Western Religious Traditions – Dan Harper

Math and Religion

Sermon copyright (c) 2025 Dan Harper. As delivered to First Parish in Cohasset. The sermon as delivered contained substantial improvisation. The text below has too many typographical errors, missing words, etc., because I didn’t have time to make the necessary corrections.

Readings

The first reading was an excerpt from the essay “A Mindful Beauty” by the mathematician Joel E. Cohen, from the September, 2009, issue of American Scholar.

“My grade-school education in mathematics included a strict prohibition against mixing apples and oranges. As an adult buying fruit, I often find it convenient to mix the two. If the price of each is the same, the arithmetic works out well. The added thrill of doing something forbidden, like eating dessert first, comes free. In any case, the prohibition against combining apples and oranges falls away as soon as we care about what two subjects, different in some respects, have in common.

“I want to mix apples and oranges by insisting on the important features shared by poetry and applied mathematics. Poetry and applied mathematics both mix apples and oranges by aspiring to combine multiple meanings and beauty using symbols. These symbols point to things outside themselves, and create internal structures that aim for beauty. In addition to meanings conveyed by patterned symbols, poetry and applied mathematics have in common both economy and mystery. A few symbols convey a great deal. The symbols’ full meanings and their effectiveness in creating meanings and beauty remain inexhaustible….

“The differences between poetry and applied mathematics coexist with shared strategies for symbolizing experiences. Understanding those commonalities makes poetry a point of entry into understanding the heart of applied mathematics, and makes applied mathematics a point of entry into understanding the heart of poetry. With this understanding, both poetry and applied mathematics become points of entry into understanding others and ourselves as animals who make and use symbols.”

The second reading was from the poem “Equation” by Caroline Caddy:

…working through difficult equations
was like walking
in a pure and beautiful landscape —
the numbers glowing
like works of art….

The third reading was from a letter written by Albert Einstein, as printed in Albert Einstein, the Human Side: New Glimpses from His Archives (Princeton Univ. Press, 1979):

“If something is in me which can be called religious then it is the unbounded admiration for the structure of the world so far as our science can reveal it.”

Sermon: “Math and Religion”

In honor of Pi Day, which was yesterday, I’d like to talk this morning about the connection of mathematics and religion. The right-wing Christians who make so much noise these days keep trying to tell us that religion has nothing to do with either math or science. But the connection between mathematics and religion in Western culture predates Christianity, and goes back to the ancient Greeks.

The first great mathematician in Western culture was Pythagoras. Pythagoras is best known today for the theorem known as the Pythagorean theorem: in a right triangle, the square of the hypotenuse is equal to the squares of the two other sides. But Pythagoras was not just a mathematician. He also founded a religious community, which was remarkable for combining serious mathematical and scientific inquiry with some fairly strange religious beliefs.

Pythagoras was born in Greece, on the island of Samos. As a young man, he traveled around the Mediterranean Sea seeking learning and wisdom. He supposedly learned arithmetic from the Phoenicians, geometry from the Egyptians, and astronomy from the Chaldeans. He also learned some interesting religious rituals. Tradition tells us that the Egyptians didn’t want to teach him about geometry, so to dissuade him they made him follow strict religious rituals. But Pythagoras wanted to learn the secrets of geometry, and followed all the rituals carefully. So Pythagoras learned his math and science along with religious ritual.(1) Mind you, religion was not the same as it is today.(2) Rather than being focused on personal belief in a transcendent god, religion primarily consisted of ritual, most of promoted social cohesion.

In addition, much of what passed for scientific investigation in that time took place in what we would call religious communities. This actually makes a lot of sense. If you want to gather enough data to be able to predict eclipses — one of the major scientific achievements in Pythagoras’s day, and one which he was directly involved in — then you need a stable community that can support people who spend their time observing the night sky; a community that can collect and safely store data over fairly long periods of time; and a community that brings together people who learn from one another and strive together for the truth. In fact, this kind of community still lies at the root of scientific and mathematical progress. If you’re doing math or science, you have to be in a community of peers that can review your work; that’s how scientific progress happens. Pythagoras not only learned in such communities, he brought the concept back to Greece, and founded his own religious community.

The Pythagorean community was governed by a set of rules, such as the rule prohibiting the consumption of beans.(3) Pythagoras was convinced of the transmigration of souls, and he thought the movement of souls took place through bean plants. There mix of “semi-scientific observation” with superstition sounds alien to us today, but as one scholar puts it, “a network of cleverly designed reasons, with the doctrine of the transmigration of souls at its center, held the whole system together….”(4) Today we would not call this science, but it does represent the beginnings of science.

