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Among the most meaningful compliments I’ve gotten so far about this series is from my colleague and mentor, Michael Tino, who told me about a month ago how he now turns to it when making hymn choices and how frustrated he was that I hadn’t gotten to #181 yet.  I’m here now; I have never sung this before, and you promised to tell me how the singing went, so here’s your chance!

Meanwhile, here’s how my singing went:  in a word, well. This is a lush, somber, beautiful Indian tune, set by Frederic Mathil. I’d love to hear the full harmonies, as I suspect it’s even more lush in its fullness.

The lyrics are timely; given all that our movement is facing, we need more than ever the reminder that “there is not one alive we count outside.” This sutta should be our mantra.

No matter if you live now far or near,
no matter what your weakness or your strength,
there is not one alive we count outside.
May deeper joy for all now come at length,
may deeper joy for all now come at length.

Let none among us lie or self-deceive;
nor cultivate a hatred all or part,
may never one of us live by our rage
nor wish another injury of heart,
nor wish another injury of heart.

Just as the goodly mother will protect
her children, e’en at risk of her own life,
so may we nurture an old mindfulness,
a boundless heart beyond all fear and strife,
a boundless heart beyond all fear and strife.

One note, however: the hymnal lists this as coming from the Sutta Nopata, but I can only find references to a “Sutta Nipata,” which is in fact the larger work of scripture, meaning literally “suttas falling down.” I suspect this is because, at  quick glance, they appear to be discourses (from sutra, meaning thread)  of deep consideration, and maybe even confession. Our lyrics come from one of the 72 suttas in this collection, the Metta Sutta.

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I wish…

I wish I lived with someone, because I would have made them sing this round with me so I could revel in the fullness of this beautiful piece. Although there’s a good chance I would have gotten the pre-coffee stink eye, so maybe it’s just as well.

I wish the hymnal indicated that it’s Arabic. Not because most won’t figure it out, but it feels a bit like erasure to me. Maybe I’m a little oversensitive these days, but I am keenly aware of subtle methods of cultural erasure.

I wish I was less keenly aware of the Christian liturgical calendar that says we don’t sing alleluias during Lent, but then I remembered that I am not a Christian, the round is not Christian, and anyway, all those choirs rehearsing for Easter Sunday have to sing it over and over and over…

I wish I could articulate why, after this week that has shaken our institution, we should sing praises to God (however we understand “God”), but we should.

Alhamdulillah, Alhamdulillah, Alhamdulillah,
Alhamdulillah, Alhamdulillah, Alhamdulillah.

I wish I could hug you all right now, my gentle, loving, funny, insightful readers. It means the world to me that you find something to keep your interest, and even more when you comment here or on social media.

(I wish I hadn’t used “I wish” as my hook, because now I will be singing that piece from Into The Woods all day. There’s nothing worse than giving yourself an ear worm.)

—

Today’s photo is by my friend, photographer Jeremy Garretson – of the Milky Way over Orient Point, Long Island. Maybe this is a good reason to sing praises to God.

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I have little to say this morning. In fact, most of what I have to say in this hurried morning will be below the lyrics.

But I will say WOW, these this song is timely. I appreciate it when this spiritual practice meets the times, even I grumble going through it – because it always has something to say to me.

Today’s lyrics, based on a text by Bishop Dr. Adedeji Ishola, who founded the Unitarian Brotherhood of Lagos, Nigeria in 1919 – and set to a traditional Yoruba tune – speak volumes to us today. “What will undo us is not our friend.” and “when we are raging, needing to mend, show us, O spirit, how to befriend.” Wow.

This is a beautiful, prayerful, important song for us today.

Words that we hold tight won’t let us go.
Paths we don’t follow will haunt us so.
What will undo us is not our friend.
Show us, O spirit, how to befriend.

(Chorus)
Show us how to forgive.
To all who live, show us forgiveness
that we may live.

To speak of loving is not to love.
Lies move among us, below, above.
When we are raging, needing to mend,
show us, O spirit, how to befriend.

(Chorus)

When love is doubtful, choice is not clear,
we turn to worship to cast out fear.
Teach us forgiveness, make love our end.
Show us, O spirit, how to befriend.

