In another case, a woman asked that a tree be moved and it stepped over ten feet, and then she asked for the star and God told her He had given her one sign and if she couldn’t believe and trust Him for the balance He’d send her soul to torment.

  Another woman asked for a windstorm and it came. She asked for the star to move and it did. She asked for the sun to shout and God grew angry and rebuked her like the others.

  Still another woman fell under conviction in a cow lot and asked for a sign. “Now, Lord, if you done converted my soul, let dat cow low three times and I’ll believe. A cow said, ‘Mooo—oo, moo—oo—oo, moo—ooo—ooo’—and I knowed I had been converted and my soul set free.”

  Three is the holy number and the call to preach always comes three times. It is never answered until the third time. The man flees from the call, but is finally brought to accept it. God punishes him by every kind of misfortune until he finally acknowledges himself beaten and makes known the call. Some preachers say the spirit whipped them from their heads to their heels. They have been too sore to get out of bed because they refused the call. This never ceased until the surrender. Sometimes God sends others to tell them they are chosen. But in every case the ministers refuse to believe the words of even these.

  We see that in conversion the sinner is first made conscious of his guilt. This is followed by a period called “lyin’ under conviction” which lasts for three days. After which Jesus converts the supplicant, and the supplicant refuses to believe without proof, and only gives in under threat of eternal damnation. He flees from this to open acknowledgement of God and salvation. First from the outside comes the accusation of sin. Then from within the man comes the consciousness of guilt, and the sufferer seeks relief from Heaven. When it is granted, it is at first doubted, but later accepted. We have a mixture of external and internal struggles.

  The call to preach is altogether external. The vision seeks the man. Punishment follows if he does not heed the call, or until he answers.

  In conversion, then, we have the cultural pattern of the person seeking the vision and inducing it by isolation and fasting. In the call to preach we have the involuntary vision—the call seeking the man.

  COMING THROUGH RELIGION

  I went out to pray in my back yard. I had done prayed and prayed but didn’t know how to pray. I had done seen vision on top of vision, but still I wouldn’t believe. Then I said: “Lord, let my head be a footstool for you.” He says: “I plant my feet in the sea, follow after me. Your sins are forgiven and your soul set free. Go and tell the world what a kind savior you have found.” I broke out the privy and went running and the voice kept following: “I set your feet on the rock of eternal ages; and the wind may blow and the storm may rise, but nothing shall frighten you from the shore.”

  I carried them messages.

  “Jesus.” “I am Jesus.” “Father!” “I am the Father, and the Father is in me.” It just continued and He sent me to the unconverted. I had some more visions. In one of them I laid down and a white man come to me all dressed in white and he had me stretched out on de table and clipped my breath three times and the third time I rose and went to a church door and there was a weeping willow. There was a four-cornered garden and three more knelt with me in the four corners. And I had to pray, to send up a prayer.

  The next vision I had a white woman says: “I am going home with you.” I didn’t want her to go. My house was not in order. Somebody stopped her. When I got home, a tall white man was standing at my door with a palmetto hat. I noticed he was pale-like. He was looking down on my steps. They was washed with redding.2 He says: “I have cleaned your house. How do you like it?” I looked down on it and after he was gone I said: “I don’t like that. It looks too much like blood.” After I was converted it come to me about the blood and I knew it was Jesus, and my heart was struck with sorrow that to think I had been walking upon His precious blood all this time and I didn’t believe.

  (MRS. SUSANNA SPRINGER.)

  I was a lad of a boy when I found Jesus sweet to my ever-dying soul. They was runnin p’tracted meetin and all my friends was gettin religion and joinin de church; but I never paid it no mind. I was hard. But I don’t keer how hard you is, God kin reach you when He gits ready for you. One day, bout noon, it was de 9th day of June, 1886, when I was walkin in my sins, wallerin in my sins, dat He tetched me wid de tip of His finger and I fell right where I was and laid there for three long days and nights. I layed there racked in pain under sentence of death for my sins. And I walked over hell on a narrer foot log so I had to put one foot right in front de other, one foot right in front de other wid hell gapped wide open beneath my sin-loaded and slippery feet. And de hell hounds was barkin on my tracks and jus before dey rushed me into hell and judgement I cried: “Lawd, have mercy,” and I crossed over safe. But still I wouldn’t believe. Then I saw myself hangin over hell by one strand of hair and de flames of fire leapin up a thousand miles to swaller my soul and I cried: “Jesus, save my soul and I’ll believe, I’ll believe.” Then I found myself on solid ground and a tall white man beckoned for me to come to him and I went, wrapped in my guilt, and he ’nointed me wid de oil of salvation and healed all my wounds. Then I found myself layin on de ground under a scrub oak and I cried: “I believe, I believe.” Then Christ spoke peace to my soul and de dungeon shook and my chains fell off, and I went shoutin in His name and praising Him. I put on de whole armor of faith and I speck to stay in de fiel till I die.

  (DEACON ERNEST HUFFMAN.)

