Historical portraits of "slave religion"

[Joseph Gill]

OF THE FAITH OF THE FATHERS

                         Dim face of Beauty haunting all the world,
                         Fair face of Beauty all too fair to see,
                         Where the lost stars a down the heavens are hurled,--
                         There, there alone for thee
                         May white peace be.

                         .      .      .      .      .      .      .      .

                         Beauty, sad face of Beauty, Mystery, Wonder,
                         What are these dreams to foolish babbling men
                         Who cry with little noises 'neath the thunder
                         Of Ages ground to sand,
                         To a little sand.

FIONA MACLEOD.

        

        IT was out in the country, far from home, far from my foster home, on a dark Sunday night. The road wandered from our rambling log-house up the stony bed of a creek, past wheat and corn, until we
could hear dimly across the fields a rhythmic cadence of song,--soft,
thrilling, powerful, that swelled and died sorrowfully in our ears. I
was a country school-teacher then, fresh from the East, and had never
seen a Southern Negro revival. To be sure, we in Berkshire were not
perhaps as stiff and formal as they in Suffolk, of olden time; yet we were very quiet and subdued, and I know not what would have
happened those clear Sabbath mornings had some one punctuated the
sermon with a wild scream, or interrupted the long prayer with a loud
Amen! And so most striking to me, as I approached the village and the
little plain church perched aloft, was the air of intense excitement
that possessed that mass of black folk. A sort of suppressed terror
hung in the air and seemed to seize us,--a pythian madness, a demoniac
possession, that lent terrible reality to song and word. The black and
massive form of the preacher swayed and quivered as the words crowded
to his lips and flew at us in singular eloquence. The people moaned and
fluttered, and then the gaunt-cheeked brown woman beside me suddenly
leaped straight into the air and shrieked like a lost soul, while round
about came wail and groan and outcry, and a scene of human passion such
as I had never conceived before.

        Those who have not thus witnessed the frenzy of a Negro revival in the untouched backwoods of the South can but dimly realize the religious feeling of the slave; as described, such scenes appear
grotesque and funny, but as seen they are awful. Three things
characterized this religion of the slave,--the Preacher, the Music, and
the Frenzy. The Preacher is the most unique personality developed by
the Negro on American soil. A leader, a politician, an orator, a
"boss," an intriguer, an idealist,--all these he is, and ever, too, the
centre of a group of men, now twenty, now a thousand in number. The
combination of a certain adroitness with deep-seated earnestness, of tact with consummate ability, gave him his preëminence, and
helps him maintain it. The type, of course, varies according to time
and place, from the West Indies in the sixteenth century to New England
in the nineteenth, and from the Mississippi bottoms to cities like New
Orleans or New York.

        The Music of Negro religion is that plaintive rhythmic melody, with its touching minor cadences, which, despite caricature and defilement, still remains the most original and beautiful expression of
human life and longing yet born on American soil. Sprung from the
African forests, where its counterpart can still be heard, it was
adapted, changed, and intensified by the tragic soul-life of the slave,
until, under the stress of law and whip, it became the one true
expression of a people's sorrow, despair, and hope.

        Finally the Frenzy or "Shouting," when the Spirit of the Lord passed by, and, seizing the devotee, made him mad with supernatural joy, was the last essential of Negro religion and the one
more devoutly believed in than all the rest. It varied in expression
from the silent rapt countenance or the low murmur and moan to the mad
abandon of physical fervor,--the stamping, shrieking, and shouting, the
rushing to and fro and wild waving of arms, the weeping and laughing,
the vision and the trance. All this is nothing new in the world, but
old as religion, as Delphi and Endor. And so firm a hold did it have on
the Negro, that many generations firmly believed that without this
visible manifestation of the God there could be no true communion with
the Invisible.

        These were the characteristics of Negro religious life as developed up to the time of Emancipation. Since under the peculiar
circumstances of the black man's environment they were the one
expression of his higher life, they are of deep interest to the student
of his development, both socially and psychologically. Numerous are the
attractive lines of inquiry that here group themselves. What did
slavery mean to the African savage? What was his attitude toward the
World and Life? What seemed to him good and evil,--God and Devil?
Whither went his longings and strivings, and wherefore were his
heart-burnings and disappointments? Answers to such questions can come
only from a study of Negro religion as a development, through its
gradual changes from the heathenism of the Gold Coast to the
institutional Negro church of Chicago.
W.E.B. Du Bois, The Souls of Black Folk

[Joseph Gill]

The Church During Slavery

For our purposes, the account begins in the decades after the American Revolution, as Northern states gradually began to abolish slavery. As a result, sharper differences emerged between the experiences of enslaved peoples in the South and those Northerners who were now relatively free. By 1810 the slave trade to the United States had come to an end and the slave population began to increase naturally, giving rise to an increasingly large native-born population of African Americans. With fewer migrants who had experienced Africa personally, these transformations allowed the myriad cultures and language groups of enslaved Africans to blend together, making way for the preservation and transmission of religious practices that were increasingly "African-American."