And the Pythagorean community managed to come up with some pretty interesting discoveries in math and science. The Pythagorean community discovered the connection between numbers and music; predicted eclipses; developed the idea of numbers as shapes, as in the square of a number or the cube of a number; and with the Pythagorean theorem helped lay the foundations for geometrical proof later perfected by Euclid. Finally, Pythagoras is supposed to have said that “all things are numbers,” which in a generous interpretation resembles the way science today uses mathematics to model reality.(5)

Also noteworthy is that the Pythagorean community admitted women as members.(6) By today’s standards we would doubtless consider the Pythagorean community to be hopelessly sexist, but by the standards of their day they were unbelievably progressive. Women in the Pythagorean community contributed to the theoretical work of the community, and wrote their own treatises. This may be the earliest recognition that women have just as much to contribute to math and science as men; a fact that certain elements in today’s scientific and mathematical communities are still trying to accommodate themselves to.(7)

We also get our word “theory” from the ancient Greek word “theoria.” For the Pythagorean community, “theoria” meant a kind of “passionate sympathetic contemplation” that came out of mathematical knowledge; it represented a kind of “ecstatic revelation.”(8) While I am not especially adept at mathematics, this does describe the feeling I’ve gotten at times when I’ve finally managed to follow a proof of a challenging theory — a very satisfying feeling that comes upon perceiving something that’s really true and good and beautiful and unchanging. Right-wing Christians would be horrified to hear me say this, but this is indeed a kind of religious experience.

This brings me to Kurt Godel, the next mathematician I’d like to talk about. You may have heard of Godel from the bestselling book Godel, Escher and Bach: An Eternal Golden Braid, written in 1979 by Douglas Hofstader. However, I first encountered Godel in 1981 when I took an introductory course in mathematical logic. This class was designed to give us enough background so that we could follow the proof of Kurt Godel’s famous incompleteness theorems.

I remember being blown away by the implications of Godel’s incompleteness theorems. The first incompleteness theorem can be summarized like this: “Any consistent formal system F within which a certain amount of elementary arithmetic can be carried out is incomplete; i.e., there are statements of the language of F which can neither be proved nor disproved in F.”(9) What I took from Godel was this: that within a logically consistent system like arithmetic, you have to accept some statements that cannot be proven within that system. And even though you might be able to construct another logically consistent theorem that would allow you to prove those unproved axioms, there would be other axioms that you couldn’t prove within that second system.

Godel’s theorems obviously have implications for mathematics, but Godel himself believed that they had also implications for all human thought. John W. Dawson, a mathematician and biographer of Godel, put it this way, quoting in part from one of Godel’s lectures:

“[Godel] believed [there was] a disjunction of philosophical alternatives. Either ‘the working of the human mind cannot be reduced to the working of the brain, which to all appearances is a finite machine,’ or else ‘mathematical objects and facts … exist objectively and independently of our mental acts and decisions.’ Those alternatives were not … mutually exclusive. Indeed, Godel was firmly convinced of the truth of both.”(10)

If Godel was correct, this becomes very interesting. First, if the human mind is indeed something more than the workings of the brain, what is that something more? Perhaps this is no unlike what the ancient Pythagoreans called “soul.” We Unitarian Universalists affirm the inherent worthiness and dignity of every personality. In this sense, we agree with Godel that human beings, and other sentient beings, are something more than mere machines.

Second, if mathematical objects exist objectively and independently of our mental acts, what does that mean for science? Most of us these days believe that mathematics is useful because it creates models to help us understand the physical world. We typically believe that the greatness of the mathematics in Einstein’s theory of relativity, for example, is that the mathematics helps us understand observations made in real world scientific experiments. But Godel understood mathematical objects to have an independent existence. Since they are not bound to things in the real world, these pure mathematical objects are not perceived through the usual senses. We intuit them directly, through our minds. Compare this to Ralph Waldo Emerson. Emerson, a Unitarian who remains the biggest single influence on , was a Transcendentalist who said that we could directly apprehend truth and beauty. Thus, we Unitarian Universalists are like Godel in that we have a tendency to think that we can apprehend truth directly with our minds.

This brings me to the third and last mathematician I’d like to talk about: Karen Uhlenbeck, a Unitarian Universalist who also happens to be one of the greatest of living mathematicians. Uhlenbeck received a MacArthur “genius grant” in 1982, and in 2019 became the first woman to win the Abel Prize, the most prestigious prize in mathematics. The Abel award cited Uhlenbeck for “her pioneering achievements in geometric partial differential equations, gauge theory and integrable systems, and for the fundamental impact of her work on analysis, geometry and mathematical physics.”(12)

Sadly, I don’t have the background to understand Uhlenbeck’s mathematical achievements.(13) I did discover, however, that she has spoken about the connection between mathematics and introspection, and between mathematics and community. Both introspection and community are characteristic of Unitarian Universalist notions of religion, and I wondered if this might represent a connection between mathematics and religion.

Not long after she was announced as the winner of the Abel Prize, Uhlenbeck was asked if she though success in mathematics is partly due to concentration. She replied, “I think you can’t do mathematics without the ability to concentrate. But also, that’s where the fun is, the rest of the world fades away and it’s you and the mathematics.” In that same interview, Uhlenbeck said: “You struggle with a problem, it can be over a period of years, and you suddenly get some insight. You’re suddenly seeing it from a different point of view and you say: ‘My goodness, it has to be like that.’ You may think all along that it has to be like that, but you don’t see why, and then suddenly at some moment you see why it is true….”(14)

