Songs play a great role in the lives of people. There is a song somewhere suited for all occasions. Out of the joys, sadness, problems, and prosperities of people–songs were born. Lifted beyond mere entertainment our songs tell us something that we are unable to phrase otherwise. Therefore, it becomes difficult for me to think of any situation so gruesome–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 simply 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 as deep, and their voices have rung out with perfect clarity. They had a song.
Depressing moments can be setbacks unless you make them setups. 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 could not otherwise 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 Gods 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 fields the things they wanted to say at 0ld 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 0ld Master was going to church every Sunday, he wasn’t going to Heaven. That’s why they sang, “Everybody talking about Heaven ain’t going there.” 0ld Master wasn’t going there. Heaven would be a happy place, and shouting would be in order.
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