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Behind the Music: Peace and quiet and open air, wait for us, somewhere

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Photo by David Brooke Martin on Unsplash

It is fitting that Pride and Juneteenth both occupy the same month, as both focus on being free, being seen, and being ourselves.  The human race has made significant strides toward liberty and inclusion, but “othering” still rears its ugly head at times, and there is more work to be done.  Countless works of music would have been appropriate for today’s service, and it was challenging – but fun! – trying to select today’s music.

The prelude opened with George Shearing’s jazzy, modern arrangement of Somewhere Over the Rainbow, the beloved ballad composed by Harold Arlen for The Wizard of Oz.  Full of wistfulness and longing, this song about wishing for a place “where troubles melt like lemon drops” has spoken to generations of people with dreams of a world without fear and exclusion.  The famous melodic leap from “Some” to “where” demonstrates some subtle text painting; the octave ascends as if reaching and searching for this new idyllic place. Renowned jazz pianist and composer Sir George Shearing reframed the familiar melody with new harmonies and dissonances that add complexity to the song, while retaining the hope of the original. Shearing played his version of this song as an upbeat tune when playing with his jazz trio, but the work is arranged so well that it is often played as a piano solo with a slower, reflective air, as performed today.

True Colors was originally created with a much different vision in mind. Composer Billy Steinberg (who also penned several other commercial hits from the 80s and 90s) originally wrote this as a gospel song in honor of his mother, trying to express the concept of a parent’s unconditional love for their child. His songwriting partner Tom Kelly thought that the idea of someone loving you exactly as you are was beautiful, and could be applied to all kinds of relationships, not just mother and child; so the two modified the song to express any and all unconditional love. Cyndi Lauper wanted to sing the song, and when Steinberg and Kelly listened to her recording, they were surprised and enamored by the lean, stark character of her rendition – a far cry from the song’s original gospel style. Its message is simple but powerful: our truest selves are not something to hide, apologize for, or diminish, and if we let our true colors shine through, there will be people who find them beautiful and worthy of love.

There are so many wonderful pieces of music about love, acceptance, equality, inclusion, pride, and Pride, and it was hard to narrow down which pieces I would select for today’s service. But I think I always knew that I would play Somewhere from the seminal West Side Story, by Leonard Bernstein and Stephen Sondheim. This song marks a pivotal point in the musical: Tony has accidentally killed Maria’s brother Bernardo, and the chance of any sort of happy ending for the lovers seems all but destroyed. They cling to the fragile hope that a life without prejudice, violence, and fear can still be possible “somewhere”. But the song isn’t just remarkable for its dramatic power; the composition is a marvel of melodic, harmonic, and text writing, frequently held up by performers, scholars, and composers as an example of a perfectly crafted song. The melody is full of reaching, grasping intervals, including the seldom used melodic minor seventh, leaning into the interval’s natural uncertainty. The unexpected harmonic progressions keep the song suspended between stability and uncertainty, and the phrases resolve a little differently than you expect them to, mirroring Tony and Maria’s emotions: frightened and unsure, but with moments of hope and tenderness. And the text…Sondheim’s lyrics in his own works are wickedly clever, very cerebral and extremely funny. But in Somewhere, he refrained from gilding the lily and the simplicity of his words transform this song into a prayer as simple as the things that Tony and Maria long for. They have no desire for riches or grandeur, glory or material possessions; they dream of the simple things that we would all have in an ideal world: safety, love, acceptance, and peace.

Today’s postlude was I’m Coming Out, made famous by the incomparable Diana Ross. It is jubilant, demands attention, and is gloriously declarative. This song has been claimed long ago as a Pride anthem of visibility and self-acceptance. And through the lens of Juneteenth, it can also be heard as a celebration of liberation – freedom from oppression, and the freedom to experience joy, dignity, identity, and a rightful presence in the world. There is no shortage of joy in this song, and its energy felt like an appropriate way to end the morning. May we all know the freedom of coming out into the world as our true selves, and with pride in who we are.

