyme with ‘can’ anyway. IT DOESN’T RHYME. Sure, there’s an internal rhyme, but that can be taken care of with a less awkward phrase than “infants and sages” too. (See, y’all made fun of me about my rhyming rule, but you see how handy it can be?)

Not that I know what the replacement couplet is, of course. I am, indeed coming to you with half a thing.

But here are the lyrics – maybe they’ll inspire you:

Here we have gathered, gathered side by side;
circle of kinship, come and step inside!
May all who seek here find a kindly word;
may all who speak here feel they have been heard.
Sing now together this, our hearts’ own song.

Here we have gathered, called to celebrate
days of our lifetime, matters small and great:
we of all ages, women, children, men,
infants and sages, sharing what we can.
Sing now together this, our hearts’ own song.

Life has its battles, sorrows, and regret:
but in the shadows, let us not forget:
we who now gather know each other’s pain;
kindness can heal us: as we give, we gain.
Sing now in friendship this, our hearts’ own song.

And seriously – if you come up with a replacement couplet, let me know. I want to use this in an upcoming service and I’d like to not exclude people I love from being welcomed.

Update January 16, 2018:

Jason Shelton just texted me this possible replacement couplet:

We of all ages, living out our span
Infants and sages, sharing what we can

I like it a lot. Plus, it rhymes better. Thanks, Jason.

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When it comes to film, there are genres and directors I am a fan of, those I dislike, and those I appreciate. For purposes of today’s post, I will say that I dislike horror and appreciate the director Robert Rodriguez – especially his masterful work on Sin City.

Now, if you ever saw his film From Dusk to Dawn (written by Quentin Tarantino) … (am I supposed to add a spoiler alert for a film that is over two decades old?), you know that the first half of the film is very much a Tarantino-style film, with a gallery of rogues and a slew of seedy deals. And then halfway through, in the blink of an eye, it stops being a roadhouse film and begins being a horror film, complete with vampires.  I don’t exactly know what happens in the first ten minutes of that crossover, because I spent the entire time shocked, repeating “what the hell? what the hell?” I felt like I got suckered into one kind of film, which I appreciate, only to be handed a film whose genre I seriously dislike.

What does this have to do with today’s hymn, you ask?

Look at these lyrics, by Grace Lewis-McLaren:

When we are gathered for a time of worship and of song,
let none forget the joys and griefs that mark each path of life,
and thus we reach for those who love, we reach for those who love.

For youth shall pass and time is wise, and countless seasons turn,
so day by day our years increase until at last by life released
our spirits shine like stars, our spirits shine like stars.

Here we go, tripping along, being gathered, grateful for the time of sharing and the community of love that surrounds us. And then suddenly, the sun sets and You Are Going To Die.

This song gives me the same whiplash that From Dusk Till Dawn did. I didn’t spend 20 minutes staring at the screen, but I did feel like I got suckered into singing one kind of song only to be handed another.

Which then begs the question: if this a time passes, life is impermanent kind of song, why is it in the Entrance Songs section?

And just as I’m still not quite sure about whether I like, appreciate, or dislike From Dusk Till Dawn, I’m not quite sure what I think of this one. It’s a lovely, light tune (Repton), and it has a lot to appreciate, but I really don’t think I like it, because I’m not sure how I would use a piece that’s part ‘welcome to this loving community’ and, part ‘to dust you shall return’.

 

Image is a still from the film From Dusk Till Dawn.

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I don’t even know where to begin, so I guess I’ll begin with this morning’s experience of singing.

As frequent readers know, I’m an Anglophile – a lover of British television, British film, the British Isles, and at least once, a British person. Knowing this was today’s hymn before I cracked open the hymnal, I started humming the tune (by English composer Walford Davies) in the shower, and it felt – feels – quintessentially British. I was transported to the Proms, and a scene from a Merchant-Ivory film, and it reminded me of Holst and Elgar and that early 20th century English classical music that seems an antidote to the romanticism of the French.

And as I shampooed, I remembered that the lyrics are troubling at best. Here’s what we have from the original by John Huntley Skrine, abridged and new words added by our man Carl Seaburg:

Rank by rank again we stand,
from the four winds gathered hither.
Loud the hallowed walls demand
whence we come and how, and whither.
From their stillness breaking clear,
echoes wake to warn or cheer;
higher truth from saint and seer
call to us assembled here.

Ours the years’ memorial store,
honored days and names we reckon,
days of comrades gone before,
lives that speak and deeds that beckon.
From the dreaming of the night
to the labors of the day,
shines their everlasting light,
guiding us upon our way.

Though the path be hard and long,
still we strive in expectation;
join we now their ageless song
one with them in aspiration.
One in name, in honor one,
guard we well the crown they won;
what they dreamed be ours to do,
hope their hopes, and seal them true.

Trust me, you don’t want to know Skrine’s original lyrics – which were written at the height of British Imperialism at the end of the 19th century. Seaburg did an okay job of softening the Empire language, and lines like “what they dreamed be ours to do” is inspiring. Sometime in the last 20 years, an additional verse was added by Kendyl Gibbons:

Never from that summons swerve;
Hark the prophets’ living chorus!
Truth and freedom still to serve
Show the present path before us.
As we dream, so shall we dare;
Hands to service, hearts to prayer.
Clouds of witness call us on,
That a nobler day may dawn.