To me, the way Uhlenbeck describes what it feels like to solve mathematical problems sounds similar to how people who have meditation or mindfulness practices describe their epxeriences. The process goes something like this: you concentrate, and the world fades away, and it’s just you and something beyond yourself. Then, if you concentrate long enough, you may have an “aha” experience that really feels out of the ordinary, where you feel like you’ve seen something new and (dare I say it) beautiful. So I emailed Uhlenbeck to ask if she thought there was a similarity between doing math and doing meditation. She replied, in part: “When I try to meditate, I usually end up thinking about math. They are very similar.”(15)

Indeed, this experience occurs in many different pursuits. In the first two readings, mathematician Joel E. Cohen and poet Caroline Caddy both find a deep connection between poetry and mathematics, because both “create internal structures that aim for beauty.”(16) In these kinds of experiences, we use symbols to help us perceive the beauty and order of the universe. The poets and mathematicians have the original insights, and then we ordinary folks can experience some of the same wonder by following the mathematical proof, or reading the poem, or reading one of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s essays. Although right-wing Christians would disagree, I would call these religious experiences.

Mathematics and religion are also connected in that human community is central to both. Most obviously for mathematics, when a mathematician thinks they have done some original work in mathematics, they have to write it up and publish it so that their work can be reviewed by other mathematicians. Individual mathematicians may work alone, but overall mathematical progress happens in community, as mathematicians check each other’s work, and then build upon the work of others.

Religion also requires human community, for much the same reasons. Take Ralph Waldo Emerson as an example. Emerson had one or two insights on religious matters, and wrote them up in an essay he titled “Nature.” When he first published the essay, some people thought it was brilliant and others thought it was garbage. Over time and after much discussion, a consensus arose that Emerson really had come up with some genuine insights into religion. Still others came along and extended Emerson’s insights, including people like Henry David Thoreau.(17) Emerson’s new ideas first had to be carefully considered by a human community, and then extended by other people.

Karen Uhlenbeck refers aspect of human community in an interview. When Uhlenbeck was doing postdoctoral work at the University of California in Berkeley in the 1960s, she found herself in the midst of tumultuous political activity concerning the Vietnam War, women’s rights, and so on. Uhlenbeck had always thought of mathematics as somehow separate from politics. But, she told an interviewer, “I was startled to see the politics appear in the math department. It was eye-opening to me… up until that time I had seen mathematics as a very bookish thing and that what went on in the mathematical community had nothing to do with the life out there on the streets, and this is not true.” In other words, Uhlenbeck realized that mathematics is a human activity that’s done by humans. This means that “all of what goes on between humans appears in the mathematics community, perhaps toned down quite a bit, but it’s not a world of pure brains, people behaving rationally and unemotionally.” (18)

One of the very human problems in the mathematics community that Uhlenbeck became aware of was that nearly all mathematicians were men. She told one interviewer, “if I had been five years older, I could not have become a mathematician because disapproval would be so strong.”(19) Thus while human community is necessary, human community also has problems that must be addressed. If you’re a mathematician, you can’t just take the human community for granted, you have to be willing to confront the faults and problems of that human community. Obviously, the same is true for any human community, including religious communities.

In today’s world, we have a strong tendency to separate religion from mathematics and science. Yet by so doing, I think we place unwarranted restrictions on religion. The right-wing Christians are wrong — religion, religious experience and activity, can not be restricted to the very narrow sphere of personal belief in a transcendent god. Religion includes the introspection that occurs not only in meditation and centering prayer and mindfulness practice, but also introspection of doing math and science. Religion and mathematics can both result in ecstatic experiences that come when you gain insight into truth. Both religion and mathematics are rooted in human community. And while you, personally, may not have ecstatic experiences or pursue introspective practices, yet as a part of a human community we accept the differences between us, and try to lrean from those differences.