BONUS ITEM #1 – BEHIND THE SCENES: Today’s music for reflection was going to be an outline – but not a full realization – of John Lennon’s Imagine, using the harmonic progression paired with fragments of the melody. However, due to a series of ridiculous events, this did not happen! Shortly after the service started, one of my contact lenses started shifting around; I suspect the small fan I had blowing on my face might have sent a speck of dust into my eye. Reduced to seeing with only one eye, I reached into my bag to grab my glasses, and then realized that they must have fallen out when I knocked my bag over last night. I slipped out to get the glasses I keep in my car, then came back in trying to be as quietly as possible. In my efforts to be inconspicuous, I squeezed my keys to keep them from jangling, but ended up squeezing the Tile tracker on my keys…which sets off a ringer on my phone even if it is silenced, so that I can locate it if lost. I spent the time that I would have pulled up Imagine on my iPad leaping into action to silence my phone instead, and then needed to start playing immediately, to avoid any dead space…as a result, I just improvised some delicate chord progressions, all while wishing I could start the day over! 🤣

BONUS ITEM #2 – O LOVE, by Elaine Hagenberg: If today’s choral anthem sounded familiar, revisit this blog post to find out how you already knew this song…

Behind the Music: Don’t look behind you, fly till you find your way towards tomorrow

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I have such a great view from the piano bench on Sunday mornings. I get to see faces I have come to know in different ways as they experience what they are seeing, hearing, and feeling before them. (Please don’t feel self-conscious…if it helps, David and I are up in front of you all the time!) Today I saw pride, nostalgia, amusement, tenderness, and joy. Some folks were celebrating their own children at the front of the room, while others may have been remembering rites of passage from their own history. There was laughter when our youth let their personalities and candor shine through their prepared words, and camaraderie and support as we watched a friend take a symbolic step forward. The whole service was not only a beautiful way to recognize transitions but a reminder that “growing up” isn’t just for children, and today’s piano selections reflected how we are always growing into new versions of ourselves as we learn and change.

Joni Mitchell’s The Circle Game is such a wonderful song about the passage of time, using the metaphor of a carousel to paint the cycle of seasons we move through in our lives. This familiar imagery represents how quickly life moves as well as how it’s not always easy to notice change as we are living through it, since we are focused on what is presently happening the ride rather than the journey. Joni Mitchell gives the definitive performances of her song, but since readers likely already know her renditions of The Circle Game, I offer here a performance by the inspiring PS22 Chorus. While they have performed with renowned artists and reputable events/venues (including the White House, the Oscars, and on Sesame Street), it’s this choir’s unpretentious background as a music class at a public elementary school that will make you fall in love with their earnestness, sweet young voices, and love of music.

Dos Oruguitas (“Two Little Caterpillars”) accompanies the story of Abuela Alma Madrigal and her husband, Pedro, in the Disney film Encanto. Using the imagery of two caterpillars who must let go of one another in order to become butterflies, the song is about love, separation, transformation, and pain. The story asks us to recognize that growth can require courage, and is sometimes the result of grief and loss. But it also reminds us that love does not disappear when life changes; it comes into our lives in different forms. We love as children, as siblings, as partners, as parents, as elders, as friends, and as members of a community…and each new form of love asks us to grow.

“How Far I’ll Go,” from Disney’s Moana, comes from a very different kind of story, but also speaks powerfully to growth. The teenage Moana loves her home and her people, yet feels drawn toward the ocean and toward a calling she does not completely understand. The song gives musical form to the moments when we recognize that there is more than just our familiar world, when something inside us begins asking where we are meant to go, and when wonder what we are meant to learn and who we are meant to become. That question belongs to children and teens, but it also belongs to adults. There are many moments in life when we find ourselves like Moana, standing at the edge of what we know, wondering what lies beyond the horizon.

(It is worth noting that the music from Encanto and Moana are by the extraordinary Lin-Manuel Miranda, who also penned the Tony and Pulitzer-awarded Hamilton. Both movies are stunning – visually and musically, and in their deeply moving stories – and if you are not familiar with either one, these beautiful, beautiful films about heritage, family, and culture are worth checking out, whether you are very young, very old, or somewhere in-between.)

Behind the Music: Sing out loud

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Music plays many roles in our lives, but the one emphasized in today’s service is that music has always been one of the ways people carry home with them. We may leave places behind – whether by choice, necessity, or force – but the songs we sang in the various homes of our lives remain. Music can remind us where we came from, with memories, language, faith, and atmosphere.

The piano music for this service brings together two ideas: song as a source of expression and community, and music as a vessel for heritage, memory, displacement, and belonging.