  First thing started me—it come to me dat I had to die. And worried me so I got talkin wid an old Christ man—about seventy years old. I wasn’t but twenty-one. And I started out from his instruction and I heered people say in my time dat de speerit would command you to de graveyard (to pray). And I ast de Lawd not to send me dere cause I wuz skeered uh de graveyard. But every answer I got commanded me to the graveyard.

  One cold night, March de twentieth, 1867, at night, de speerit command me to de graveyard and I didn’t go. And de Lawd sent Death after me and when I knowed anything I was on my way to de graveyard. And when I got dere I fell. I fell right between two graves and I saw Him when He laid me upon a table in my vision. I was naked and He split me open. And there was two men there—one on each side of de table. I could hear de knives clicking in me, inside. And after dey got through wid me, they smoothed they hand over de wound and I wuz healed. And when I found myself I wuz standin naked beside de table and there was three lights burnin on de table. De one in de middle wuz de brightest. I wuzn’t between de two graves no more. When I got up from between de two graves, I tracked my guide by de drops of blood. I could hear de blood dripping from Him before me. It said as it dropped: “Follow me.” And I looked at de three lights and dey tole me to reach forth wid my right hand and grasp de brightest one and I did. It wuz shining like de Venus star. And they tole me it wuz to be my guidin star. I found myself before I left de table wid five white balls in each hand. “Them is the ten tablets I give you.” And I put my hand to my breast and I put the balls inside me. Then He slapped something on my breast and said: “Now, you are breastplated and shielded.” He pointed: “Go to yonder white house. You will find there one who will welcome you.” And when I got to de steps I thowed my foot on de first step and de house rang and a lady come out and welcomed me in. And when I got inside, as far as mortal eye could behold, the robes was hanging level and touched my head as I passed under. Then I found myself robed in the color of gold. Then I commenced shouting. And when I commenced shouting I found myself leaving the graveyard. And He told me that was my robe for me bye and bye. In dat swamp where dat graveyard was there was catamounts and panters [sic] and wild beasts but not a one of ’em touched me and I laid there all night.3

  Now He tole me, He said: “You got the three witnesses. One is water, one is spirit, and one is blood. And these three correspond with the three in heben—Father, Son and Holy Ghost.”

  Now I ast Him about this lyin in sin and He give me a handful of seeds and He tole me to sow ’em in a bed and He tole me: “I want you to watch them seeds.” The seeds come up about in places and He said: “Those seeds that come up, they died in the heart of the earth and quickened and come up and brought forth fruit. But those seeds that didn’t come up, they died in the heart of the earth and rottened.4

  “And a soul that dies and quickens through my spirit they will live forever, but those that don’t never pray, they are lost forever.”

  (REV. JESSIE JEFFERSON.)

  Shouting

  There can be little doubt that shouting is a survival of the African “possession” by the gods. In Africa it is sacred to the priesthood or acolytes, in America it has become generalised. The implication is the same, however. It is a sign of special favor from the spirit that it chooses to drive out the individual consciousness temporarily and use the body for its expression.

  In every case the person claims ignorance of his actions during the possession.

  Broadly speaking, shouting is an emotional explosion, responsive to rhythm. It is called forth by (1) sung rhythm; (2) spoken rhythm; (3) humming rhythm; (4) the foot-patting or hand-clapping that imitates very closely the tom-tom.

  The more familiar the expression, the more likely to evoke response. For instance, “I am a soldier of the cross, a follower of the meek and lowly lamb. I want you all to know I am fighting under the blood-stained banner of King Jesus” is more likely to be amen-ed than any flourish a speaker might get off. Perhaps the reason for this is that the hearers can follow the flow of syllables without stirring the brain to grasp the sense. Perhaps it is the same urge that makes a child beg for the same story even though he knows it so well that he can correct his parents if a word is left out.

  Shouting is a community thing. It thrives in concert. It is the first shout that is difficult for the preacher to arouse. After that one they are likely to sweep like fire over the church. This is easily understood, for the rhythm is increasing with each shouter who communicates his fervor to someone else.

  It is absolutely individualistic. While there are general types of shouting, the shouter may mix the different styles to his liking, or he may express himself in some fashion never seen before.

  Women shout more frequently than men. This is not surprising since it is generally conceded that women are more emotional than men.

  The shouter always receives attention from the church. Members rush to the shouter and force him into a seat or support him as the case might be. Sometimes it is necessary to restrain him to prevent injury to either the shouter or the persons sitting nearest, or both. Sometimes the arms are swung with such violence that others are knocked down. Sometimes in the ecstasy the shouter climbs upon the pew and kicks violently away at all; sometimes in catalepsis he falls heavily upon the floor and might injure himself if not supported, or fall upon others and wound. Often the person injured takes offense, believing that the shouter was paying off a grudge. Unfortunately this is the case at times, but it is not usual.

  There are two main types of shouters: (1) Silent; (2) Vocal. There is a sort of intermediary type where one stage is silent and the other vocal.

  The silent type take with violent retching and twitching motions. Sometimes they remain seated, sometimes they jump up and down and fling the body about with great violence. Lips tightly pursed, eyes closed. The seizure ends by collapse.