(Chorus)

I have a lot of opinions about the events of the past week, but I’m unfortunately running late due to a very sleepless night; thus, I will just share my edited version of something my colleague Cynthia Landrum wrote to offer some explanation for what the heck has been going on and why there’s a sea change happening in our movement:

On Thursday, two very different — and separate — pieces of painful news happened in the UU sphere:

The first issue is that a UU minister was arrested on charges of child pornography. He was a respected and well-connected colleague, and this is sending a shock wave through our association. I know him a little bit personally, and always found him to be a true pastor, living our our call to love our neighbor – his congregation is part church, part food bank. There seems to be little doubt to his guilt, as he has made admissions to the police. My heart goes out to his congregation and family, and to close colleagues of his, all of whom I’m sure are dealing with pain, grief, and shock.

The second issue is that in recent days our Unitarian Universalist Association has been in a crisis as we come to grips with the painful reality of our own racism, classism, and sexism and how that has affected hiring practices in our association, among other issues.

Not surprisingly, there have been many public statements on this from various groups and individuals in our association over the last week, seeking a systemic review of our policies and practices and calling our leadership back into covenant with the members of the denomination and our reflow religionists around the country.

Our UUA President, Peter Morales, had responded to the situation in an open letter that unfortunately escalated the situation. Today, despite his not being the decision maker in the hire that cause the controversy, Morales resigned, effective April 1, from his term that was to end in June, after the election of our next president at General Assembly. You can read more about this story here, here, and here.

It has been a hard few days leading up to Thursday, and definitely a hard day Thursday. It is a day fraught with anger, hurt, sadness, and frustration.

Our faith will remain strong. We will do the tough work to keep our leadership accountable and to examine how systemic racism, classism, and sexism have harmed us from the top of the denomination to our smallest congregations. And we will hold those in pain as they navigate the distrust and distress.

But it has been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day for Unitarian Universalists.

—

No real meaning for the image today. It reflects peace and insight, something I pray for today.

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This morning’s practice started as it normally does, with me flipping to the page and meeting my first reaction – depending on the song, it might be one of joy, apathy, annoyance, or curiosity. Having never sung or heard this one before, curiosity won the day.

Because it’s in an unfamiliar language and set to an unfamiliar tune, I turned to the trusty old YouTube to have a listen.

Video after video, offering me something near to what was on our page, but often with different lyrics (no biggie) and usually with differences in the melody (confusing). Video after video, each offering wildly different takes on the song, from the woman in a garden trying to be floaty and ethereal and failing, to the Bollywood mashup, to the westernized sitars, to the Indian marching band, and everything in between. To be honest, I went down the rabbit hole, listening to all these different versions.

At first, I was frustrated. “I just want to learn the song!” I shouted to the now already brewed coffee. (It didn’t answer back.) Click to the next video. Grrr. Click to the next video. Hmmmm. Click to the next video. Huh…. Click to the next video. Oh.

You see, because this was Gandhi’s favorite hymn, which he used in his morning devotionals, it became a favorite across India and the Hindu world. And just as there are probably thousands of recorded versions of Amazing Grace across the Christian diaspora, there are easily that many or more across the Hindu diaspora. Each one a different take, with differences reflecting the particularities of time, place, genre, belief…reflecting the universality of this simple hymn.

(Chorus)
Raghupati, Raghava, Raja Ram.
Patita Paban, Seeta Ram.

Seeta Ran jai, Seeta Ram. Patita Paban, Seeta Ram,
Seeta Ram jai, Seeta Ram, Patita Paban, Seeta Ram.

(Chorus)

Eeswara Allah tere nam Sabko sanmoti de bhag wan.
Eeswara Allah tere nam Sabko sanmoti de bhagwan.

(Chorus)

Seeta Ram jai, Seeta Ram. Patika Paban Seeta Ram,
Seeta Ram jai, Seeta Ram, Patika Paban, Seeta Ram.

(Chorus)

And it is simple. It’s prayer to Ram, the seventh (of 12) incarnation of Vishnu, asking for, among other things, peace between Hindus and Muslims.

And ultimately, while I may not have the tune as written in our hymnal in my head, I do have the tune, so if I sang it to a Hindu, they’d recognize it – and probably correct my articulation, as Indian music has a particular vocal articulation we aren’t trained for in the west.

It’s a beautiful hymn. I hope there are those congregations who have found a way to use it, because its call for peace never gets old.