The prelude began with a gentle cover of Woody Guthrie’s This Land Is Your Land, with occasional new harmonies that help us hear the song a little differently.  Instead of the rousing version we are used to, it becomes more reflective.  Are we living as if this land belongs to everyone?  Who has been welcomed, and who has been left out?  If imagined through through the lens of immigration and refuge, the song becomes a statement of a shared home, but also a dream that we fervently wish will be true someday: that “home” might be generous enough to include all who seek safety, dignity, and a place to belong.

Following This Land is Your Land, I played Paul Simon’s American Tune, a song based on Johann Sebastian Bach’s hymn O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden (“O Sacred Head Now Wounded”). It is weary and searching as it refers to uncertainty and struggle when in the United States, far from home.  While not particularly uplifting view of life in America, it offers a glimpse of hope in its final phrase.

Many’s the time I’ve been mistaken
And many times confused
Yes, and I’ve often felt forsaken
And certainly misused
Oh, but I’m all right, I’m all right
I’m just weary to my bones
Still, you don’t expect to be bright and bon vivant
So far away from home
So far away from home

I don’t know a soul who’s not been battered
I don’t have a friend who feels at ease
I don’t know a dream that’s not been shattered
Or driven to its knees
Oh, but it’s all right, it’s all right
For we’ve lived so well so long
Still, when I think of the road we’re traveling on
I wonder what’s gone wrong
I can’t help it, I wonder what’s gone wrong

And I dreamed I was dying
I dreamed that my soul rose unexpectedly
And looking back down at me, smiled reassuringly
And I dreamed I was flying
And high up above, my eyes could clearly see
The Statue of Liberty sailing away to sea
And I dreamed I was flying

For we come on the ship they call the Mayflower
We come on the ship that sailed the moon
We come in the age’s most uncertain hour
And sing an American tune
Oh, and it’s all right, it’s all right, all right
You can’t be forever blessed
Still, tomorrow’s going to be another working day
And I’m trying to get some rest
That’s all I’m trying to get some rest

Many are familiar with Joe Raposo’s Sing from the Carpenters’ rendition, but not everyone knows that this beloved song was originally created for Sesame Street.  Raposo was a renowned composer employed by Jim Hensen who also penned the Sesame Street theme and songs “C is for Cookie” and “It’s Not Easy Bein’ Green”.  He was also the child of Portuguese immigrants, a fact which gives new depth to this beautiful children’s song.  Singing is one of the oldest ways to preserve identity, pass on memory, and join a new community without erasing where one came from, and singing with others does a great deal to help us find a sense of belonging.

The postlude, Make Your Own Kind of Music, was made famous by Cass Elliot (a.k.a. Mama Cass, Elliot’s less preferred nickname).  All four of Elliot’s grandparents were Russian-Jewish immigrants. This top forty hit’s message – to keep singing your own song even if others do not immediately understand it – aligns strongly with experiences of displacement and belonging.  Immigrants, refugees, and their descendants often live between cultures as they treasure inherited stories, accents, customs, music, and memories while trying to make a home in a new place. The lesson from this song applies to both music and the world in general: one’s unique voice is not only not something that should be hidden in order to belong but is something that helps enrich the larger community.

Behind the Music: I’ve looked at clouds from both sides now

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Growth and perspective are beautiful parts of any life – and of any community. Today’s piano selections all hold meaning that fit into this Sunday’s theme of spring cleaning and transformation. Growth sometimes asks us to let things go but it also invites us to look more closely at what can be deepened, reshaped, or carried forward.

Today’s service started with a solo piano version of Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing as the prelude. While this classic hymn might have been familiar to anyone who has ever attended a Christian church, I wanted the melody to be in the ears and minds of those for whom it was new. Renowned church composer and arranger Joseph Martin created an ethereal arrangement that turns the musically square tune – referring to its very vertical sense of rhythm, like a slow march – into something flowing and flexible, letting us hear the song immediately before singing without getting tired of it. This hymn was composed in 1758, by Robert Robinson, whose teenage years were spent engaging in frivolities and debauchery. However, upon hearing a sermon on divine grace from preacher/orator George Whitefield (one of the fathers of the Methodist church), Robertson converted and became a pastor himself by the age of twenty-two. The original lyrics were explicitly Christian, but when creating a new Unitarian Universalist hymnal (which we now know as Singing the Living Tradition), the strong bones of this hymn were recognized, and once portions of the original lyrics were rewritten, a beautiful hybrid of traditional and new became part of the UU repertoire.