This transition coincided with the period of intense religious revivalism known as "awakenings." In the Southern states beginning in the 1770s, increasing numbers of slaves converted to evangelical religions such as the Methodist and Baptist faiths. Many clergy within these denominations actively promoted the idea that all Christians were equal in the sight of God, a message that provided hope and sustenance to the slaves. They also encouraged worship in ways that many Africans found to be similar, or at least adaptable, to African worship patterns, with enthusiastic singing, clapping, dancing, and even spirit-possession. Still, many white owners and clergy preached a message of strict obedience, and insisted on slave attendance at white-controlled churches, since they were fearful that if slaves were allowed to worship independently they would ultimately plot rebellion against their owners. It is clear that many blacks saw these white churches, in which ministers promoted obedience to one's master as the highest religious ideal, as a mockery of the "true" Christian message of equality and liberation as they knew it.

In the slave quarters, however, African Americans organized their own "invisible institution." Through signals, passwords, and messages not discernible to whites, they called believers to "hush harbors" where they freely mixed African rhythms, singing, and beliefs with evangelical Christianity. We have little remaining written record of these religious gatherings. But it was here that the spirituals, with their double meanings of religious salvation and freedom from slavery, developed and flourished; and here, too, that black preachers, those who believed that God had called them to speak his Word, polished their "chanted sermons," or rhythmic, intoned style of extemporaneous preaching. Part church, part psychological refuge, and part organizing point for occasional acts of outright rebellion (Nat Turner, whose armed insurrection in Virginia in 1831 resulted in the deaths of scores of white men, women, and children, was a self-styled Baptist preacher), these meetings provided one of the few ways for enslaved African Americans to express and enact their hopes for a better future.

Laurie F. Maffly-Kipp, An Introduction to the Church in the Southern Black Community

[Joseph Gill]

After settling the question with his bacon and cabbage, the next dearest thing to a colored man, in the South, is his religion. I call it a "thing," because they always speak of getting religion as if they were going to market for it.

"You better go an' get religion, dat's what you better do, fer de devil will be arter you one of dees days, and den whar will yer be?" said an elderly Sister, who was on her way to the "Revival," at St. Paul's, in Nashville, last winter. The man to whom she addressed these words of advice stopped, raised his hat, and replied:

"Anty, I ain't quite ready to-night, but I em gwine to get it before the meetins close, kase when that getting-up day comes, I want to have the witness; that I do."

"Yes, yer better, fer ef yer don't dar'll be a mighty stir 'mong de brimstone down dar, dat dey will, fer yer's bin bad nuff; I knows yer fum A to izzard," returned the old lady.

The church was already well filled, and the minister had taken his text. As the speaker warmed up in his subject, the Sisters began to swing their heads and reel to and fro, and eventually began a shout. Soon, five or six were fairly at it, which threw the house into a buzz. Seats were soon vacated near the shouters, to give them more room, because the women did not wish to have their hats smashed in by the frenzied Sisters. As a woman sprung up in her sent, throwing up her long arms, with a loud scream, the lady on the adjoining seat quickly left, and did not stop till she got to a safe distance.

"Ah, ha!" exclaimed a woman near by, "'fraid of your new bonnet! Ain't got much religion, I reckon. Specks you'll have to come out of that if you want to save your soul."

"She thinks more of that hat now, than she does of a seat in heaven," said another.

"Never mind," said a third, "when she gets de witness, she'll drap dat hat an' shout herself out of breath."

The shouting now became general; a dozen or more entering into it most heartily. These demonstrations increased or abated, according to movements of the leaders, who were in and about the pulpit; for the minister had closed his discourse, and first one, and then another would engage in prayer. The meeting was kept up till a late hour, during which, four or five sisters becoming exhausted, had fallen upon the floor and lay there, or had been removed by their friends.

