Race and the Song Circle [from Ch. 1]

In the summer of 1988 at the tender age of 23, I packed up my belongings and left my hometown of Lexington, Kentucky, to study music at a small Buddhist college called the Naropa Institute (now Naropa University) in Boulder, Colorado. One of my first courses was a tour de force called “Building a Vocal Community,” taught by guest professor Dr. Ysaye Barnwell, long-time member of the all-female African American acapella singing group Sweet Honey in the Rock. For two weeks Dr. Barnwell took her fifty or so students on an intense and wondrous ride into the terrible beauty of the African American spirituals tradition.

It is one thing to think and talk about race and race relations across the color line in the academy, society, and church. It is quite another to accompany a great storyteller, artist, and musician as she plunges you headlong into the deep river of black suffering, resistance, and grace. It was in this class, and indeed in Dr. Barnwell herself, that I first encountered the living God whose face happens to be black. It was here that I first contemplated the black Jesus, who still lives (and dies) deep down in the dangerous memories and slave songs of the African American community. I will never forget the power of Dr. Barnwell’s storytelling, her strength and gracious presence, and the haunting power of her voice, which stirred something ineffable in me. I can still feel the thrill of our final evening concert, in which we led the whole community in storytelling, song, and celebration of the living tradition we had begun to learn together.

Thomas Merton, the famous American Catholic monk and spiritual writer, once observed that the Psalms hold a certain advantage over the New Testament because we sing them. In singing the Psalms, says Merton, “we lay ourselves open as targets, which fire from heaven can strike and consume.”Such is the case, I quickly discovered, with the spirituals. Black or white, yellow or brown, rich or poor, sinner or saint, you cannot hide from the beauty and haunting power of the spirituals. Moreover, by singing them with others and not just studying them alone in quiet libraries, we lay ourselves open to one another in ways we might never before have risked. Is there any act of greater vulnerability, and potential intimacy, than singing, full-bodied and shoulder to shoulder, with another person? In laying ourselves open we can truly be and become “a vocal community.”

But what claim, if any, can a white man have on the spirituals? None at all, save when someone from the black community graciously invites me, the stranger and oppressor at their gate, into the song circle. In truth, when I sing the spirituals, especially when I am encircled by five or ten or fifty others, I make no claim on them whatsoever, intellectually, spiritually, historically, or otherwise. It is the spirituals that claim me, or better, we. Paradoxically, I discover myself by losing myself in the song circle, by giving myself over to the memory and experience of the black community. And it is this particular community, represented by four hundred years of suffering, fidelity, and grace, which claims me.

Merton goes on to suggest that the peculiar ability of the psalms to ignite a fire in the listener can only be accounted for “by the fact that we, in the Spirit, recognize the Spirit singing in ourselves.”Their impact, in other words, is theological and not just psychological. No less is true of the spirituals. To sing the spirituals is to be drawn into the very life and pathos of God, poured out and enfleshed in the human community. In our singing and physically embodying them, the spirituals are not merely signs pointing to historical events from which we remain far removed. They become sacraments, instruments of real presence and grace for a people still on pilgrimage in history. The false “I” of individualism and self-absorption—even my socially constructed identity of whiteness—gives way to make room for a new (and eternal) creation, the “we” of our shared life in one another and in God. If only for the duration of a song, the spirituals reveal “not merely what we ought to be but the unbelievable thing that we already are.” No less than the psalms, they make us to believe that “we are at the same time in the desert and in the Promised Land.”

[This post is an excerpt from Chapter 1: Entry Points]

3 Responses to "Race and the Song Circle [from Ch. 1]"

Mike Brennan says:

May 19, 2013 at 1:17 pm

A beautiful blog in appearance and organization! Your testimony to Dr. Barnwell is very moving.

Right now watching an interview on local TV with Tamberla Perry, the star of a play here in Chicago, “By the Way, Meet Vera Start,” described as a “sharp-toothed comedy” (The Wall Street Journal) which “offers a glimpse into the life of Vera Stark, a headstrong African American actress who begins a career in the 1930s, at a time when her only shot at success lay in stealing small scenes in big Hollywood blockbusters. Seventy years later, film buffs are left to reflect on the life and legacy of this controversial star, whose eventual fame and fortune came at the price of perpetuating dangerous stereotypes.” In an ironic echo, Tamberla talks about how she got her start acting auditioning for the role in a revival of the play “The Women” for the role of Crystal Allen (played by Joan Crawford in the 1939 movie version) – but she landed the role of the maid – for which she was grateful, because she needed the work. Here is a link to the production, which runs through June 2:

http://www.goodmantheatre.org/season/1213/By-the-Way-Meet-Vera-Stark/?gclid=CJzqo4mborcCFcFDMgodx18AsA