Turn! Turn! Turn! may be the only example I can think of of an unaltered Bible verse that’s been adapted into a wildly popular hit pop song. The Byrds’ performance of Pete Seeger’s composition became a chart topper in the middle of the Vietnam War and the formation of the 1960’s counterculture. Whether interpreted as a protest song or voicing the idea that change happens, it’s a catchy reminder that transformation unfolds within a larger rhythm. The form and layout of the music mirror the song’s meaning: the repetition of “To everything, turn, turn, turn…” creates a cyclical pattern, echoing the changing of seasons.

Turn! Turn! Turn! was originally meant to be an accompanied vocal solo today, but due to a cold – or perhaps the Willamette Valley’s allergy triggers! – it became a solo piano reflection instead. David Lanz’s rendition (performed here by the arranger) is a particularly lovely way to experience this old favorite.

Both Sides Now is universally loved for so many reasons: its poignant melody and harmonies, its poetic lyrics, and its themes of vulnerability, uncertainty, and perspective. What once seemed simple becomes more complicated upon closer inspection. Our views and beliefs evolve the more we learn. Earlier experiences are not erased, but broadened with greater understanding. When placed in the context of Rev. Alex’s sermon, it begs the questions “When is it time to let something go? And what are we holding on to – and why does it matter?”

The arrangement of Both Sides Now that I played today is from the 2021 film CODA [the acronym for Children of Deaf Adults – swept industry awards a few years ago with its moving portrayal of a gifted singer born to deaf parents. Any and all times that Joni Mitchell has sung Both Sides Now will always be the gold standard against which all other performances are measured against…but I challenge you to not tear up when watching this video of Emilia Jones singing and signing Both Sides Now for her deaf family during her conservatory audition. They can’t hear her gorgeous voice, but they can appreciate the deep meaning behind the words she sings, and understand the weight they carry as her character grows up.

I had a different postlude planned for today, but after the Time for All Ages included the messages that today was Palm Sunday and that being Unitarian Universalist and Christian (or any other religion) need not be mutually exclusive, I had two immediate thoughts. The first was that I would have to play “Hosanna” from Jesus Christ Superstar for the postlude, which was immediately followed by my asking myself question “the UUFC community will know this song…right?” Sometimes I play selections pulled from the musical theatre world that aren’t as well known, but I made a little bet with myself that if I played “Hosanna” today, it would be recognized. I was delighted to see a number of congregants gathered by the piano who not only were familiar with the song but who were joyfully singing along!

Behind the Music: How Deep is Your Love?

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Romance and partnerships are what immediately come to mind when hearing “love” in February, but this compact little word is so much more complex and holds a multitude of meanings. You can love your significant other, your family of origin, your family of creation, your chosen family, your friends, and your dog. You can also love your neighborhood, your community, and those you teach or help. And, you can feel love for a little boy in a blue bunny hat who you’ve only seen on television, or for two strangers who are grieving the murder of their child, a healer whose last words to were to ask if someone was okay. Love can be romantic, platonic, hopeful or painful; it can be joyfully exuberant, or quietly steadfast. Today’s piano selections offered a glimpse of some of the ways love can appear in our lives: a promise, ardor, care, compassion, the sacred, healing, and affirming.

Make You Feel My Love is surprisingly simple in its presentation. There is no flowery language, dramatic imagery, or big musical/emotional climax; instead, the song is a quiet vow of steady, enduring love. Bob Dylan wrote this contemporary standard, but rather than hoarding the recording rights, he shared advance copies of the music with other artists, and the world was first introduced to Make You Feel My Love by Billy Joel. Bob Dylan eventually released his own performance, and as the song became a hit, countless other musicians covered this song, drawn to its tenderness and statement of unconditional love.

To Love You More sharply contrasts Dylan’s song about peaceful and plainspoken love with its sweeping, romantic intensity. Originally written as the theme song for a Japanese TV drama, it skyrocketed to the top of the charts around the world and is now one of the signature power ballads that Celine Dion is known for. With its theatrical dynamics, virtuosic vocal writing, and impassioned lyrics, To Love You More is a declamation of passion being shouted from the rooftops. Its energy and momentum are perpetual, and the fervor of both the text and music propel the song to its end, never relaxing.

Burt Bacharach’s What the World Needs Now Is Love asks us to think of love as a necessity; not just a personal emotion but a universally shared good that the world cannot function without. Its easy-going melody, conversational feel and repetition throughout the song send the message home that yes, “what the world needs now is love, sweet love. No, not just for some but for everyone.”