St. Paul is a fine structure, with its spire bathed in the clouds, and standing on the rising land in South Cherry Street, it is a building that the citizens may well be proud of.

In the evening I went to the First Baptist Church, in Spruce Street. This house is equal in size and finish to St. Paul. A large assembly was in attendance, and a young man from Cincinnati was introduced by the pastor as the preacher for the time being. He evidently felt that to set a congregation to shouting, was the highest point to be attained, and he was equal to the occasion. Failing to raise a good shout by a reasonable amount of exertion, he took from his pocket a letter, opened it, held it up and began, "When you reach the other world you'll be hunting for your mother, and the angel will read from this paper. Yes, the angel will read from this paper."

For fully ten minutes the preacher walked the pulpit, repeating in a loud, incoherent manner, "And the angel will read from this letter." This created the wildest excitement, and not less than ten or fifteen were shouting in different parts of the house, while four or five were going from seat to seat shaking hands with the occupants of the pews. "Let dat angel come right down now an' read dat letter," shouted a Sister, at the top of her voice. This was the signal for loud exclamations from various parts of the house. "Yes, yes, I want's to hear the letter." "Come, Jesus, come, or send an angel to read the letter." "Lord, send us the power." And other remarks filled the house. The pastor highly complimented the effort, as one of "great power," which the audience most cordially endorsed. At the close of the service the strange minister had hearty shakes of the hand from a large number of leading men and women of the church. And this was one of the most refined congregations in Nashville.

William Wells Brown, My Southern Home: or, The South and Its People

[Joseph Gill]

And the Spirit seemed to say to me very distinctly, "Read." And I opened my Bible, and my eyes lighted on these words: "Perfect love casteth out fear. He that feareth has not been made perfect in love." Then I said: "Lord, if I am not, I will be now." Then I saw what was the matter. Fear! And I said: "Oh! Lord, take all the man-fearing spirit out of me. I thank Thee for what Thou hast done for me, but deliver me from fear. Take all the woman-fearing spirit out of me, and give me complete victory over this fear." And, thank the Lord, He did it. There was no especial manifestation, but there was a deep consciousness in my heart that what I had asked the Lord to do, He had done, and I praised Him. Then He came to me: "Will you go uptown to Union Church on Sunday and testify definitely?" "Yes, Lord, if Thou wilt help me, and give me Thy strength, and go with me, I will go." So there was a calm and peace in my heart. Union Church, uptown, was a colored church. There was not a member in it that believed in the doctrine of holiness; and from that church there had been great criticism in regard to my professing such a blessing. Sunday morning came. The Love Feast was at 6 o'clock A. M. I had been but once before. I got ready and went. My heart trembled, and my knees trembled. But I went on, and I said, "Now, Lord, help me, and I will go." I got in and sat down. The church was well filled. A number of strange ministers sat in the altar. Every eye was turned on me. After the meeting opened the testimony began. The ministers urged everybody to be short, and in many of the testimonies there were remarks and insinuations thrown out to me. I sat still and prayed. Oh! how I did pray. Then they began to get very noisy. They shouted and praised. I said to the Lord; "Now, Lord, I will speak for Thee if Thou wilt make these people be quiet. Lord, make them be quiet. I can't talk when there is a great noise, and Thou hast sent me here to speak for Thee, and I want the people to hear. Lord, make them be still." Sometimes there would be three or four on the floor speaking at the same time. The ministers would urge them on, and say: "The Lord can hear you all. Don't wait on one another." But I prayed, "Lord, still them, still them." Then there came a pause. Then I got on my feet. Then they began to shout again, and they drowned me out. So I stood still, and prayed, "Lord, still the people." And He did. They calmed down so that when I began, there was not another one spoke. I began and quoted several passages of Scripture bearing on holiness definitely, and on God's promise of this grace to those who sought it, and how it was obtained by faith. And they listened. The ministers touched one another. I went on talking, and by and by I came to a point when it seemed a finger touched my tongue, and the power of God came upon me in such a wonderful manner that I talked, it seemed to me, about ten minutes. The people looked as though they were alarmed. The ministers who sat in the altar, and who had looked so critical when I came in, began to shout "Amen! Lord Almighty, bless that sister!" And then the fire seemed to fall on all the people. When I had finished, I. sat down, feeling that I had delivered the message according to the will of the Lord. To His name be all the glory for the strength He gave me that day. Amen. Amen.

Amanda Smith, An Autobiography (Electronic Edition).