Notes

(1) Christopher Riedwig, Pythagoras: His Life, Teaching, and Influence, p. 8.
(2) See, e.g., Brent Nongbri, Before Religion: A History of Modern Concept, Yale Univ. Press, 2013.
(3) Bertrand Russell, The History of Western Philosopy, p. 32.
(4) Riedwig, p. 71.
(5) Russell, p. 35.
(6) Much of what follows is taken from Sarah B. Pomeroy, Pythagorean Women: Their History and Writings, Johns Hopkins Univ. Press, 2013.
(7) See, for example, the 2005 remarks of Lawrence Summers, then president of Harvard University. According to the Harvard Crimson, “Summers’ Comments of Women and Science Draw Ire” (14 Jan. 2005, article by Daniel J. Hemel), Summer said “the under-representation of female scientists at elite universities may stem in part from ‘innate’ differences between men and women….” Admittedly, this is not precisely what Summers said, but for a good discussion of the implications of Summers’s remarks, see “What Larry Summers Said — and Didn’t Say,” Swarthmore College Bulletin, Jan. 2009, article signed “D.M.,” available online: https://www.swarthmore.edu/bulletin/archive/wp/january-2009_what-larry-summers-said-and-didnt-say.html
(8) Russell, p. 33. The OED says that “theoria” refers to contemplation, including the contemplation of beauty.
(9) Panu Raatikainen, “Godel’s Incompleteness Theorems,” Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Spring 2022 ed.), ed. Edward N. Zalta, https://plato.stanford.edu/archives/spr2022/entries/goedel-incompleteness/ accessed 15 March 2025. For an explanation of both Godel’s proof, and its implications, designed for the intelligent layperson, see: Ernest Nagel and James R. Newman, Godel’s Proof, New York Univ. Press, 1958; this book is available to read online at the Internet Archive: https://archive.org/details/gdelsproof00nage/page/n5/mode/2up
(10) John W. Dawson Jr., Logical Dilemmas: The Life and Work of Kurt Godel, p. 198.
(12) Isaac Chotiner, “A Groundbreaking Mathematician on the Gender Politics of Her Field,” New Yorker, 28 March 2019.
(13) For those who do have the background to understand Uhlenbeck’s work, a discussion of her achievements in variational problems in differential geometry is freely available online in Simon Donaldson, “Karen Uhlenbeck and the Calculus of Variations,” Notices of the American Mathematical Society, March 2019, pp. 303-313 DOI: https://doi.org/10.1090/noti1806. There may well be other such technical summaries available online and not hidden behind paywalls.
(14) Bjørn Ian Dundas and Christian Skau, “Interview with Abel Laureate Karen Uhlenbeck,” Notices of the American Mathematical Society, March 2020 [reprint of an interview originally published in Newsletter of the European Mathematical Society, September 2019], p. 400.
(15) Karen Uhlenbeck, personal communication, 11 Feb. 2025.
(16) Joel E. Cohen, “A Mindful Beauty,” American Scholar, September 2009.
(17) As an aside on Emerson: In his book The American Evasion of Philosophy (Univ. of Wisconsin, 1989), Cornell West argues that Emerson also lies at the root of the American philosophical tradition: “The fundamental argument of this book is that the evasion of epistemology-centered philosophy — from Emerson to Rorty — results in a conception of philosophy as a form of cultural criticism in which the meaning of America is put forward by intellectuals in response to distinct social and cultural crises.” (p. 5) Our Unitarian Universalist religious tradition is directly influenced by this philosophical tradition.
(18) Isaac Chotiner, “A Groundbreaking Mathematician on the Gender Politics of Her Field,” New Yorker, 28 March 2019.
(19) Ibid. A side note: To help inspire more young women to go into mathematics, Uhlenbeck wrote an essay for the book Journeys of Women in Science and Engineering: No Universal Constants, ed. Susan A. Ambrose, Temple Univ. Press, 1997, pp. 395 ff.; this essay is freely available on her website here: https://web.ma.utexas.edu/users/uhlen/vita/pers.html.

Visual of text and mathematical formulae. — An excerpt from Simon Donaldson’s article mentioned in the Notes.

Winter Solstice

Sermon copyright (c) 2024 Dan Harper. As delivered to First Parish in Cohasset. The sermon as delivered contained substantial improvisation. The text below may have typographical errors, missing words, etc., because I didn’t have time to make any corrections.

Readings

The first reading was an excerpt from the long poem titled “Shapechangers in Winter” by Margaret Atwood (not available online due to copyright restrictions).

The second reading was a short poem by Unitarian Universalist poet Annie Finch titled “Winter Solstice Chant” (available online here).

Sermon: “Winter Solstice”

Beginning about fifty years ago, an unknown number of religious progressives began drifting away from traditions like Christianity, Judaism, and secular humanism to embrace Paganism. Paganism is an umbrella term that includes a variety of traditions, but probably the best known of the Pagan traditions is Wicca. People who follow the Wiccan tradition usually observe eight main seasonal celebrations — I say “usually,” because Wicca is extremely decentralized and people decide on their own how to practice Wicca. But the eight usual Wiccan celebrations include solstices, equinoxes, and the four days roughly equidistant from solstices and equinoxes; and each of these has its own name, so that for example the winter solstice celebration is called Yule, or Yuletide.

Back in the 1990s, I had a friend who was a Pagan and a Unitarian Universalist minister. In my recollection, she was a feminist who was inspired by Wiccan theologies that placed more emphasis on the divine feminine than on the divine masculine. And my recollection is that she was one of the Pagans who paid great attention to aesthetics, with carefully decorated worship spaces, with special aesthetically pleasing clothing, with compelling music, with incense, and so on — aesthetics that engaged the intellect, the senses, and the emotions in deep and meaningful ways.

When she finished qualifying as a Unitarian Universalist minister, several of us were curious where she would find a position as a minister. There are many Unitarian Universalist congregations that are definitively humanist, and it was hard to imagine a goddess-worshipping Pagan as their minister. There are even more Unitarian Universalist congregations that engage the head far more than the heart, and it was hard to imagine those congregations valuing the aesthetic skills of our frined.

We were a bit surprised when she was hired as the assistant minister of King’s Chapel in Boston. How would a Pagan minister fit into a Christian Unitarian Universalist congregation? But she pointed out that King’s Chapel is really good at ritual; they use a poetic prayer book; and they have a beautiful building and music, and aesthetically pleasing rituals. We wondered how her Pagan theology would mesh with King’s Chapel’s Christian theology, but she pointed out they were progressive Christians who were feminist and LGBTQ-friendly and oriented towards making the world a better place.