Elaine Hagenberg’s stunning O Love is probably the least known of all the music offered today but in the choral world it is considered a contemporary masterpiece and has been sung by choirs around the world. Its reverent text and luminous setting invite reflection and even played as a piano solo without lyrics, the harmonic dissonances and their resolutions evoke sighs that always transform into hope. The lyrics are based upon text by 19th-century Scottish minister George Matheson. Matheson’s words were originally sacred in nature, but can hold meaning for anyone whose heartache has been healed by love.

O Love that will not let me go,
I rest my weary soul in thee;
I give thee back the life I owe,
That in thy ocean depths its flow may richer, fuller be.

O Joy that seeks me through pain,
I cannot close my heart to thee;
I trace the rainbow through the rain,
And feel the promise is not vain
That morn shall tearless be.

The smooth groove of the Bee Gees’ How Deep Is Your Love reframes the age-old query: I love you…do you love me? This question really is many questions wrap into one, as it is also asking: Do I matter to you as much as you matter to me? Can I trust you? Am I safe with you? Will you leave me? Does my happiness – or sorrow – mean anything to you? Feeling loved isn’t just something that gives people a warm fuzzy feeling; it provides security, strength, and hope. Feeling loved is more important than ever in the world we live in today. In addition to make sure that the people we care about know that we love them, performing acts of love – to those in our lives, to strangers, to whole communities – is a way to deal with our frustration, our fear, our insecurity. We may not be able to solve homelessness, erase racism, or provide justice for all who have been wronged…but any difference we can make, no matter how small, is putting love into action. Whether in personal relationships, in community, or in the pursuit of social justice, let’s answer the question “How deep is your love?” with both words and deeds.

Behind the Music: A home where we can breathe, to sleep and dream without fear

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The Problem We All Live With, Norman Rockwell (1964)

Today’s MLK Jr. service reflects on how the spiritual autobiography of our nation will be written, emphasizing how we listen, how we care for the next generation, how we respond to organized and normalized evil, and the importance of being open so we may serve a greater good. The piano selections for today’s service reflect these themes, naming pain, modeling courage, and inviting both reflection and action.

I began the prelude with a piano rendition of B.E. Boykin’s Stardust. While the music alone is gripping and powerful, it is the text and intention behind the music that is the most meaningful. In Stardust, the singers call for the following:

Marcus J. Jauregui – conductor of the Pershing Middle School Treble Chorale Houston ISD and who commissioned this work – shared “When we sing, we pray twice [once with our voices, and again with our hearts], and it is my prayer that this piece stirs all who hear it to call for justice for people of color taken from this world before their time and without concern for their humanity.”

The prelude ended with the theme from To Kill a Mockingbird, a bittersweet piece that I’ve always felt conveys curiosity, lost innocence, and hope despite the ugliness in the world. The story of one good man, Atticus Finch, standing against the entrenched racism in his community, is so special to many of us, and is one of the rare instances of the film measuring up to the original book, as Gregory Peck and Mary Badham’s portrayal of the Atticus and Scout Finch pull at the heartstrings and are hard to forget. Though surrounded by fear and prejudice, Finch listens, teaches, and acts according to conscience, modeling moral courage in the face of hatred and injustice. This theme underscores the responsibility adults bear to model courage, empathy, and justice for those who come after us. By opening ourselves to see the world clearly and to respond to wrong, we honor those who have suffered and provide guidance for the next generation, showing how openness and moral action are inseparable.

Blowin’ in the Wind is a song that represents the sixties but has also been described as an anthem of the civil rights movement. R&B singer and civil rights activist Mavis Staples recalled in Martin Scorsese’s documentary No Direction Home that she was couldn’t believe how a young white man could capture the frustration and aspirations of Black people so powerfully. Soul singer and songwriter Sam Cooke was similarly impressed, making it a regular part of his repertoire soon after its release, and also shared that it inspired him to write his own civil rights anthem, A Change Is Gonna Come. The song asks us to listen deeply, be open to what we are asked to hear, and take responsibility to serve a greater good by refusing to ignore racism, honoring both the movement and the individuals whose lives have been affected by racial violence.

