Souled Out

Despite my long history of issues with faith – the dogma, the tradition, even the sometimes mindlessness that can accompany – one thing always draws me back. The music.

I joined the American University Gospel Choir in 2006 (my sophomore year of college) and they haven’t been able to get rid of me yet. This choir is unlike any group of people I ever encountered at AU. There is a sense of community, of oneness and love that is very uncharacteristic of the rest of the establishment (at least in my experience). Everyone is always so happy to greet one another before rehearsal starts (albeit thirty minutes late), so passionate about one another’s “prayer requests” and “praise reports”. They have this amazing ability to celebrate everyone, even when you don’t know everyone’s name.

So when I finally decided to write this blog, it made sense to start with my home congregation, the AUGC.

Though the choir is obviously very rooted in the Christian faith, all people from all faiths and all walks of life are welcome. Protestants and Catholics, Agnostics, Muslims, White people, Black people, Latinos, foreign exchange students, grad students, faculty, neighbors of the school, the list goes on… And since AU is more fondly known as “Gay Jew”, it goes without saying that yes!, these too are represented. The tie that binds is the love of community, the love of music and the love of God. Whatever/whomever God may be. How beautiful.

On January 20 (yes, I know this is a bit late! I’m sorry! … and maybe get used to it) AUGC worshipped with First Mount Zion Baptist Church in Dumfries, Virginia. Boarding a bus a 5:30 am, this really violated my “no waking up before seven am policy”. But it was worth it.

Our charge was to sing with FMZ’s youth choir, The Voice of Zion, a stunning group of high school students with fabulous voices, for the church’s Black History Month/Presidents Day service. This massive predominantly African-American congregation boasts at least five choirs that I can name off the top of my head. There is truly a culture of music and praise in this place.

That fact can actually be a bit intimidating. We were tossed in with the youth choir, with whom we had never met, and sang under the instruction of their own director, not our dear Sylestea. Not to anyone’s surprise, the first service left something to be desired.

With the 8 am dress rehearsal under our belt, we completely rocked the second service.

I have to take a few moments, step out of the chronology, and explain a few themes that presented themselves.

Black history month with a half-white choir while singing “Lift Every Voice and Sing” aka “The Black National Anthem”: It is really tough to be a White girl and sing this song. It is even more difficult to sing it in front of a massive congregation without having that horrified expression of White guilt plastered across your face. Check it out:

President’s Day meets Black History Month: President Obama is the first African-American (no matter how you define Black, you cannot deny that President Obama is in fact African-American) to take the office of President. This is the second time ever that both President’s Day and Black History Month could be celebrated together in such a way. That’s awesome.

Feminism in the black community: Much to my surprise (and delight) the presiding minister of the second service was female. I never expected to see this in a Baptist church. I think this is really a testament to how the African-American matriarch truly is the backbone of Black society these days. I was so proud. And (sorry Mom) … I have never heard a better sermon in my life.

 

So, bearing these things in mind, I bring you back to the play-by-play. But first, a musical interlude.

Now, imagine that, except 10x better. That was us.

Wow was it amazing. Everyone was standing, arms were in the air, people were praising God, shouting towards the ceiling, hugging one another, weeping. Oh Lord, how excellent is thy name. After two encores, we were seated and the minister gave her blessing “Oh Lord, how excellent is thy name! For all things that just happened in this room, for which I do not have words, thank you.”

Then, my friend and neighbor Shalanda turns to me and says “Do you think we have arrived?” Man is that a loaded question. I seek clarification: “What do you mean? Black people?” “Yeah. Do you think we’ve arrived?”

I wish I could say I carried that conversation further (though it’s pretty volatile and perhaps I’m not entitled to an opinion). All I could say was “Do we ever really arrive?”

And with that, I leave you.

Go in peace.