I’ve been thinking about this friend of mine this month. Here in the northern hemisphere, late December seems to call out for ritual and for beauty. I think of our Christmas Eve candlelight service here in our Meetinghouse, with lots of candles, lovely music, and the same beautiful readings every year. That kind of beauty and ritual is both comforting and enlivening in the darkest time of the year. What we do here on Christmas Eve is not so different from Pagan winter solstice celebrations. The ritual is different, of course, but there are candles and lovely music and beauty. In the overall feeling, you can see a family resemblance there.

Part of the reason that there’s a family resemblance there is because both Christianity and Paganism are syncretic religions. From what I can observe, nearly all religions are syncretic. Every religion incorporates elements from the cultures in which they are embedded. Here in this country, we tend to associate Christmas with certain kind of music — Handel’s Hallelujah chorus; the carol “Go Tell It on the Mountains”; songs like “White Christmas.” Handel’s Messiah is European art music based on Western Christian traditions. “Go Tell It on the Mountains” has roots in African American traditions including both Christianity and traditional African beliefs and values. “White Christmas” is a pop song written by a Jewish composer.

We here in the United States tend to take this for granted, and we assume that everyone who celebrates Christmas sings the same songs. But Christmas is always influenced by the surrounding culture. For example, consider Maori Christmas songs. New Zealand is in the southern hemisphere, and one Maori Christmas song goes out of the way to disavow the connection of winter and Christmas: “Not on a snowy night / By star or candlelight / Nor by an angel band…” (1) In another example, Christmas in Ethiopia is associated with a traditional game that’s a bit like field hockey. A classic Ethiopian Christmas song says: “We are so glad Christmas is here. We can all play the Christmas game. When we do, everyone is equal….” (2) Ethiopia is close to the equator, with little variation in the length of days, with the result that Ethiopian Christmas songs don’t mention cold or snow or evergreens or shortened days.

Here in the northern hemisphere, however, Christmas does come at the darkest, coldest time of the year. As a result, in both Europe and North America Christmas has come to be associated with the winter solstice — with the longest night; with candlelight and starlight; with rituals to bring back the light and make the days grow long once again. Not surprisingly, we have incorporated a number of non-Christian customs into Christmas. And for us, this has become part of the magic and wonder of Christmas time.

One of the magical aspects of Christmas time that I especially enjoy is the singing of Christmas carols. Although we think of Christmas carols as being Christian, the reality is more complicated. It appears that Christmas caroling also has roots in the ancient custom of wassailing. Wassail is an alcoholic drink made out of apples. To go wassailing meant to go from door to door singing wassail songs, and at each house where you sang you’d get a glass of wassail to drink, and even gifts of coins. Thus Christmas caroling draws upon both Christianity, and ancient customs relating to the winter solstice.

We can see this same process at work in other rituals and traditions of this time of year. Santa Claus started out as the Christian Saint Nicholas, went to Holland where he became Sinterklaas, a skinny person whose saint’s day was December 5. Sinterklaas came to North American, put on weight, changed his name to Santa Claus, and became associated with Christmas. (3) Santa was given reindeer by Washington Irving in the early nineteenth century. In 1939, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer appeared in a department store promotional booklet, and then got popularized by a Jewish songwriter. Today Santa leaves presents under an evergreen tree, a symbol of ancient Paganism.

This mixing of — and invention of — cultural and religious traditions continues in our own day. Some American Jewish households have a Hannukah tree. Some American Hindu households put up a Christmas tree as a way of exposing their children to different cultural traditions. (4) Secular capitalism is another cultural influence: since 2005, for example, the “elf on the shelf” marketing juggernaut has become an integral part of Christmas. (5)

Today’s Christian fundamentalists and latter-day Puritans tell us that Christmas should be a purely Christan holiday — where they get to decide what “purely Christian” means — and that we should never allow elements of winter solstice celebrations to sully their purified Christmas. And today’s atheist fundamentalists tell us that we should have a perfectly pure secular society, where all religious holidays should only be celebrated behind closed doors.

These efforts to purify religion, to purify people’s thoughts and feelings, to purify people’s preferred rituals — these efforts mostly fail. Purification might work for a short time but human society keeps on growing and changing. In seventeenth century Massachusetts, the Puritans made Christmas illegal, in part to eradicate the custom of wassailing. But that effort at purification ultimately failed, as new Christmas and Yuletide customs evolved.

The old Puritans and today’s fundamentalists tend towards religious literalism. But we need not be religious literalists. We can experience religion as cultural production not unlike theatre and literature and music, where deeper meaning is communicated not literally but through metaphor. Thus, those of us who are not religious literalists do not have to believe in the truth or falsity of some Christian Christmas dogma. Instead, we can become alive to a wide range of metaphor and meaning.

For me, this is part of the attraction of observing the winter solstice. At this time of year, I seem to crave those things that make me feel connected with the cycles of the non-human world. At this darkest time of year, we think about the metaphors that go along with darkness, with the absence of light. In her book Dreaming the Dark, Pagan thealogian Starhawk talks about the many meanings of darkness: There is the darkness that represents “all we are afraid of, all that we don’t want to see — fear, anger, sex, grief, death, the unknown.” But, says Starhawk, there is also the kind of darkness she calls the “turning dark,” representing movement and change. And, says Starhawk, there is also the “velvet dark…[representing] touch, joy, mortality”; and the “birth-giving dark: seeds are planted underground, the womb is dark, and life forms anew in hidden place.” (6) Starhawk finds these many meaning in a metaphorical understanding of darkness.