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I had the opportunity to sing this once, as a solo, to commemorate Hiroshima Day. While set on a pentatonic scale, it is in what musicologists call Phrygian Dominant Minor Mode – which is another term for “very unfamiliar but striking intervals that are at once difficult and haunting.” It was not easy for me to learn, but I have never forgotten it.

The song is, at its heart, a simple and very popular Japanese folk song from the Edo period (17th century). It’s so popular that it’s used by the Japanese at international events, and it’s well known in Japan that it’s used in some electronic crosswalks as ‘guidance music.’

And the original translation is simply a celebration of spring. YAY SPRING!

 Sakura, sakura,
yayoi no sorawa.
Miwatasu kagiri.
Kasumika kumo ka.
Nioi zo izuru.
Izaya, izaya,
mini yukan.

You see that sentiment in the English text by Edwin Markham:

Cherry blooms, cherry blooms,
cherry blooms are ev’rywhere,
like a cloud from out the sky!
Mists of blossoms fill the air,
cherries, cherries blossoming!
Come and see, come and see;
let all now see and sing.

Cherry blooms, cherry blooms,
all the world their beauty sees!
Yoshino is cherry land;
tatsuta for maple trees;
karasaki for the pine.
Let us go, let us go —
where pine trees greenly shine.

Yay spring!

And then sometime after World War II, to mark the anniversary of the dropping of the bomb on Hiroshima, William Wolff wrote these alternative lyrics:

Cherry blooms, cherry blooms,
pink profusion everywhere,
like a mist of gossamer rain
cherry blossoms fill the air,
covering Hiroshima’s plain.
Come and see, spring is here,
it will not long remain.

Cherry blooms, cherry blooms,
when we die as we surely must,
why not under yonder tree?
And when we return to dust,
falling flowers our wreaths will be.
Come and see, come and see,
the fine Hiroshima tree.

Wow.

So… at Easter, I am preaching a sermon called Earth Teach Us Resurrection – with a nod to Linda Hoddy, whose sermon of the same name a decade ago has remained with me. The central metaphor of both sermons is the surprising and almost defiant return of life on Mt. St. Helens, which leads to a consideration of the Easter story with its surprising and almost defiant return of Jesus, and what such surprising and almost defiant returns to life can mean for us today.

And when I read these Hiroshima lyrics, I am struck by the same spirit. The unthinkable set out to destroy life, yet we witness the surprising and almost defiant return to life of the Japanese people – much like their cherry blooms… and it is that life that honors the dead in wreaths and falling flowers.

Yes, I might have written part of my sermon just now – at least some bones of it. In this time of rebirth and regrowth, we need every example we can find of surprising and almost defiant returns to life, so we can learn and accomplish our own.

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I suspect most of us have flipped past this a thousand times. I suspect the combination of Hindi language, no translation, and fear of the unfamiliar keeps us away.

And it’s too bad. Because not only is this a beautiful lyric, but it’s a beautiful and catchy melody. Take a listen:

Isn’t that great? It’s got such life and spirit.

I did struggle to find a translation until I realized that Jacqui James provided one in Between the Lines:

Chorus:
Please bestow upon us O Supreme Soul, the gift of devotion
please bestow upon our souls [the gift of] purity.

Come in our meditation, O God, reside in our eyes.
Come into our dark hearts, arouse the Supreme Light.

Flow the river [Ganges] of love in the hearts, O Ocean of Love,
Teach us, O God, to live together in harmony.

Let service be our creed, let service be our action,
Make us earnest servers whose service is ever honest.

That is amazing.

Sure, it uses the spiritual imagery of Hinduism, and some of those ideas are harder for UUs to wrap their minds around than others (we’re great with service being our creed but struggle with devotion and purity). But that’s okay. I think it’s a blessing for us to challenge our notions of religious concepts when engaging a conversation with other religions. Learning the language of reverence from other faiths helps us better understand our own.

Plus, yanno, “let service be our creed” is a place where we can connect.

Here are the Hindu lyrics:

(Chorus)
Daya kar daanot bhakti ka, hame paramatma dena,
Daya karna hanari aatma me shuddh ta dena.

Hanare dhya n me aao, prabhu aan khon me bas jao,
andhere dil me aa kar ke, pa ram jyoti jaga dena.

