Songs play a great role in the lives of people. There is a song somewhere suited for all occasions. Songs were born out of joy, sadness, problems, and prosperity of people. Lifted beyond–mere entertainment, our songs tell us something we cannot phrase otherwise. Therefore, it becomes difficult for me to think of any situation so gruel that one is left without a song.
I have watched from the pulpit at funerals people who seal their lips when the songs of Zion are sung. They experience deep human hurt and loss. They brush back the tears from their eyes. They cannot handle it. The hurt is too grave to have a song during this unusual hour. However, I have watched others whose loss is just as dear and deep; their voices have rung out with perfect clarity. They had a song.
Depressing moments can be setbacks unless you make them set-ups. In the Black experience, many depressed people have turned scars into stars. The Negro spirituals were no accident. They are on purpose. The blending melodies across the long cotton rows in exile were purposeful. They signaled a message that, otherwise, could not be told.
“I got a robe. You got a robe, all God’s children got a robe, when I get to Heaven, going to put on my robe and shout all over God’s Heaven. Heaven, Heaven. Everybody talking about Heaven ain’t going there, Heaven, going to shout all over God’s Heaven.”
Here are people in a strange land with a song. They sang in the field the things they wanted to say at the Old Masters’ house but knew they would be whipped or killed if they did. They had enough of God in them to know that everlasting freedom would come one day, and at last, they would be dressed decently. They also knew that even though Old Master went to church every Sunday, he wasn’t going to Heaven. That’s why they sang, “Everybody talking about Heaven ain’t going there.” Old Master wasn’t going there. Heaven would be a happy place, and shouting would be in order.
The old hundreds are songs that should never die in our ethnic group, no matter how learned and trained we become. They tell a story of words of songs our fore parents heard from the balconies where they were made to sit. The words had meaning. The tunes fit our culture. Our long, drawn-out style of singing gave us a tune; that cannot be copywritten. It’s ours! Don’t turn your nose up because of your song. Sing it proudly. It means something special to you.
Read more Rev. Dr. Rocky Brown on ScoopUSA Media, scoopusa-pa.newsmemory.com