While Precious Lord, Take My Hand is included in the UU hymnal Singing the Living Tradition, it hasn’t been sung in Sunday services often. However, this felt like the perfect postlude for today’s service, as it was Martin Luther King Jr.’s favorite hymn. Its topics of exhaustion, grief, and fear – but also of courage! – was both comforting and inspiring for MLK, and he often asked Mahalia Jackson to sing the hymn at civil rights rallies. After his assassination, Jackson sang the song at his funeral, and in turn, Aretha Franklin sang it at Jackson’s own funeral. Originally composed after the death’s of composer Thomas Doersey’s* family, the song is a reflection on faith tested under pressure, reminding us that confronting entrenched inequality and hatred is difficult and wearying…but that we can still work toward a greater good and try to sustain justice, mercy, and care in the world. And because this was our postlude and meant to send folks off into the world, starting a new week, I made sure to play a more upbeat, blues-inspired arrangement of the song, because members of the UUFC love to dance their way out of the service!

*Not to be confused with bandleader Tommy Dorsey

Behind the Music: We’ll Build a Land

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Leadership often begins with a call and not a plan; we feel a nudge – or push! – inside of us to step forward. The stories from our Council Chairs provided much food for thought on what fuels our own willingness to contribute and get involved in this community. Today’s piano music all led back to what it means to say yes and pitch in, as we each considered how we are being called to participate.

There was a touch of the traditional Scottish song Auld Lang Syne to acknowledge the new year, but the heart of this morning’s prelude was Carole King’s You’ve Got a Friend. The lyrics (“When you’re down and troubled, and you need a helping hand…you just call out my name”) remind us of the power of showing up for others and offering steady support. In the same spirit, contributing time, lending a hand, and joining a committee are ways to be a friend to the Fellowship, helping where it’s needed so the community can thrive.

I played We’ll Build a Land (121 in Singing the Living Tradition) for the offertory…I originally had a different song in mind, but as I listened to Nick, Carl, Scott, and Kathy speak, We’ll Build a Land kept popping in my head instead. This hymn’s message of hope and justice created by shared effort, and its dream of how together we can “build a land where all can dwell in peace” and “make a world of love and truth” were all reflected in the stories we heard. The care, support, and participation from today’s speakers and from every volunteer and congregational leader help shape this “land”, the Fellowship.

The decision to use Heroes by David Bowie for today’s postlude may have been influenced by its inclusion in the finale of Netflix’s sci-fi/coming-of-age series Stranger Things, but that doesn’t make it any less meaningful when it comes to the theme of the day. Heroism doesn’t always have to be grandiose or on a large scale – heroes can be people who step forward and give their time, energy, and passion. Even if it simply appears to be everyday participation in congregational life, volunteering, trying something new, and being an active member of this church makes for a better, richer Fellowship for us all.

Behind the Music: Light is returning, even though this is the darkest hour

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Today marks a moment in time of stillness and reflection, the longest night of the year before the gradual return of light. There is a wealth of music about winter, night, darkness, and light, and I tried to select pieces that captured the ideas of cold December nights, the knowledge that the sun and warmth will return, and the small lights that both sustain us in the meantime, as well as the small lights that we put forth to try to sustain others.

The prelude opened with “Once Upon a December”, which comes from the 1997 movie Anastasia, a beautiful animated fairy tale loosely based upon the legend of Russia’s Grand Duchess Anastasia. Written by Broadway veterans Lynn Ahrens and Stephen Flaherty (who also penned “Ragtime” and “Once on this Island”), the protagonist’s words are full of wistful nostalgia:

Far away, long ago
Glowing dim as an ember
Things my heart used to know
Things it yearns to remember

And a song someone sings

Once upon a December

The well-known and beloved Clair de lune followed, by French Impressionist composer Claude Debussy. Clair de lune – which translates to “the light of the moon” – is a luminous musical portrait of moonlight spilling over a quiet landscape. In the context of a Winter Solstice service, Debussy’s shimmering harmonies suggest the reflection of the winter moon on snow or ice, as well as a sense of calm, wonder, and the peaceful magic of a winter night.

I was originally planning to play Don McLean’s “Vincent“, which is so wonderful and a personal favorite…or Eric Whitacre’s less-known but exquisite “Glow“. But after the youth performance and the activities that Skyla King-Christison had planned, it felt like the service called for the quiet warmth and intimacy of Jim Brickman’s arrangement of “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” instead. The gentle piano lines and soothing childhood melody evoke the comforting glow of starlight on a dark, quiet evening. Even in the depths of winter, small points of light – hope, love, and connection – persist and guide us forward.