(Chorus)

Bahade prem ki ganga, dilo me prem ka sa gar,
hame aapas me miljulkar, prabhu rehna sikha dena.

(Chorus)

Hamara dharm ho seva. Hamara karm ho seva,
sada eeman ho seva va sevak char bana dena.

(Chorus)

I recommend you give it a listen and try to sing along. It’s catchy and beautiful, and I can’t think of a better prayer to start my day with today.

—

The photo was taken at a Holi festival – a spring festival of color, renewal, life, and a bit of wild spirit.

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This is another freedom song from South Africa, from during the time of apartheid.

It’s got energy and power and a sense of urgency that is compelling and captivating. And while it isn’t the only thing that makes liberation happen, song does remain a powerful tool in the activist toolbox. From the songs of enslaved Africans, to the protest songs of the civil rights movement, to the Singing Revolution in Estonia, to the songs of the Anti-Apartheid movement – along with many other examples I am too precaffeinated to think of – music makes a difference.

Music has power to give voice to our spirits, to soothe our nerves, to engage us, to motivate and awaken us, to bring us together, to provide not just a soundtrack but a unifying …. something… for what freedom and justice sound like. Music doesn’t just come from our heads through our mouths and to our ears, it vibrates our entire bodies. And when my body, vibrating in song, is next to your body, vibrating in song, we change the atmosphere and matter itself.

(Zulu) Siph’ amandla N’kosi. Wokungeverysabi.
Siph’ amandla N’kosi. Siyawadinga.

O God, give us power to rip down prisons.
O God, give us power to lift the people.

O God, give us courage to withstand hatred.
O God, give us courage not to be bitter.

O God, give us power and make us fearless.
O God, give us power because we need it.

I’m waxing a bit poetic today without much content about this particular song, I know. I am still not sure if the language of our first verse is Zulu or Xhosa – again, some varying sources. But it is inspiring nonetheless – such strong words of prayer, not just to make change but to keep us whole and remind us of our humanity. Good stuff.

Good good stuff.

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I started this post thinking it was random thought day here at the Far Fringe, but as I write, I realize I do have some thoughts, largely because what I have learned about the song. So here goes:

First, it’s helpful to know what this song is and where it’s from. It was written in 1897 by Enoch Sontonga, a Xhosa minister at a Methodist mission school. The hymn was originally a pan-African song of liberation and was adopted at different times as a national anthem by various countries, including Zambia, Tanzania, Namibia , and Zimbabwe. It is now part of the South African national anthem and remains the national anthem of Tanzania.

It’s interesting to listen to the South African national anthem, as it is definitely a mashup of several songs in several languages (South Africa recognizes 11 official languages – English, Xhosa, and Zulu are the top three). And recognizing that getting to that moment (in 1994) was hard won, it’s (to me at least) a joy to know that this song of liberation leads off the anthem.

While the hymnal, Between the Lines, and some other sites list this as being in the Zulu language, I have also found references to this being in Xhosa, which are somewhat related but distinct South African languages. I’m not faulting the hymnal commission, because they might be right – I just wonder why there’s some conflict in the information. Is this a byproduct of western imperialism that we can’t even detect what language a song is written in?

I wasn’t sure how I felt about this being included in the hymnal, nor the idea of a bunch of white Americans singing it. I’m glad we have it, and I think because the continent of Africa is the cradle of humanity itself, it’s important that we remember and raise our awareness of the ugly imprint centuries of European colonization have left across the continent. I’m not sure as a European American I can sing this without a great deal of care and preparation. I’d be curious to hear from others on this score. But I am glad it’s here for us to see and hear and think about.

I’ll leave you with this version, with Miriam Makeba, Ladysmith Black Mambazo and Paul Simon (this has to be in the 1990s, but I’m not clear what this was).

N’ko-si, si-kel-el’ i Afrika,
mal-u-pha-ka-nyi-sw’u-phon-do lwa-yo.
Yiz-wa i-mi-than-da-zo ye-thu.
N’ko-si sikel-el-a.
Thi-na lu-sa-pho lwa-yo.

Wo-za mo-ya, (wo-za mo-ya,)
wo-za mo-ya, (wo-za mo-ya,)
wo-za mo-ya o-wo-yi-ngcwe-le.
U-si-si-kel-el-e.
Us-si-si-kel-el-e.