Reply
1. Christopher Pramuk says:
  
  May 20, 2013 at 3:39 pm
  
  Mike, thanks for the link and your kind comments on the site. It’s great to feel your presence and hear your incisive voice in this new and somewhat experimental venture. Writing from Chicago I expect gives you a unique and sometimes intense perspective on race as it plays out in the city and perhaps in the churches. I sometimes ask my students to consider the controversy with then candidate Obama and Rev. Jeremiah Wright: in his broadside critique of the US government (particularly its policies toward non-white peoples), is Rev. Wright an authentic prophet in the biblical tradition or is he a nutcase (see Fox news)? Anyway Mike I hope you’ll keep on “haunting” the blog!
  
  Reply
  1. Mike Brennan says:
    
    May 20, 2013 at 9:23 pm
    
    Thanks for the warm welcome Chris. As a native Chicagoan from the mostly Anglo northwest side, I think Chicagoans have had some success confronting segregation and racism, though even now there is a lot of tension over the closing of many Chicago Public Schools, almost all in black neighborhoods, and the danger children face having to attend school in other neighborhoods due to the prevalence of gangs. This consolidation in some ways may not be much different from the closing of many Catholic parishes in the last 30 years – churches with predominantly one ethnic group located in close proximity. When the neighborhoods of the south and west side where these churches were located became African-American, their congregations dwindled, and some were sold to other denominations or demolished. Only a few landmarks were preserved – sometimes only due to vigorous campaigns on the part of the laity. As for the school closings, some buildings are in disrepair and if not for the dangerous conditions in some poorer neighborhoods with higher incidences of crime, it might not be as problematic. Both the head of the CPS and the union opposing the closings are African-American women, but some have still pointed to racism as an underlying issue. (http://articles.chicagotribune.com/2013-04-04/news/chi-cps-chief-lashes-back-at-critics-who-call-closings-racist-20130403_1_barbara-byrd-bennett-closings-one-high-school-program)
    
    I was only nine when Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr., came to Chicago and faced jeers and a rock to the head. I was attending St. Monica’s and it was all white, but the Sisters of Mercy who taught us were courageous women who told us that black people were fighting for their civil rights and were equal to us in every way. This was not a message most of us were likely to hear at home, generally. I remember learning Dylan’s “Blowing in the Wind” in second grade (1964-5) and the school music teacher having us sing negro spirituals like “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot.” As Dr. King said when he was leaving, it was “a first step in a 1,000-mile journey.” Since then, we’ve elected Harold Washington, the city’s first black mayor, and of course community organizer and State Representative and then U.S. Senator Barack Obama went on to the presidency. And now we have a Jewish mayor, also a first. (http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/politics/chi-chicagodays-martinlutherking-story,0,4515753.story)
    
    My Irish grandparents lived on Chicago’s west side in the 1930’s, and when blacks began moving into the neighborhood, my grandparents moved to the northwest side. I think it was a traumatic experience for them, and there was no love for the black community. I remember once hearing my grandma refer to “the niggers,” which was jarring, but said in the same way we spoke of “the dagos” or the “the polacks” – just slang for a certain group, casual, matter-of-fact. Of course, nigger is much harsher and nobody in the family would use it these days without facing a rebuke. But there is still a prevailing distrust and fear – mostly I would say due to crime and violence that is often associated with gangs. The same is true of Latinos.
    
    I am half Polish and when my parents were dating, my Polish grandfather told my mom she shouldn’t bring that Irish boy around, and my Irish great uncle sent back the wedding invitation with “NOT INTERESTED” scrawled in reply. Yet my dad became a favorite son-in-law and my great uncle seemed to spend the rest of his life trying to make it up to my mom for his boorishness. So, though different than racism, even ethnic groups had their prejudices against each other. Once cousin, just four years older than me, had to elope with his Greek girlfriend because her parents were Orthodox and wouldn’t hear of her marrying a Polish Catholic boy. They didn’t speak – until the first grandchild was born. And then they grew close through the years, and in the end they welcomed the grandmother into their home in her old age.
    
    I wish you the best with this blog and I will try to visit regularly and share with you any stories that might be of interest!
    
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