The Journey: Forty Days of Promise
Celebrating the Legacy of African American Christianity

Day Twenty-Four: Slave Spirituals

Welcome to day twenty-four of our forty-day intercultural journey. From Martin Luther King Day to the end of Black History Month we are focusing on The Journey: Forty Days of Promise—Celebrating the Legacy of African American Christianity.

Day Twenty-Four: Slave Spirituals[1]

The fascinating history of the slave spirituals are intertwined with the equally captivating narrative of the Invisible Institution. It was at these secret meetings in the brush arbors and tiny log cabins that the spirituals were not only sung, but composed in community.

Too often we see the spirituals simply as words and notes on a printed page. We forget that they emerged as communal songs which were heard, felt, sung, shouted, and often danced with handclapping, foot-stamping, head-shaking meaning.

The Fuel of the Invisible Institution

These songs—variously called slave spirituals, Negro spirituals, jubilees, folk songs, shout songs, sorrow songs, slave songs, slave melodies, minstrel songs, and religious songs—are most commonly known as slave spirituals because of the deep religious feelings they express. Singing was integral to reinforcing a sense of community in the Invisible Institution and nourishing soul-healing relationships with God and one another. The spirituals were the fuel of the invisible institution.

Gushing Up From the Heart: Improvisational Communal Empathy

To appreciate the meaning, message, and mutual ministry of the slave spirituals, it is essential that we understand how and why they were composed. Carey Davenport, a retired black Methodist minister from Texas, had been born enslaved in 1855. He vividly depicts the spontaneous nature of slave spirituals.

“Sometimes the culled folks go down in dugouts and hollows and hold they own service and they used to sing songs what come a-gushing up from the heart.”

These were not polished, practiced anthems designed to entertain. They were personal, powerful psalms designed to sustain. “Songs were not carefully composed and copyrighted as they are today; they were ‘raised’ by anyone who had a song in their hearts.”

Slave spirituals were shared songs composed on the spot to empathize with and encourage real people in real trouble. Anderson Edwards, a slave preacher, remembers,

“We didn’t have no song books and the Lord done give us our songs and when we sing them at night it jus’ whispering so nobody hear us.”

Soul Care-Giving at Its Best

The creation of individual slave spirituals poignantly portrays soul care-giving at its best. When James McKim asked a slave the origin of a particular spiritual, the slave explained,

“I’ll tell you; it’s dis way. My master call me up and ordered me a short peck of corn and a hundred lash. My friends see it and is sorry for me. When dey come to de praise meeting dat night dey sing about it. Some’s very good singers and know how; and dey work it in, work it in, you know; till dey get it right; and dat’s de way.” Spirituals were born from slaves observing and empathizing with the suffering of their fellow slaves as a way of demonstrating identification and solidarity with the wronged slave.

In the very structure of the spirituals, we see articulated the idea of communal support. Frequently the spirituals mentioned individual members present, either by name—“Sister Tilda, Brother Tony,”—or by description—“the stranger over there in the corner.” This co-creation included everyone in the experience of mutual exhortation and communal support.

Learning Together from Our Great Cloud of Witnesses

1. How would your soul care and spiritual direction ministry change if you shifted from a focus on practicing skills to a focus on “gushing up from the heart” (improvisational empathy, staying in the moment, being present, immediacy)?

2. What does it look like for you to lay aside self to be simultaneously present with your friend and with God, hearing God’s voice and reflecting God’s words, God’s Word?

[1]Excerpted from, modified from, and quoted from Kellemen and Edwards, Beyond the Suffering: Embracing the Legacy of African American Soul Care and Spiritual Direction. Purchase your copy at 40% off for only $10.00 at www.rpmministries.org.

The Journey: Forty Days of Promise
Celebrating the Legacy of African American Christianity

Day Twenty-Three: Praising the Lord

Welcome to day twenty-three of our forty-day intercultural journey. From Martin Luther King Day to the end of Black History Month we are focusing on The Journey: Forty Days of Promise—Celebrating the Legacy of African American Christianity.

Day Twenty-Three: Praising the Lord[1]

When sharing the Word, African American believers heard from the Lord through one another. In praising the Lord, they spoke to the Lord with one another.

Praying, singing, and shouting, were not items on their “to do” list, nor were they lines on an “Order of Worship” in a church bulletin. They were opportunities to encounter God together. As with sharing the Word, praising the Lord provided the occasion for everyone to participate in the life of the congregation at a significant level of personal and communal involvement.

It Takes a Community

Ex-slave Alice Sewell seamlessly intertwines praying, singing, communal ministry, and sustaining empathy in her depiction of the Invisible Institution.

“We used to slip off in the woods in the old slave days on Sunday evening way down in the swamps to sing and pray to our own liking. We prayed for this day of freedom. We come from four and five miles to pray together to God that if we don’t live to see it, to please let our children live to see a better day and be free, so that they can give honest and fair service to de Lord and all mankind everywhere.”