And all these images and metaphors are present in the idea of the winter solstice: The dark that goes along with fear and grief and anger. The darkness that is not a color but is the absence of light. The dark that represents the turning of the year, the point at which the days grow longer once again. The dark that gives birth, as the growing sunlight will eventually bring springtime and new life (and perhaps this includes stories like the Christmas story, a story that centers around a new child who is born in the dark of the night). And the velvet darkness, the darkness that soothes and touches and brings joy. All these images can become part of a metaphorical interpretation of this time of year.

Nor do we need to identify a single simple literal meaning of complex metaphors. We don’t have to fit metaphors into a scientific world view. Sometimes a metaphor is just a metaphor; and sometimes we don’t even have to make rational sense out of a metaphor.

With that thought in mind, I’ll end with this poem by Mary Oliver:

Notes

(1) Translation from the New Zealand Folk*Song website, lyrics for “Te Harinui by Willow Macky, 1957” https://folksong.org.nz/nzchristmas/te_harinui.html accessed 16 Dec 2024.
(2) Translation from the description to the Youtube video “Munit and z Lovebugs – Asina Genaye (Ethiopian Christmas Song)” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RoAPXsUaXN8 accessed 21 Dec 2024.
(3) Ivan Natividad, “For the Dutch, Santa Is Tall and Skinny. What Happened to Him in America?” University of California at Berkeley Research, December 21, 2023 https://vcresearch.berkeley.edu/news/dutch-santa-tall-and-skinny-what-happened-him-america accessed 21 Dec. 2024
(4) Syama Allard, Religion News Service, “How American Hindus spend Christmas,” December 23, 2022 https://religionnews.com/2022/12/23/how-american-hindus-spend-christmas/ accessed 20 Dec. 2024
(5) Kelsey McKinney, Vox website, “The Elf on the Shelf is the greatest fraud ever pulled on children,” Dec 15, 2016
https://www.vox.com/2014/12/10/7361911/elf-on-the-shelf accessed 21 Dec. 2024
(6) Starhawk, “Prologue,” Dreaming the Dark, 15th anniversary edition (Boston: Beacon Press, 1982/1997)

Why Do We Sing What We Sing?

Readings

The first reading is from the poem “Darshan Singh and Christian Harmony,” by Coleman Barks, Gourd Seed (Maypop Books, 1983), p. 59.

The second reading was from John Calvin’s essay “Singing Psalms in Church.”

“As to public prayers, there are two kinds: the one consists of words alone; the other includes music. And this is no recent invention. For since the very beginning of the church it has been this way, as we may learn from history books. Nor does St. Paul himself speak only of prayer by word of mouth, but also of singing. And in truth, we know from experience that song has a great power and strength to move and inflame the hearts of men to invoke and praise God with a heart more vehement and ardent. One must always watch lest the song be light and frivolous; rather, it should have weight and majesty, as St. Augustine says. And thus there is a great difference between the music that is made to entertain people at home and at table, and the Psalms which are sung in church….”

The third very short reading was a Vietnamese folk poem titled “The Singer with a Bad Voice,” trans. by John Balaban, Ca Dao Vietnam (Copper Canyon Press, 2003).

Sermon: “Why Do We Sing What We Sing?”

[This sermon was interspersed with five hymns from recent Unitarian Universalist hymnals, as noted below.]

A question that I’ve been asking myself for some years now is this: why do we sing certain songs in our Sunday services, and not other songs? So I propose that we consider five songs that we often sing, then either sing them or listen to them sung, and think about why we do sing them. We can also think about why it might be strange that we sing them at all.

To begin, a quick explanation of why we sing at all in our services. In Western civilizations before the Protestants split from the Roman Catholics, most religious services did not have anyone singing singing except for some kind of rehearsed choir; if you weren’t in the choir, you didn’t sing. But Protestants like John Calvin, as we heard in the second reading, decided that everyone should sing.

The Puritans who started our congregation followed Calvin, and sang only psalms from the Bible. In the 18th century, they began singing hymns, that is, songs of praise to God that were not psalms. In the 19th century, the repertoire expanded further to include spiritual songs and gospel music, in which mention of God was less prominent. By the middle twentieth century, this congregation began singing songs that had no mention of God at all. We have come quite far from John Calvin.

And this brings us to the first song that I’d like us to consider, a song which has no explicit mention of any deity whatsoever. Let’s stay seated, and we’ll sing just the last verse of hymn #1064, “Blue Boat Home.”

[The congregation sang “Blue Boat Home,” #1064 in Singing the Journey. Recording of the songwriter, Peter Mayer, singing this song. Note that Mayer sings this song a bit differently from the version that appears in the hymnal.]

