When it comes to moving through those difficult journeys, just know that Yahweh is in control. Know that there is a greater power, which continues to guide us. We are never alone in our journey. Even if we think we are, there is always some reminder along the way. Always!
Moving through the Black American artform, known as Gospel, the experience of hope maneuveres through the her/history of a people. There were many times when such Gospel music was required to get us through the day. Not only was it imperative, but it was a must for our mental psyche. We needed prayer! And, still do!
As we moved through this race-the trials and turmoil of Jim Crow and others-we remember those sacred, Gospel songs of our grandmothers. Yes. We remember them, all! As children, we remember hearing the Negro Spirituals of our mothers and grandmothers. We heard them in the kitchen. We heard the hmmms, and the praises of thankfulness and gratitude! Sometimes, we didn’t understand. Sometimes, we didn’t know how to respond. What was it about these songs, which touched them so? What was it about them, which was so pleasing? What was so pleasing when highlighting certain hymns? Perhaps, it were those Gospelic hymns, which kissed the wounds of our foremothers-those Spiritual wounds, to be exact. Then, there were those wounds, that were so hidden (and deep), that one could not locate them. Let’s reflect upon that for a second. How were so many of our foremothers forced to hide their pain, in order to provide for their families? That’s probably one of the most inhumane actions to be projected on a human being; especially, a woman! And yet, our foremothers were forced, to endure. Such is not only a sign of perseverance, but also of grace.
Of course we are not going to glamortize silent pain. There is nothing beautiful about suffering in silence. There was nothing healthy in having to suppress one’s anger and tears for the comfort of others. This sickness is so often projected onto Black American women. The horrendous fact is how people are comfortable with this sickening reality. Within, and outside, of the community people truly believe that the femininity and humanity of Black American women should be demeaned in such a way. The word sickening is an, understatement!
Couple the mental silencing with the painful attributes of our foremothers, and readers can comprehend why our Gospel songs were forms of therapy. Not only did they bring in the essence of hope, but they moved them into a spiritual place, where their sanity and peace could be, restored! Even if it was for a temporary time, at least there was a moment of calm-even if it was for a short time! Sometimes, those short moments made a huge difference in maintaining their sanity in a society, which hated them; treating their womanhood, as a joking spectacle!
Precious Lord, Take My Hand! What greater power was there, than the love of the Most High? When our foremothers were unable to protect themselves against such mental strife, they had nothing else, but the music. Gospel music is one of the perfumes of Black America’s gardens. Through such gardens, our mothers and maidens were able to find rest. They were granted the power to reclaim their femininity. It was within our gardens, where our mothers could find the beauty (and magic) of their creativity! “Precious Lord, take my hand; lead me on, let me stand!” When you are a maid in someone else’s garden, the journey becomes rather unbearable. It may even seem, impossible! Nevertheless, the songs kept moving them, on. Step-by-step, they were pressing on! They did it so elegantly, that one could never comprehend the level of pain, they were in.
Looking at the Queen of Gospel music, we are moved into an understanding of what it meant to be Divinely Favored! From the moment she opened her mouth, Heaven bestowed her praises. You could feel the roof shake. “Precious Lord, Take My hand; lead me on, let me stand!” It’s refreshing to know that when Black American foremothers moved through the storm, they had some form of comfort. Meditation was not a distant elixir. Yes. Such is truly refreshing! Of course, the goal was not to continue in the pain. Never! At the very end, the objective is to always get to the end goal of restoration. The purpose is to move through the pain; that there will be a restful delight, in the holding of hands!
Mahalia Jackson
