In our most recent hymnal, referred to as the blue hymnal, a great achievement was sought. This achievement was to paint a picture of the Christian faith and the reformed tradition in a global, ecumenical light, this was the intent and success of the hymn writers and editors.

A part of that picture, or a color in that larger mosaic, is the African American Spiritual. Twenty three hymns altogether were collected and put within the seasons and subjects of the new hymnal from this tradition. So with the classic German "Stille Nacht: and "Mighty Fortress" and with the French "Noel" and "People Look East" came "Go Tell it on the Mountain" and "I’m Gonna Live." These twenty three though do not exhaust the hymns we call African American spirituals, but represent them well.

Today we are going to explore this tradition. We will sing spirituals, we will hear them offered in anthems and solos and instrumental compositions. We will reflect upon them. The African American Spiritual is a unique voice in Christianity and in American history. They are a blend of faith and suffering, Africa and America, the Christian Bible of plantation masters and the milieu of slavery in the southern states during the 19^th century.

A good example of this blend is "Sometimes I feel like a motherless chile".

Sometimes I feel like a motherless chile
Sometimes I feel like a motherless chile
Far, far away from home
A long, long ways from home.

Then I get down on my knees and pray
Get down on my knees and pray.

This hymn begins in Africa with the common expression of destitution "My father is dead." Meant to express a sense of being lost and set adrift, not to be taken literally, but poetically. In the context of Southern slavery this expression is refashioned in light of broken families, of fathers being sold, and destitution becomes "feeling like a motherless chile." But this is only the beginning. The motherless chile is far, far away from home. Is this home far way Africa? Is the home far, far way the farm of the slave’s birth and thus extended family? Or is it heaven. With the inclusion of prayer, far from home can be far from heaven.

The spirituals let you linger in this and ask, where is my home? In the midst of the asking comes the great answer of the spirituals, even though you are a motherless chile, we are all children of God. If you feel alone, alone like me so far away from home, you can pray. And you can be heard.

As we listen to the spirituals, remember, all o God’s chillun’ got a song. And that means you.

Joshua fit de battle ob Jericho, Jericho, Jericho
Joshua fit de battle ob Jericho
An’ de walls come tumblin’ down.

You may talk about yo’ king ob Gideon
You may talk about yo’ man ob Saul;
Dere’s none like good ol Joshua
At de battle ob Jericho

Up to de wall ob Jericho
He marched with spear in han;
"Go blow dem ram horns," Joshua cried,
"Kase de battle am in my han’."

Den de lam ram sheep horns begin to blow,
Trumpets begin to soun’;
Joshua commanded de chillum to shout
An de walls come tumblin’ down.

Dat mornin’
Joshua fit de battle of Jericho, Jericho, Jericho
Joshua fit de battle of Jericho
An de walls came tumbling down.

The spirituals have long been seen as inaccurate or wrong. They change the stories they want to change, they adapt situations and descriptions more to a particular sound than the particular text. Written in an age which was obsessed with the notion that the Bible was literally accurate, the spirituals bent and blended a bit too much.

There is no such thing, certainly in the Bible, as a lam ram sheep horn. Lambs don’t have horns. And Gideon was a Judge before Israel had kings, of which Saul was the first. In the spiritual we have a picture of Joshua crying and shouting and ordering the people; in the Bible we have a picture of God directing Joshua. There is a reason for this.

The reason is that this spiritual isn’t meant to convey information, but describe a contest. You need to imagine a kind of braggin’ contest. My dad is stronger than your dad; my brother can beat your brother, and so on. Here it is, put your Sauls and Gideons away, because my Joshua can beat em all. Joshua fit the battle of Jericho and the wall came tumblin’ down. He’s the best; he’s the strongest; he’s the man. Good ol’ Joshua is not quite a reverent description, but it is alive.

All of this works until the end. This spiritual is a kind of my biblical hero can whoop yours here until the end. In the end the writer ups the ante when again the biblical account is abandoned and described as happening on "dat morning." For here the braggin becomes prophetic. Dat morning is short hand or code in the spiritual tradition for the great morning, the great "getting up morning" the day of the resurrection. Joshua is the greatest because he’s the one who’s gonna call the chillum to blow them lam ram sheep horn on dat morning.

When is dat morning? We don’t know. But we’re ready, we’re waiting. We’re waiting for dat morning when all will be free. On the dat great gittin up morning all God’s children will be free to sing and they will all have a song of freedom.