“Blue Boat Home” doesn’t mention God or any other deity whatsoever. Nevertheless, I’d call it a spiritual song. The song gives thanks, and it tries to make sense of the wonder of the universe. Expressing gratitude and wonder should be considered in some sense spiritual. “Blue Boat Home” is often considered an ecology song, which is another part of its spiritual attraction for us — we Unitarian Universalists have found the spiritual in Nature since Ralph Waldo Emerson’s day.

But why have we latched onto “Blue Boat Home,” and not some other ecology song? For instance, why don’t we sing another spiritual ecology-oriented song that’s just as good, “Swimming to the Other Side,” written by Pat Humphries at about the same time? I’m glad we do sing “Blue Boat Home,” but I see no particular reason why we sing it and not the Pat Humphries song. Oftentimes, our song choices seem to be based on random chance.

There’s another one of our favorite songs that I can’t figure out why we sing, and that’s the song “There Is More Love Somewhere.” While “Blue Boat Home” is a composed song that sounds like a folk song, “There Is Move Love Somewhere” is a genuine honest-to-goodness folk song. “There Is More Love Somewhere” probably comes from Bessie Jones, who was recorded singing it for folklorist Alan Lomax in November of 1961. As is true of many American folk songs, it’s hard to say exactly where this song comes from. It probably has roots in Africa (Bessie Jones’s grandfather was born in Africa). Bessie Jones sang a couple of Christian verses that we usually don’t sing: “There is Jesus somewhere,” and “There is heaven somewhere,” so it probably has European Christian roots, too.

I’ve heard that some Unitarian Universalists have changed the words to this song so it says, “There is more love right here.” Folk songs can change over time, but once you start singing “There is more love right here,” I think you’ve just written a new song with an entirely different meaning; a song that ignore the realities of the African American tradition out of which the song originally arose. When we sing “There is more love “somewhere,” it reminds us that we do not live in a utopia; the moral arc of the universe is still trying to bend towards justice. When I sing “There is more love — somewhere,” that reminds me that we are put here on earth to help one another, and to help one another we have to understand that many of us have plenty of problems. This is a song of longing and striving for a better world. With that in mind, let’s sing the song, and see if you agree with me. No need to open your hymnal. We’ll sing two verses, “There is more love somewhere, I’m going to keep on till I find it”; and then “There is more hope somewhere….”

[The congregation sang “There Is More Love Somewhere,” #95 in Singing the Living Tradition. Recording of Bessie Jones singing this song — Bernice Johnson Reagon’s recording.]

One of the most popular of all hymns and spiritual songs here in the U.S., across a wide range of religious traditions, is the song “Amazing Grace.” This song was not especially popular until after the Second World War, when professional musicians began making recordings of it. We think we know exactly how “Amazing Grace” sounds, but often what we actually know is the 1970 hit recording by Judy Collins, or the 1946 recording by Mahalia Jackson. Those professionally recorded versions don’t sound like older versions of the song. So the choir is going to sing for us an old version of “Amazing Grace” from 1835, the year the words were paired with the tune we now know best.

[The choir sang the original arrangement of “Amazing Grace.” Recording of this arrangement.]

“Amazing Grace” has taken on many different guises since that old 1835 version. Originally, the words were sung to a different tune. Even after the words were paired with the present tune, in 1835, the words continued to be sung to a wide variety of tunes, right up into the 1920s.

By the 1930s, the editors of songbooks and hymnals somehow settled on the present tune. Once professional musicians like Mahalia Jackson made recordings of it, I guess no one could imagine singing the words to any other tune.

During the 1950s and 1960s, “Amazing Grace” became one of the most powerful songs for African Americans involved in the Civil Rights Movement, providing strength and courage and vision. “Amazing Grace” had been written by a former slave-holder who saw the evil of his ways and reformed; in that story, African Americans fighting for Civil Rights saw hope for the future.

Sometimes White people heard a similar message in “Amazing Grace.” In the 1970s, country singer Johnny Cash began singing the song in his prison concerts. In an interview with Bill Moyers, Cash said, “For the three minutes that song is going on, everybody is free. It just frees the spirit and frees the person.”

Since the 1970s, “Amazing Grace” is often played by bagpipers in cemeteries when someone is buried. Then it provides comfort to people who are in grief. (And it keeps evolving — wait till you hear the offertory Mary Beth is going to play, in which the tune to Amazing Grace goes places you won’t expect.)

The funny thing is that prior to being recorded by professional musicians, “Amazing Grace” belonged to White and Black Southerners living at the cultural peripheries. That poem by Coleman Barks we heard in the first reading describes how the song sounded when the country folk sang it: “The whinge and whang of a loudness I know….” Whinge and whang mean the song did not have the prettiness of a Judy Collins recording, nor the professionalism of a Mahalia Jackson recording. It would have sounded loud, and nasal, and unrestrained, and ecstatic, and — well, that old country singing sounded like bad singing to the educated city folks. To the city folks, it sounded like the kind of singing we heard about in the third reading, singing that causes dogs to bark and bulls to bellow.

So why did the educated city folk, after ignoring the song for over a century, suddenly decide “Amazing Grace” was worth singing? Perhaps it’s because we are slowly, over time, becoming more tolerant of the different subcultures in our country. So instead of being dismissive of uneducated whinge and whang, we can open ourselves to the strangenesses of other people’s musics. We are coming to realize, as Peter Schickele used to say, “all musics are created equal.” We are slowly broadening our perspectives.