Sewell’s vignette contains precise theology—prayer requests were for God’s glory (“give honest and fair service to de Lord”) and for the good of others (“and all mankind everywhere”). It also speaks of personal commitment—walking five miles for prayer meeting!

Slave Spirituals

The slave spirituals were a communal enterprise. Jonas Bost of Newtown, North Carolina, reminisces about one such song. “I remember one old song we used to sing when we meet down in the woods back of the barn. . . .

Oh, Mother lets go down, lets go down, lets go down, lets go down.
Oh, Mother lets go down, down in the valley to pray.
As I went down in the valley to pray,
Studying about that good ole way,
Who shall wear that starry crown?
Good Lord, show me the way.”

Most significant is his concluding memory.

“Then the other part was just like that except it said ‘Father’ instead of ‘Mother,’ and then ‘Sister’ and then ‘Brother.’”

They mutually cared for one another as an extended family with concern for every member, whether father, mother, sister, or brother.

The Drama of Redemption

The slaves often transformed their sung narrative into a dramatic acted narrative. The community became participants in historic deliverance events such as the children of Israel crossing the Red Sea or Joshua’s army marching around the walls of Jericho.

Their bodies chained in enslavement, their spirits soared like eagles through the Holy Spirit and through the communal spirit of joint worship.

Learning Together from Our Great Cloud of Witnesses

1. Regarding praising the Lord, within your worship context and cultural setting, what might further enhance your corporate glorification of God?

2. What could you learn about worship from the African American legacy?

[1]Excerpted, modified from, and fuoted from Kellemen and Edwards, Beyond the Suffering: Embracing the Legacy of African American Soul Care and Spiritual Direction. Purchase your copy at 40% off for only $10.00 at www.rpmministries.org.

To appreciate the meaning, message, and mutual ministry of the slave spirituals, it is vital to understand how and why they were composed. Carey Davenport, a retired Black Methodist minister from Texas, had been born enslaved in 1855. He vividly depicts the spontaneous nature of slave spirituals. Sometimes the Colored folks would go down in dugouts and hollows and hold their own service, and they used to sing songs that come a-gushing up from the heart.”

These were not polished, practiced anthems designed to entertain. They were personal, powerful psalms designed to sustain. “Songs were not carefully composed and copyrighted as they are today; they were ‘raised’ by anyone who had a song in their hearts.”

Slave spirituals were shared songs composed on the spot to empathize with and encourage real people in real trouble. Anderson Edwards, a slave preacher, remembers, “We didn’t have any song books and the Lord gave us our songs and when we sang them at night it just whispering so nobody would hear us.”

The creation of individual slave spirituals poignantly portrays care-giving at its best. When James McKim asked a slave the origin of a particular spiritual, the slave explained, “I’ll tell you; it’s this way. My master called me up and ordered me a hundred lashes. My friends saw it and are sorry for me. When they come to the praise meeting that night they sing about it. Some are very good singers and know how; and they work it in, work it in, you know; till they get it right; and that’s the way.” Spirituals were born from slaves observing and empathizing with the suffering of their fellow slaves as a way of demonstrating identification and solidarity with the wronged slave.

Creating and singing spirituals in the middle of their predicament became a means for reciprocal bonding. Slaves wove the words into the fabric of their worship and into the tapestry of their everyday life together. This resulted in communal empathy. The flexible, improvisational structure of the spirituals gave them the capacity to fit an individual slave’s specific experience into the group’s experience. One person’s sorrow or joy became everyone’s through song. Singing the spirituals was therefore both an intensely personal and vividly communal experience in which an individual received consolation for sorrow and gained a heightening of joy because his experience was shared. It was a lasting portrait of the truth that shared sorrow is endurable sorrow.

In the very structure of the spirituals, we see articulated the idea of communal support. Frequently the spirituals mentioned individual members present, either by name—“Sister Tilda, Brother Tony,”—or by description—“the stranger over there in the corner.” This co-creation included everyone in the experience of mutual exhortation and communal support. Drawing from the Bible, Protestant hymns, and sermons, the slaves fashioned spiritual music which expressed their faith in moving, immediate, and dramatic terms.

The spontaneous creation of the spirituals exemplifies what people-helpers call “staying in the moment,” “being present,” and “immediacy.” The African American spirituals demonstrate that caring for people is not so much about skills, but about artful connecting through real and raw relating.

[i]Excerpted with permission of Baker Books from Beyond the Suffering: Embracing the Legacy of African American Soul Care and Spiritual Direction.

Tags: Biblical Counseling, Christian Counseling, Church, Discipleship, Equipping, Kellemen, Ministry, Pastors, RPM Ministries, Soul Care, Spiritual Direction, Spiritual Formation