It’s me; it’s me; it’s me o’ Lord
Standing in the need of prayer
It’s me; it’s me; it’s me o’ Lord
Standing in the need of prayer

Not my brother or my sister, but it’s me
Standing in the need of prayer
Not my brother or my sister, but it’s me
Standing in the need of prayer

Not my father or my mother, but it’s me
Standing in the need of prayer
Not my father or my mother, but it’s me
Standing in the need of prayer

Not the preacher or the deacon, but it’s me
Standing in the need of prayer
Not the preacher or the deacon, but it’s me
Standing in the need of prayer

Perhaps one of the greatest marks of shame we carry from the time of slavery is the 3/5 rule. Slave men were counted as 3/5’s of a person for reason of representation in government. They couldn’t vote, yet were put into the equation of the population so create equality in the House of Representatives.

To have no voice, no vote, no property, to be owned and then counted as 3/5 of a human being is an experience we can hope is never seen again. And yet, whenever a person is seen as less than human, when hatred or greed replace dignity and honor this shame rises again.

In order to hear the plea of "It’ Me O’ Lord" we have to stand in this dehumanizing place of of being 3/5’s. To hear the spiritual we have to imagine being not heard. This is the voice of someone who is powerless, who is the least, and is yet bold.

The boldness of the prayer, how it moves past brother and sister, father and mother, preacher and deacon, moving beyond all of them like pushing through a crowd to say, "it’s me." In this boldness though is a powerful confession. The one who sings this spiritual believes, once God sees them, once God recognizes their voice, they will be heard.

It’s me O Lord is a longing to be heard: I am standing in the need of prayer. Yet it is also a deeply held believe that we are heard in prayer. Fuller versions of this spiritual go through many different people, only to come to the same refrain, "it’s me." In the theology of the Black church fighting through the despair of slavery, comes this voice, "it’s me" the one you know, the one you love, standing in the need of prayer.

Steal away, steal away,
Steal away to Jesus;
Steal away, steal away home,
I ain’t got long to stay here.

My lord, he calls me,
He calls me by the thunder;
The trumpet sounds within-a my soul,
I ain’t got long to stay here.

Green trees a-bending,
Poor sinner stands a-trembling;
The trumpet sounds within-a my soul,
I ain’t got long to stay here.

Steal away, steal away,
Steal away to Jesus;
Steal away, steal away home,
I ain’t got long to stay here.

Tombstones are bursting,
Poor sinner stands a-trembling;
The trumpet sounds within-a my soul,
I ain’t got long to stay here.

My Lord, he calls me,
He calls me by the lightning;
The trumpet sounds within-a my soul,
I ain’t got long to stay here.

Steal away, steal away,
Steal away to Jesus;
Steal away, steal away home,
I ain’t got long to stay here.

Steal away is call or cry more than it is a song. Long understood as the crying of one being hurt or beaten, a kind of call within the soul to leave the body and its misery behind. A Jewish concentration camp survivor described singing this song. She described the way 200 women faced terror- and many death- at the hands of the Nazi’s all the while singing, steal away.

Steal away was also code for bible meetings. If there were to be a bible meeting, a prayer meeting for slaves where such was forbidden, people would sing, "steal away, steal away to Jesus." This was the call to prayer.

Steal away was also code for the underground Railroad, where the lightning illuminated the path and the people. In the green trees bending and the thunder and tombstones bursting you have a image of the spirit of God resurrecting the dead. Only the dead in this instance were alive.

Steal away is perhaps the greatest example of hymn become theology. In the words, the coded message, we see a prayer for release, but also the reality that the hope had become real. Steal away meant literally that. Just as John the Baptist had cried out, behold the lamb of God who takes away the sins of the word, so is the hymn. Steal away, behold the one who is to take you to freedom has come. Freedom- steal away.

Swing lo sweet chariot
Coming for to carry me home
Swing lo sweet chariot
Coming for to carry me home

If you get up there before I do
Coming for to carry me home
Tell all my brothers and sisters
I coming too, coming to carry me home

I looked over Jordan and what did I see
Coming for to carry me home
A band of angels coming after me
Coming for to carry me home

I am sometimes up and sometimes down
Coming for to carry me home
But still my soul feels heavenly bound
Coming for to carry me home

Swing lo sweet chariot
Coming for to carry me home
Swing lo sweet chariot
Coming for to carry me home

Swing lo is the one spiritual most can sing from memory. It’s not that the song is easy to sing, but it is easy to feel. I am something up and sometimes down.

Like most spirituals the congregants who created the stanzas felt free to borrow from wherever in the Bible and then blend them with their life. The chariot is Elijah’s, the great prophet didn’t die but was taken to heaven. A band of angels gathering the dead is the new testament story of the beggar Lazarus. Being up and down and yet heavenly bound, well, that’s everybody’s story.