The next song I’d like to consider with you seems very comforting and familiar, but it’s actually very strange: “’Tis a Gift To Be Simple.” Let’s sing that right now. Don’t bother opening your hymnals, sing from memory.

[The congregation sang “’Tis a gift to be simple” #16 in Singing the Living Tradition. Recording of Sabbathday Lake, Maine, Shakers singing this song.]

“’Tis a gift to be simple” — that sounds like a the familiar call for simple living. But in reality the Shaker tradition from which this song came was deeply strange.

Susan M. Setta, professor of religion at Northeastern, has written that the Shakers “proclaimed the Motherhood and Fatherhood of God, asserted that the second coming of Christ had occurred in the woman Ann Lee, fostered a social and political structure of both male and female leadership, and prohibited both marriage an private ownership of property.” (1) When the song says “’tis a gift to come down where we ought to be,” the Shakers weren’t talking about some sort of personal growth or self-fulfillment in simple living (which is how we might interpret it today). They meant that after giving up all your private property and ending your marriage and fully believing that Ann Lee was the second coming of Christ, you settled into your place in a Shaker community.

And Shaker worship practices were deeply strange from our point of view. Their worship halls were set up for dancing. In 1961, Sister Lilian Phelps of the Canterbury, N.H., Shakers, described what this was like: “It was the belief of the Shakers that every faculty should be used in the worship of God, and so, various forms of physical exercise were introduced, particularly the March. A group of eight or ten singers, occupied the center of the room, around which the members marched in perfect formation. It was with a graceful, rhythmic motion of the hands as the members marched to the slow or quick tempo of the music.” (2) While this sounds interesting and attractive, it is very different from our worship services.

Yet even though Shakerism is basically alien to our own religious outlook, we still like the song “’Tis a Gift To Be Simple.” There is spiritual truth to be found in this song — both in the words and in the music — that transcends the narrow denominational boundaries in which we are supposed to live.

One of the functions of spiritual music should be to help us transcend the narrow religious boundaries that often restrict our understanding of other people. One of the biggest challenges facing our society today is how to deal with multiculturalism. Due to innovations in communications and transportation, our contact with people who are very different from ourselves continues to increase rapidly. Unfortunately, the increase in diversity in the United States has driven the spread of White supremacist movements, people who think their White racial and cultural identity is so fragile that it can’t survive an encounter with other races unless they are in a position of authority. Since we are not a White supremacists, we have a different experience. Our encounters with other races, ethnic groups, and cultures can actually lead us to deeper self-knowledge and a greater appreciation for our own racial and ethnic roots. When we sing songs from other races and other cultures and other religious traditions, we hope to be brought into greater contact with the wisdom of all of humanity. If we allow ourselves to appreciate the otherness of the songs we sing, our souls will be enlarged; we will become wiser and better people.

This brings me to the final song I’d like to consider: “We Shall Overcome.” Let’s sing that song together. We’ll sing two verses: “We shall overcome some day,” and then “All races together.”

[The congregation sang “We Shall Overcome,” #169 in Singing the Living Tradition. A recording of this song from the Civil Rights Movement.]

It’s hard to know exactly where this song came from. It probably comes from an old gospel song. During a strike by Black tobacco workers in North Carolina in 1946, Lucille Simmons started singing “We will overcome.” Then the Civil Rights Movement picked it up, and it became “We shall overcome” in the 1950s and 1960s.

While this song was originally sung for a very specific purpose — for nonviolent actions during the Civil Rights Movement — it taken on a wider meaning. When the song first became popular, we needed to overcome Jim Crow laws. Today, we still need to overcome racism, but in addition to that we all have personal and communal problems that we need to overcome. “We Shall Overcome” can encompass both our personal troubles, and the wider societal troubles that are all around us. We are encouraged when we sing that someday, we shall overcome. No wonder, then, that we sing this song in our Sunday services.

“We Shall Overcome” helps us see why we sing spiritual songs. We sing these songs to give us strength to face our many troubles. We sing these songs to give us courage, to help us get through the day without giving up. And somehow, it works better when we sing them ourselves. Yes, it is pleasant to listen to a recording of Judy Collins singing her sweetly polished version of “Amazing Grace.” But when we sing a spiritual song ourselves — even if we sing with a whinge and a whang — we get more out of it.

When we actually sing one of these songs ourselves, we sing to gain courage and strength. We will find more love somewhere — if we sing it ourselves. We will find amazing grace — when we sing it ourselves. We shall overcome — but we have to sing it ourselves. We don’t have to have perfect voices, or even good voices. We just have to sing with real feeling deep in our hearts.

Notes

(1) “When Christ Was a Woman: Theology and Practice in the Shaker Tradition,” in Unspoken Worlds: Women’s Religious Lives, ed. Nancy Auer Falk and Rita M. Gross, Wadsworth, 2001, p. 264.

(2) Sister Lillian Phelps, “Shaker Dances and Marches,” https://shakermuseum.org/learn/shaker-studies/who-are-the-shakers/shaker-dancing-and-marching/ (accessed 2 May 2024)