For today’s postlude, I played Charles Murphy’s “Light Is Returning”, a song we’ve sung at past solstice services. This musical celebration of the light’s return couldn’t be more fitting for the longest night of the year, and the lyrics serve as a promise of new beginnings:

Light is returning
Even though this is the darkest hour.
No one can hold back the dawn.

Let’s keep it burning;
Let’s keep the light of hope alive!
Make safe our journey through the storm.

One planet is turning
Circle on her path around the Sun.
Earth Mother is calling her children home. 

Behind the Music: Room at the Table

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When it comes to holiday meals, there’s a picturesque, Rockwell-esque vision that comes to mind for many of us: glossy brown turkeys, mashed potatoes with golden butter, steaming, savory vegetable dishes, and tempting desserts. For some, this is just something we look forward to and take for granted. For others, it’s just a childhood memory or something seen on television…not because they don’t believe in festive shared meals, but because they’re taking on extra shifts, scrimping and saving, or searching for a safe place to sleep and enough to eat.

Rev. Alex centered this Sunday’s service on the following: home and food are not just physiological needs, but carriers of culture and dignity. If someone doesn’t have a safe place to call their own, a place to prepare their own meals, how can they feel safe and secure? If one doesn’t have access to food, doesn’t this mean that they also lack agency in their choices about food that fits their heritage or their personal values? How and where food is produced carries ethical implications, meaning that not only is it difficult for some to obtain the food that they wish to eat, but it also means they are unable to give their business to farmers and local food providers. This in turn affects how farmers and local food providers support themselves, as well as impacting their ability to keep creating and distributing food ethically. Everything is connected. Because the holidays amplify both the joy of gathering around food and the heartache of those left out, Alex’s sermon reminded us of something simple: making room at the table (by supporting neighbors’ access to familiar, culturally meaningful food while preserving dignity, choice, and respect) is just part of being a member of this community. For many folks, the UUFC is a steady home away from home, and there is something sacred in how we feed and hold one another, making sure everyone belongs.

I initially selected today’s prelude, “She Used to Be Mine” simply for its indirect connection to food, but as Alex’s sermon unfolded, it seemed as if this song from the Broadway musical “Waitress” had been custom-designed for today’s service. “Waitress” is about Jenna, a pregnant waitress and pie maker who is trapped in an abusive marriage. She dreams of a better life for herself but lacks the financial resources to escape her controlling husband Earl. Throughout the musical, Jenna uses various pies as metaphors for her dreams and struggles, and it is eventually pie that becomes a beacon of hope for her: if she can bake an incredible pie and win the upcoming Springfield Pie Contest, the $20,000 prize is her ticket to freedom. In “She Used to be Mine”, Jenna sings vulnerably about who she used to be, before she needed her beloved pies to serve as comforting representations of her feelings, and as well as her escape plan.

I wasn’t familiar with Carrie Newcomer’s “Room at the Table”, but when Alex asked me to sing this song, it was immediately clear why she wanted this piece included in today’s service. Newcomer invites us to extend home and table outward to everyone. One can do this as an individual or with their family, but can also check out ideas and collaborate with others at any of the levels that Alex spoke about: the UUFC Secure Housing and Food for All Team, the Corvallis Unity Shelter, and the World Bank. The lyrics speak for themselves.

Room at the Table, by Carrie Newcomer

Let our hearts not be hardened to those living on the margins
There is room at the table for everyone
This is where it all begins this is how we gather in
There is room at the table for everyone

Too long we have wandered burdened and undone
But there is room at the table for everyone
Let us sing the new world in this is how is all begins
There is room at the table for everyone

There is room for us all
And no gift is too small
There is room at the table for everyone
There’s enough if we share
Come on pull up a chair
There is room at the table for everyone

No matter who you are no matter where you’re from
There is room at the table for everyone
Here and now we can be the beloved community
There is room at the table for everyone

There is room for us all
And no gift is too small
There is room at the table for everyone
There’s enough if we share
Come on pull up a chair
There is room at the table for everyone

There is room for us all
And no gift is too small
There is room at the table for everyone
There’s enough if we share
Come on pull up a chair
There is room at the table for everyone

Let our hearts not be hardened to those living on the margins
There is room at the table for everyone
Room at the table
This is our gathering
Room at the table for everyone
Room at the table
Room at the table for everyone
Everyone

The ode “Drink with Me” from Les Misérables by Claude-Michel Schönberg features a group of young nineteenth-century Parisian rebels seeking solace and companionship on eve of a battle which the singers know they will not all survive. There is no home, there is no table, but the passing of the wine has both a communal and communion-like feel as the group prepares to rise against the inequality, political suppression, and poverty imposed by their government. The musical’s overarching message goes hand-in-hand with today’s sermon it’s charge to help make home and food possible for those who are in need: “To love another person is to see the face of God.”