Notice though that Elijah saw heaven without death, yet Lazarus saw it after he died. Notice the way the three stanzas create an image of time. Elijah chariot is the time of freedom which will be seen by those who are alive; a band of angels is for those who die before the promised land of abolition; and being up and down is the time at hand, now, the time in between.

Surrounding all parts of time though are heaven. Heaven is home and yet heaven is not yet home, tell my brothers and sisters I am coming too. It is a place of expectation and assurance, the place where those who were lost have been found. And, yet, it is the hope here and now, maybe we can see each other soon here too.

Whether it is now or later, heaven or earth, the call is the same, swing lo.

Heav’n, Heav’n, Heav’n
Ev’rybody talkin’ ‘bout heav’n goin’ dere;
Heav’n, Heav’n
I’m gon’ to shout all ovah God’s heav’n

I got a robe, you got a robe,
All o God’s chillun got a robe;
When I get to heav’n going put on my robe,
I’m gonna shout all ovah God’s heav’n.

I got-a wings, you got-a wings
All of God’s chillun got-a wings
When I get to heav’n goin’ put on my wings
I’m goin to fly all ovah God’s heav’n.

I got-a shoes, you got-a shoes
All of God’s chillun got shoes;
When I get to heav’n goin’ put on my shoes
I’m goin’ to walk all ovah God’s heav’n

I got a song, you got a song
All of God’s chillun got a song
When I get to heav’n goin sing a new song
I’m goin’ to sing all ovah God’s heav’n

I got a cross, you got a cross,
All of God’s chillun got a cross
When I get to heav’n going to lay down my cross
I’m gonna shout all ovah God’s heav’n.

What more should be said. Shoes, a song, a robe. These are great dreams, but it’s heaven. And we are going to sing and walk and fly all over.

Until then, the song suggests, we are going to carry a cross, because all God’s chillun got a cross. When we get there, though, were going to lay it down.

Heav’n, heav’n, heav’n. All God’s chillun gonna walk and shout and sing all ovah heaven.

There are two spirituals in our hymnal, we sing them during Lent, yet we might not otherwise put them together. "Were you there?" and "He never said a mumbling word."

To see them together you have to keep a few things in mind.

First is that many slave families only heard of one another through the grape vine, through words passed from one to another, or even from story. It may be that your child was sold to another plantation many miles away, and coming into contact with someone from that plantation would be the only way you would know if they were alive or dead, healthy or sick.

Second, when a loved one is lost, especially when a parent loses a child, seeing the child, knowing for sure is painful but necessary. A parent has to see, to touch, to believe.

Like so many of the other spirituals these two have taken the story of Jesus and made it there own. He never said a mumbling word is not accurate. Jesus, as he was dying, spoke in all the gospels. Yet in the context of the slave south, Jesus never said a mumbling word. Why would this be important? It only becomes important when you see the hymns together and sing them as a parent who wants to know how their child died, if they suffered and cried out, or if they died without a mumbling word.

Were you there when they crucified my lord can be recast to mean, were you there when my baby died, where you there when they put my son to death, were you there when my daughter was murdered. Were you there is a parent’s cry to know, a brother or sister needing to know, a husband, a wife needing to know, he never said a mumbling word.

Back and forth the hymns go as a call and a response; each time the call is a cry for a witness and the response a gentle, loving reassurance, he never said a mumbling word. As we sing and listen to these with the hymns side by side, imagine it is your baby, your child, and you need to know. Such is the grace and mercy of these spirituals.

Some would suggest that the spirituals are the property and sole heritage of the Black churches and traditions. Some would say, what are white people doing singing these songs. In our hands they get a little gussied up, they don’t rock, and there is little chance of us shouting, at least during worship.

Yet the spirituals, if they are inspired, are a part of the church’s voice. The irony of the spirituals is that they only find their power to transform life as they become someone else’s voice. Like the Jewish concentration camp survivor or the people of Liberia with Kum bah ya, these hymns get around. And they are true not because they are of the Black tradition, they are true because they are grace and truth and love and hope for people.

All God’s chillun got song; you got a song I got song all God’s chillun’ got a song.

The twenty three spirituals we have in our hymnals are not there to be inclusive or diverse or culturally sensitive. They are there because in them God’s spirit dwells, in them Christ suffered and came along the suffering. The call to steal away is not only from slavery, but domestic violence or oppression or from falsity; the hope of heav’n may not be clear in our opulence and wealth, but today in Malawi and Mexico, the call to heav’n sounds a lot like these spirituals.

The spirituals may have taken freely from Scripture and adapted to their situation. Yet in the spirituals we see a people who lived and owned Scripture. It was God’s word to them, their hope, their faith, their dream. Is this what Scripture means to you? It can.

Remember: you got a song, I got a song; all God’s chillun’ got a song.