Bless, O God, our country, Africa,
so that she may waken from her sleep.
Fill her horn with plenty, guide her feet.
Bless our mother Africa.
Bless our mother Africa.

Spirit descend, (spirit descend,)
spirit descend, (spirit descend,)
spirit descend, spirit descend.
Spirit divine,
Spirit divine.

Bless our mother Africa.

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The downside of this spiritual practice is that it demands attention even on days when attention is hard to give. And more often than not, it is demanding the exact kind of attention I want to hide from on that particular day.

This song, written by Holly Near in the wake of the Harvey Milk assassination, is a call to action. It demands that we make sure everyone knows who we are and how many we are, we who will not be moved, we who are scared, and angry, and loving, and resisting.

We are a gentle, angry people,
and we are singing, singing for our lives.
We are a gentle, angry people,
and we are singing, singing for our lives.

We are a justice-seeking people…

We are young and old together…

We are a land of many colors…

We are gay and straight together….

We are a gentle, loving people…

The truth is, I’m nearly paralyzed by fear right now – it’s all coming on so many fronts, this insanity. And I am really worried that there are so many things happening we’ll miss the big one – and they’re all big ones. And worse, it seems like there is no one to hold them accountable, because they’ve stacked the decks. I know there are simple things I can do, and I know that just by refusing to accept this as normal, contacting elected officials, preaching justice, supporting boots on the ground – I know those things matter. But this is big, all that is rolling down the hill at us in speeds heretofore unmeasured. And that’s got me scared and not sleeping and a little afraid to take my eyes off the ball and even more afraid to look at the ball.

So…yeah. Holly Near’s song wants me to stop being paralyzed and get back in the game. I’m not ready. But I suppose none of us ever truly are when it matters like this.

Sigh.

Okay.

Still scared, but …okay. What’s next?

—

UPDATE November 5, 2017: In a concert at the Eighth Step @ Proctors in Schnectady, NY, last night, Holly Near performed, and toward the end of the show led us in this song. We sang the first couple of verses, and then she began to speak (her words transcribed to the best of my ability – I was typing on my phone as quickly as I could once I realized what was happening):

“I wrote this song when Harvey Milk and George Moscone were assassinated. We originally sang ‘we are gay and lesbian together’ but then we were surrounded by the support of allies and so I changed it to ‘we are gay and straight together.’ And now we are learning more and more about gender and sexuality and it now requires many more syllables than I can fit into the song, and so let us now sing ‘we are all in this together.”

In that 30 second riff, she updated her lyrics to expand the circle of love that this song holds.

Thank you, Holly.

—

Photo is at an unnamed rally, with Holly Near and emma’s revolution, and other singers I’m not familiar with…

 

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Ear worm in three.. two… one….

As an American growing up in the 1970s, I learned this in elementary school, and I associated it with Vietnam War protests. This might even have been the first African American spiritual I learned, and I didn’t even know at the time it was one. In fact, I don’t know if I knew until well into adulthood, because to me it was a protest folk song, and in my mind, I hear Pete Seeger and Peter, Paul, & Mary.

What I know is that is history is long, and it wasn’t always just an anti-war song, but rather a song about baptism and freedom – going to glory and from slavery, and to a place where fighting (literally and metaphorically) ceases – “gonna study war no more” is likely a reference to this passage in Isaiah (2:4):

“He shall judge between the nations,
and shall arbitrate for many peoples;
they shall beat their swords into ploughshares,
and their spears into pruning-hooks;
nation shall not lift up sword against nation,
neither shall they learn war any more.

How the whole song came to be, and how it was used, and its journey to our current view of it…. well, like many songs handed down in oral tradition, the path and the ‘real story’ is murky and may never really be known. What we do know is its powerful imagery was inspired by the plight of those who had gone before, and continues to inspire those who go on.

Gonna lay down my sword and shield,
down by the riverside,
down by the riverside,
down by the riverside.
Gonna lay down my sword and shield,
down by the riverside,
gonna study war no more.

(Chorus)
I ain’t gonna study war no more,
I ain’t gonna study war no more,
ain’t gonna study war no more. (2x)

Gonna lay down my burden
down by the riverside …

(Chorus)

Gonna shake hands around the world,
ev’rywhere I roam …

(Chorus)

May it be so for all of us.

—-

Yep, that picture is of the River Jordan.