I really love hymn #407 from Singing the Living Tradition, “We’re Gonna Sit at the Welcome Table”. On top of letting its gospel style shine through and being just plain fun, the text again says it all. This song promises a seat, a shared meal, and a safe gathering to all, including those who are hungry, houseless, or excluded in other ways. The welcome table reminds us that sustenance and shelter aren’t just physical boxes to check off, but conduits for dignity, culture, connection, and personal moral codes.

We’re gonna sit at the welcome table.
We’re gonna sit at the welcome table
one of these days, hallelujah!
We’re gonna sit at the welcome table,
gonna sit at the welcome table
one of these days.

All kinds of people around that table.
All kinds of people around that table
one of these days, hallelujah!
All kinds of people around that table,
gonna sit at the welcome table
one of these days.

No fancy style at the welcome table.
No fancy style at the welcome table
one of these days, hallelujah!
No fancy style at the welcome table.
gonna sit at the welcome table
one of these days.

Behind the Music: Roots hold me close, wings set me free

by

This morning Reverend Alex invited us to reflect on desire as a spiritual quality. How can we learn to recognize and trust the spiritual desires within ourselves? When we learn to notice how our spiritual longings take shape as well as to honor the spiritual desires of others, our lives and the lives of those around us will become richer with meaning and purpose.

Massenet’s famous Méditation from Thaïs has been played at weddings, funerals, and all manner of occasions that call for a moment of beauty, emotional depth, and reflection. The opera Thaïs is centered upon Thaïs, a hedonistic courtesan whose life is filled with shallow pleasures and transactional relationships. Thaïs is jaded and nihilistic, living for luxury and the moment, without any substantial meaning to her existance. The monk Athanaël – whose motives aren’t entirely altruistic – warns Thaïs that only focusing on the good life and other superficial indulgences is ultimately empty and destructive. Thaïs is resistant to Athanaël’s urging, but while the intention behind his words isn’t pure, his message forces her to take a look at herself and as the Méditation is performed, Thaïs comes to the realization that she wants something deeper and real. After this revelation, Thaïs abandons her old life and her soul feels fulfilled when she dies at the opera’s conclusion.

Carolyn McDade’s beloved UU hymn “Spirit of Life” carries an astonishing amount within its six brief lines and can be sung in connection with compassion, justice, community, freedom, nature, and the mystery of being. Today, it served as an expression of desire in the form of openness and receptivity, especially in light of Alex’s explanation that desire sometimes comes in a form that we don’t recognize. The original hymn is beautiful as written, but for this service I used slightly altered chords to evoke a stronger sense of yearning, along with an open-ended cadence that suggests hope and continuation rather than a neat and tidy conclusion.

Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” is such a wonderful example of really good song-writing. The melody is lovely and actually goes somewhere (rather than a repetitive phrase that depends on the lyrics or artist’s voice to make it enjoyable), the text is honest and vulnerable, the beautiful harmonic progressions underline the meaning of the lyrics, and the stark transparency of the accompaniment lets the well-crafted melody, words, and harmonies shine, rather than gilding the lily. I can think of no song that better expresses desires that are wistful and deeply human with this level of emotion and simplicity.

Norman Greenbaum’s “Spirit in the Sky” served as today’s postlude and while fast and fun, it still highlights a different facet of spiritual desire: a bright, declamatory longing for connection with something larger than ourselves. Greenbaum wrote this song after being inspired by a gospel music performance; he didn’t share the theology behind the music, but was profoundly moved by the joy and conviction he experienced. “Spirit in the Sky” captures a particular sort of desire so wonderfully – an energetic pull toward meaning, invigoration, and clarity – not to mention a wildly catchy guitar riff! May this postlude serve as a reminder to move toward hope, toward transformation, and toward whatever “sky” or horizon holds meaning for you.