Joy Unspeakable
Greetings lovely one,
There’s an old gospel song about a family facing an emergency while traveling who desperately need medical help. They knock on the door of a nearby home, and another family welcomes them inside so they can call a doctor. When their attempts to reach the doctor fail, the grandmother of the injured family asks if they have a closet. She explains that she wants to enter the closet space to call her Doctor. The song starts as her prayer to God.
Now, depending on your faith background and perhaps your generation, you may recognize the song and the reference to a household “prayer closet.” This concept is rooted in a passage from Matthew 6:6: “But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.” The song is repetitive in its petition for Divine interference, “Come on in the room,” Grandmom prays.
When she finally emerges from the closet, everyone is praising God, moved by her unwavering faith. As they pray and worship together, a doctor miraculously arrives. The song culminates in the joyful refrain that there is “joy in the room, joy, unspeakable joy.” This kind of joy can be found even amidst being strangers in someone else’s house, angst, uncertainty, and sorrow, filled with tears and feelings of helplessness…joy.
“Sometimes at the mourner’s benches, the prayer shut-ins, or the humming of baptismal or communion music, the community ascended together…” -Dr. Barbara Holmes
I enjoy listening to older gospel songs because something within resonates with the rhythm of past generations. I can feel our pulse, our heartbeat. I can envision the people who sang these songs and consider what their eyes have witnessed throughout their lives. I reflect on their will to survive, their determination to laugh, and their efforts to maintain faith when prayers seem to go up plentiful, but responses don’t seem to come down. I think about the music as a form of resistance, the dance of persistence, and the deep sense of belonging to family, culture, and community. I also contemplate their dignity and unity.
“Then, in the midst of the dance, the song, or the spoken word, the community entered into joy unspeakable…” -Dr. Barbara Holmes
There was no social media in those days, no cell phones, heck, I’ve heard elders share how they had maybe like three solid channels on TV. But they knew how to come together and have good times (ain’t we happy we got them). They knew how to lament communally, how to offer spiritual friendship without speaking words, they knew where they came from, and envisioned a different way of being for where they could go.
“When I think about what it takes to continue a principled, visionary practice…to say that the world can be different, and to decide that your days are gonna be filled with the practice of that difference…that’s not simply pragmatic, that’s not something that can happen without a deep faith.” - Dr. Alexis Pauline Gumbs
This month, as we've been reading about Sr. Thea Bowman for our devotional, themed "We Are Beloved," I've noticed that many of her writings emphasize song, joy, and spreading the good news. I imagine that when she stood up to teach and sing in Black faith communities, they responded with harmonious humming. I don’t think it a coincidence that F/friend and amazing artist Lynda Grace called us to gather together as a community to hum.
As we reflected on what our communal humming, moaning, and groaning stirred in us. I was again transported to remember my most recent ancestor, my grandmother, “Inky.”
I remember that no matter what was happening in her life, she and I would take some time to walk to the local bodega for some goodies. Sometimes, we would talk, but often, I would skip alongside her, trying to keep up with her stride down the concrete streets that were once filled with children my age and elders who watched us play freeze tag and hide and seek. Now, those streets are lined with boarded-up houses inhabited by the invisible and ignored. Back then, we would hum and scat together while we walked, greeting neighbors by name. I didn’t realize that the music we made together was her way of teaching me history and heritage and that she was leaving a legacy, but more practically, she left me a tool for joy and resiliency.
Here’s another song passed down through the generations… “This joy that I have, the world didn’t give it to me, this joy that I have, the world didn’t give it to me, oh, this joy that I have, the world didn’t give it to me, the world didn’t give it, the world can’t take it away.”
History reminds us where we come from so we can know where we’re going.
Peace, Love, and Wellness,
Lynette
(More formally, Sister Lynette Davis, SFCC, but feel free to call me Lyn)
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Tales from the blog keepers
Black Americans' contributions to the field of mental health have been long overlooked. Check out these trailblazers!
In this introduction to the February issue of the journal, you’ll find a link to tips for staying spiritually grounded in times of turmoil.
Muse of the month
Blerd’s the word
Some of you may be wondering why I didn’t post 28 days (or however many days February has that year) of Black Cosplay. Well, besides lots of folks leaving certain social media platforms, I also decided to post sparingly and stick to specific topics on my public feed. I will share one with you all, though…one of my favorite cosplayers, Knightmage, with the legendary Taimak “Bruce Leroy” from cult classic The Last Dragon. I was fangirl squealing so hard, and I wasn’t even there.
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