  Whatever else may be said about The Green Pastures by Marc Connelly, it obviously represents the naive and simple faith of thousands of untutored black Christians in the South. They accept the wonders of the Old Testament with crude literalness and they unhesitatingly believe that these marvels can be reproduced in their own lives. One of the chief values of this play is the discerning use made of the unique spirituals which are a distinctive contribution of America to music. No one who has ever heard them sung can forget the impression of pathos at times rising to the heights of astonishing power. Without any regard for rhyme, rhythm or meter, these dialect songs express the long suppressed longings for freedom and happiness. The Negro furthermore firmly believes that these benefits are to be realized by means of religion alone. However sensuous may be some of the figures of speech, the emphasis is always on the supremacy of spiritual values. There are other features in Negro singing especially Dr. Willis J. King, president of Samuel Houston College, Austin, Texas, in a recent article in The Christian Advocate, pointed out The Value of Negro Spirituals“The peculiarity of both the melody and the dialect of the spirituals tends to make them difficult for people other than American Negroes to render. But these difficulties are being overcome. With increasing frequency they are being rendered by white American choirs and congregations. Some of them, like ‘Lord, I Want to be a Christian’ and ‘Were You There When They Crucified My The ability to sing the spirituals depends upon Finding the Soul of the SongDr. Bruce S. Wright tells of a well-known American-Italian tenor who said that he never sang a selection until he found out the soul of the number. For that reason he refrained from singing Negro spirituals until he had spent considerable time in the South living among the Negroes, listening to them sing. So today he sings “Steal Away” as he heard it sung at a Negro revival; and he sings “Goin’ Home” as he heard it sung at the dying bed of an aged Negro in a Negro’s cabin. Here is a vivid description by Annemarie Ewing in The Christian Herald: How the Negroes Sing“In the huge stadium, dropped like a bowl beneath the starlit sky, thousands of people sit waiting to hear the Hall Johnson Choir. Overhead the sky is indigo, dotted with twinkling stars, glorious with the cool silver of a full moon. A tender, capricious wind breathes softly over the semicircle of the waiting crowd. “Now they come—a handful of Negroes, perhaps a dozen men and a half dozen women. So small a group looks lost on the big platform. At a signal from their leader they begin. ‘Wade in de water, chillun, God’s a’goin’ to trouble de water...’ “Challenging as the voice of a delivered soul, the strong, clear bass gives out the words; others join in—a soprano acquiescence, a contralto surge of content, the ecstatic agreement of the tenor. Joy throbs through the singers’ throats, their cup of joy runneth over! ‘See dat band all dressed in white, De leader looks like the Israelite...’ “How the leader draws them out—to send their message surging across the summer night into the hearts of thousands! ‘Wade in de water, God’s a-goin’ to trouble de water...’ “The last note swells and is still. “In a moment they begin again. This time it is a joyous refrain, pulsing with the firmness of blessed assurance—assurance that warms the heart and moistens the eyes. ‘My God is so high you can’t get above Him, My God is so low you can’t get below Him, My God is so wide you can’t get around Him, You must come in through de door...’ “Your soul thrills to the swinging certainty. Yes, He is so high, you can’t get above Him, so low you can’t get below Him; so wide you can’t get around Him! There is no way in but through the Gate! “The music dies away, far above the stars gleam—detached, assured, eternal. From your eyes, quite unashamed, you brush away the tears. “Thus do they worship our Lord!” It was a memorable day in one man’s life when Black Uncle’s Song Made a MinisterA well-known white minister in the Middle When the last verse was sung the youthful actor went up to the singer and pulling out a big bill said: “Uncle, you’re an old man, and it’s late for you to be out like this. If you have no home, this will help you a bit. Take it and go and be comfortable for a few days, anyway.” The Negro took off his hat and said, “Dat’s pow’ful kind uv you, boss. Ah’s ol’, an’ Ah ain’t got no home, an’ ef hit’s jes’ de same to you Ah’ll take jes’ a bit uv dat money—’case somehow or udder de good Lawd he sen’s me a bit ev’y day. But Ah don’t need any mo’, ’case he allus loks arter me, ev’y day. An’ hit don’t matter, boss, ef an ol’ man’s ol’, an’ ain’t got no home, jes’ so’s he kin sing dat ’ere song uv mine. Ah’d like to sing hit again to He then sang it again softly. The actor heard him through and then shaking hands with the Negro, to his surprise, said, “Good night, uncle. You’ve done a good night’s work with that song—better than ever I’ve done with my life. Because you’ve started me doing something—for I’m going to learn to sing that song, too!” That was the beginning of an experience which resulted in a gifted man becoming a minister of Christ. The characteristic gratitude of the dark race was illustrated when A Negro Family Sang at John Brown’s Funeral“John Brown’s Body Rests Amid the Mountains,” wrote Mary Lee in The New York Times, October, 1929, as she vividly told the story of the life of this dramatic figure in a fascinating manner. At that time, she affirmed, there was still living at North Elba one man who could remember John Brown. His name was Lyman Epps, “the son of “Blow ye the trumpet, blow! The gladly solemn sound Let all the nations know, To earth’s remotest bound, The year of jubilee is come! Return, ye ransomed sinners, home.” |
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