  The vocal type is the more frequent. There are all gradations from quiet weeping while seated to the unrestrained screaming while leaping pews and running up and down the aisle. Some, unless restrained, run up into the pulpit and embrace the preacher. Some are taken with hysterical laughing spells.

  The cases will illustrate the variations.

  During sermon. Cried “well, well,” six times. Violent action for forty seconds. Collapsed and restored to her seat by members.

  During chant. Cried “Holy, holy! Great God A’mighty!” Arose and fell in cataleptic fit backwards over pew. Flinging of arms with clenched fists, gradually subsiding to quiet collapse. Total time: two minutes.

  During pre-prayer humming chant. Short screams. Violent throwing of arms. Incoherent speech. Total time: one minute thirty seconds.

  During sermon. One violent shout as she stood erect: two seconds. Voiceless gestures for twenty-nine seconds. She suddenly resumed her seat and her attention to the words of the preacher.

  During sermon. One single loud scream: one and one-half seconds.

  During singing. Violent jumping up and down without voice. Pocket book cast away. Time: one minute forty seconds.

  During prayer. Screaming: one second. Violent shoulder-shaking, hat discarded: nineteen seconds.

  During sermon. Cataleptic. Stiffly back over the pew. Violent but voiceless for twenty seconds. Then arms stiff and outstretched, palms open stark and up. Collapse. Time: three minutes.

  During sermon. Young girl. Running up and down the aisle: thirty seconds. Then silence and rush to the pulpit: fourteen seconds; prevented at the altar rail by deacon. Collapse in the deacon’s arms and returned to seat. Total time: one minute fifteen seconds.

  During chant after prayer. Violent screams: twelve seconds. Scrambles upon pew and steps upon the back of pew still screaming: five seconds. Voiceless struggle with set teeth as three men attempt to restore her to seat. She is lifted horizontal but continues to struggle: one minute forty-eight seconds. Decreasing violence, making ferocious faces: two minutes. Calm with heavy breathing: twenty-one seconds.

  During sermon. Man quietly weeping: nineteen seconds. Cried “Lawd! My soul is burning with hallow-ed fire!” Rises and turns round and round six times. Carried outside by the deacons.

  During sermon. Man jumping wildly up and down flat-footed crying “Hallelujah!”: twenty-two seconds. Pulled back into his seat. Muscular twitching: one minute thirty-five seconds. Quiet weeping: one minute. Perfect calm.

  Spirituals and Neo-Spirituals

  The real spirituals are not really just songs. They are unceasing variations around a theme.

  Contrary to popular belief their creation is not confined to the slavery period. Like the folk-tales, the spirituals are being made and forgotten every day. There is this difference: the makers of the songs of the present go about from town to town and church to church singing their songs. Some are printed and called ballads, and offered for sale after the services at ten and fifteen cents each. Others just go about singing them in competition with other religious minstrels. The lifting of the collection is the time for the song battles. Quite a bit of rivalry develops.

  These songs, even the printed ones, do not remain long in their original form. Every congregation that takes it up alters it considerably. For instance, The Dying Bed Maker, which is easily the most popular of the recent compositions, has been changed to He’s a Mind Regulator by a Baptist church in New Orleans.1

  The idea that the whole body of spirituals are “sorrow songs” is ridiculous. They cover a wide range of subjects from a peeve at gossipers to Death and Judgment.

  The nearest thing to a description one can reach is that they are Negro religious songs, sung by a group, and a group bent on expression of feelings and not on sound effects.

  There never has been a presentation of genuine Negro spirituals to any audience anywhere. What is being sung by the concert artists and glee clubs are the works of Negro composers or adaptors based on the spirituals. Under this head come the works of Harry T. Burleigh, Rosamond Johnson, Lawrence Brown, Nathaniel Dett, Hall Johnson and Work.2 All good work and beautiful, but not the spirituals. These neo-spirituals are the outgrowth of the glee clubs. Fisk University boasts perhaps the oldest and certainly the most famous of these. They have spread their interpretation over America and Europe. Hampton and Tuskegee have not been unheard. But with all the glee clubs and soloists, there has not been one genuine spiritual presented.

  To begin with, Negro spirituals are not solo or quartette material. The jagged harmony is what makes it, and it ceases to be what it was when this is absent. Neither can any group be trained to reproduce it. Its truth dies under training like flowers under hot water. The harmony of the true spiritual is not regular. The dissonances are important and not to be ironed out by the trained musician. The various parts break in at any old time. Falsetto often takes the place of regular voices for short periods. Keys change. Moreover, each singing of the piece is a new creation. The congregation is bound by no rules. No two times singing is alike, so that we must consider the rendition of a song not as a final thing, but as a mood. It won’t be the same thing next Sunday.

  Negro songs to be heard truly must be sung by a group, and a group bent on expression of feelings and not on sound effects.

  Glee clubs and concert singers put on their tuxedoes, bow prettily to the audience, get the pitch and burst into magnificent song—but not Negro song.3 The real Negro singer cares nothing about pitch. The first notes just burst out and the rest of the church join in—fired by the same inner urge. Every man trying to express himself through song. Every man for himself. Hence the harmony and disharmony, the shifting keys and broken time that make up the spiritual.