It’s not bad, and “as we dream so shall we dare” is also a kick-ass line.

But oh, the problems. Empire. Abelism. And a song written, likely, for convocation (this appears in a handbook of songs for the University of Wales, compiled by Davies – with this tune, Reunion, written for this purpose). And of course at the time, we have men going to university in part to continue ruling the British Empire, which is already beginning to show signs of cracking in the wake of World War I. It’s not wonder this somewhat militarized tune and language would be used; even though in that context ‘rank by rank’ alluded to the various academic levels, rank also alludes to the military.

Surprisingly, information on this – especially the tune – was hard to find. A quick search for the tune turned up empty, and it took a while to even find reference to this song outside of our annual Service of the Living Tradition. I finally found a PDF of the hymnal it comes from (for those who want to follow along, click here – it’s on page 303 of the book and 345 of the PDF itself). The lyrics show up on Hymnary, but not the tune, which was a later addition. I finally found a recording of the tune here, in an obscure section of a folksinger’s website (Mary Ellen Wessels). I should also note that this was in Hymns of the Spirit and Hymns for the Celebration of Life, so it has a long history in our liberal religious tradition.

But the search, and my experience with this hymn, is frustrating and complex. And this is a hymn most of us sing once or twice a year. Has anyone sung this when they’re not processing at an ordination, installation, or Service of the Living Tradition? And most of us dislike the song but love the pomp and circumstance. A few still love it, and so it stays as part of our tradition. Can we redeem it? It seems that every year after General Assembly, we talk on Facebook about different lyrics – suggestions include

Rank by rank again we meet,
from the four winds gathered hither.
Loud the hallowed walls entreat
whence we come and how, and whither.

or

Rank by rank come we once more,
from the four winds gathered hither.
Loud the hallowed walls implore
whence we come and how, and whither.

or

We can get rid of it altogether for these handful of times a year, because while it is an historic part of our living tradition, we are easily able to preserve it (see the piles of old hymnals we have) and – because our living tradition CHANGES – we can choose something new. When I hear about how different the Service of the Living Tradition was not that long ago, it seems strange that we have such a fuss over changing the music we use. And if it makes us better as a result, why not?

And… I will still hum this tune now and then because it’s pretty good for a school processional.

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Photo (via UU World) is of Rev. Cheryl Walker preaching at the 2017 Service of the Living Tradition.

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I started singing this morning before I opened the hymnal, because I knew what today’s song would be. “Bright morning star’s a-risin’…” I sang.

And then I looked at our lyrics – “Bright morning stars are rising” – and thought, huh? Isn’t there just one morning star – the sun, or if we go Christian on it, Jesus? And which one’s right? This led me down the inevitable rabbit hole of learning more about the origins of the song and its original lyrics and tune. Surely I could get there and enlighten us all.

There is no “there” there.

Origins are sketchy – maybe Appalachian, someone hinted at Native American, someone else wondered about the Shakers, still another pinned it back to Ireland. And lyrics are sketchier still – seems some versions have been lengthily written to talk more about Jesus as the bright morning star, other versions more grounded in work and toil. And of course, there’s a debate on whether it’s “bright morning star’s a-rising” or “bright morning stars are rising”…

Bright morning stars are rising.
Bright morning stars are rising.
Bright morning stars are rising.
Day is a-breaking in my soul.

Oh, where are our dear mothers…

They are sowing seeds of gladness…

Oh, where are our dear fathers…

They are in the fields a-plowing…

The good news is that because of it’s long folk history, we can change some of our lyrics to remove the gender binary or add more verses to include others.

I know this is the first of our Entrance songs, but it is so wistful and somber to me, I couldn’t imagine using it that way. This always seems to me a song of hard-won joy or a longing for release. The “day is a-breaking” reminds me of the moment I had a few days ago with the line “Dawn breaks in me too” from Golden Skies at Dawn…. a releasing moment of prayer.

So. No clarity on this one, so make it your own. And if you’re not sure you can do that, start with this beautiful version by the Wailin’ Jennys:

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Among the things I have learned in almost a year of doing this practice is that I am sometimes the outlier – sometimes I see something in a hymn others don’t see that makes me anxious or angry or bored. I know some of it is that I do this before the coffee’s kicked in, but really, there are times that I just don’t get why we would want to include a particular song as part of our living tradition, as it feels wrong to me.

I say all this because I suspect few will feel as I do about this hymn, with lyrics by Alicia Carpenter, set to the haunting Guter Hilte tune: This hymn is scolding me, the way a Hobbit might have scolded Bilbo or Frodo.

Will you seek in far-off places?
Surely you come home at last;
in familiar forms and faces,
things best known, you find the best.

Joy and peace are in this hour,
here, not in another place.
Here in this beloved flower;
now, in this beloved face.

I can’t even with this one. “Surely you come home at last” because of course family’s the best. What if family isn’t the best and is in fact harmful? What if we want to see the world? What if we are called to another place? What if home is a landscape with flowers that don’t inspire but far off is the one that comforts our soul?

Look. I get that this is about appreciating what we have around us, and if it’s true that Carpenter was inspired by a Walt Whitman poem I can’t seem to find (Between the Lines notes that it’s inspired by “Here and Now” – anyone know what poem it’s talking about?), then it’s got that whole transcendentalist thing happening.

But surely you shouldn’t scold me into staying where I don’t want to be, or looking for something more.