SINGING GOSPEL SONGS

Recently I attended a performance by Harold Allen, who during the course of the evening told stories and sang songs demonstrating each stage of his musical education—from art songs to arias to numbers from musical theater. He then said that when he began composing and singing his own pieces, he found himself using the genre of country music. Allen did not explain what brought about this transition in his musical focus, but I would have been interested in hearing what he had to say, for I find myself in a somewhat similar situation. (Though I am not a performer; I sing only for my own personal enjoyment.) Now that I have begun singing again—more than sixty years since I last took voice lessons—I find myself mysteriously, but inexorably, drawn to gospel music. I wonder why this is so.

Gospel music is definitively Christian, but I am not a follower of that faith, even though I was brought up in a Southern Baptist family and regularly attended a small rural church in North Carolina. When I was in high school and was studying voice, I frequently sang in that church—sometimes as soloist, but often as a member of a trio formed with two other young girls. So I was steeped in the sounds and harmonies of gospel music from an early age. When I went away to college I left that life and that church behind. I married a non-religious Jewish man, and felt a strong affinity for the values articulated by my husband and his family. I also am interested in Buddhism and its precepts. However, I think of myself as an agnostic, forever questioning, always exploring, but never fully persuaded by the answers offered to ultimate religious queries.

I left high school a year early and attended a junior college where I continued my vocal studies. Most voice majors gave a recital at the end of their second year at the school, but since I would not be staying for that year, my teacher encouraged me to do a recital at the end of my one year at the school. I have lost all copies of the printed program for that recital, but it included several art songs, some in English, others in German, and at least one aria, “Connais-tu le pays” from Mignon by Ambroise Thomas. (I recently read that that song was at one time “done to death” here in the U.S, both by concert singers and amateurs, which perhaps explains why it was on my program.)

Later, long after I abandoned my musical studies and had started a family, I delighted in singing with my young daughters—wonderful, playful songs: Looby Lou, Little Red Wagon, Mulberry Bush, and many others. We sang wherever and whenever we happened to be—especially in the car on long trips. I borrowed records of Pete Seeger from the library and we sang along with him. Once the girls started school we purchased a piano and continued to sing folk songs, for they were growing up during the sixties—the era not only of the Beatles, but also of Theodore Bikel and the Weavers.

Once the children left home I mostly stopped singing. I turned my energies and interests in other directions; first teaching at a school for the deaf, then becoming a photographer and later at age sixty-nine going back to school for a Ph.D. These were deeply satisfying creative and intellectual endeavors, but recently I have begun singing again, and though I still love the old folk songs, it is gospel music that has captured my heart. This is true even though a part of me resists the beliefs and sentiments expressed by many of the lyrics. How can I, given my skeptic’s stance, find emotional resonance with such profoundly professed love of Jesus? How can I not only tolerate, but actually connect with, the worshipful attitude that is an essential aspect of these tunes? How can I reconcile my fundamental agnosticism with my great pleasure in singing these fundamentally Christian songs? Why am I so drawn to them? They are, most obviously, simple melodies often based on old folk tunes, with a chorus repeated after each verse, and with a limited vocal range, all of which make them easy to remember and easy to sing. They are accessible to anyone who has a musical ear; no training is necessary. Still, I could have decided to return to my study of art songs, or other classical pieces, instead of to these hymns and spirituals. To help find an answer to these questions, I began a careful examination of the lyrics to see what they might reveal.

The first thing I noticed is that many of the songs are about love. Take, for example, the chorus of In the Garden: “And He walks with me, and He talks with me, And He tells me I am His own; And the joy we share as we tarry there, None other has ever known.” Those words could be about any loving couple meeting for a tryst, even though the verse tells us “I come to the garden alone, While the dew is still on the roses…” I find this imagery quite beautiful and decidedly romantic.

Here is another example: What Wondrous Love Is This, the beginning words of which are “What wondrous love is this, O my soul, O my soul! What wondrous love is this, O my soul!” And this from O, How I love Jesus: “There is a name I love to hear, I love to sing its worth; It sounds like music in my ear, The sweetest name on earth. O, how I love Jesus, O, how I love Jesus, O, how I love Jesus—Because he first loved me.” I could imagine singing that to a lover, substituting his name for that of Jesus. Passionately proclaimed love is something I can certainly relate to.

There is another theme frequently found in gospel music—that of sin and suffering. I am not sure what constitutes sin (in my youth it was, among other things, cursing or drinking alcohol), but I do know what it is to make mistakes and to do harm, and I also know something about sorrow and suffering, so some of these lyrics strike a chord within me. Take this one: Come, Ye Sinners, Poor and Needy, which begins with the words “Come, ye sinners, poor and needy, Weak and wounded, sick and sore; Jesus ready stands to save you, Full of pity, love, and pow’r.” And we all know the beloved lyrics, “Amazing Grace! How sweet the sound, That saved a wretch like me! I once was lost, but now am found, Was blind, but now I see.”

Then there are the songs of hope, most notably Whispering Hope, which does not mention Jesus or God in its first stanza or in the chorus, but does offer solace and optimism: “Soft as the voice of an angel, Breathing a lesson unheard, Hope with a gentle persuasion Whispers her comforting word: Wait till the darkness is over, Wait till the tempest is done, Hope for the sunshine tomorrow, After the shower is gone. Whispering hope, Oh how welcome thy voice. Making my heart in its sorrow rejoice.” Who among us cannot relate to such soothing and reassuring words?

Here are some other lyrics that are inspiring and uplifting in their affirmation of life: “Sing them over again to me, Wonderful words of Life; Let me more of their beauty see, Wonderful words of Life. Words of life and beauty, Teach me faith and duty: Beautiful words, wonderful words, Wonderful words of Life. Beautiful words, wonderful words, Wonderful words of Life.” Then this reminder to be thankful from the chorus of Count Your Blessings: “Count your blessings, name them one by one; Count your blessings, see what God hath done. Count your blessings, name them one by one; Count your blessings, see what God hath done.”

There are other themes as well, such as redemption (Saved! Saved!), the importance of prayer (Sweet Hour of Prayer), praise (Glory to His Name), the significance of the cross (Near the Cross) plus the fascinating and frequent use of water metaphors: There Is a Fountain; Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing; Are You Washed in the Blood? and Shall We Gather at the River. (I am tempted to write an entire essay on the mythical and religious significance of water.)

There must be a reason beyond their literal messages and musical simplicity that makes these songs so captivating for someone like me. Perhaps it is that in calling on Jesus, I am, in a sense, addressing the higher self that resides within my own psyche. The Jesus who receives, welcomes, embraces, redeems, shelters, cleanses, blesses, and also forgives our gravest transgressions might represent that part of us which embodies our highest aspirations and yearnings, that aspect which characterizes the best of who we are or wish to be. As I sing these tunes with sincere and soulful fervor, perhaps I am expressing a desire to find, recognize, and honor those qualities of love and acceptance and forgiveness that I strive to develop within myself. If so, I can understand why these simple songs give me such great pleasure.

C. G. Jung, in Memories, Dreams, Reflections, describes the self as being “the principle and archetype of orientation and meaning,” and goes on to say that “Therein lies its healing function.” He illustrates the self as both the center point and the outer circle which contains all aspects of the personality. According to Jung, we are driven by this central core of our being to become who we truly are. In other places I have written about the trauma of my baptism at age nine, how fraudulent and disillusioned I felt as a result of that experience. It occurs to me that in returning to the music I encountered in my formative years, I am bringing back into the circle of my life some psychological meaning that I had discarded or ignored. Perhaps in opening my heart to these old melodies, I am healing some of the wounds from my childhood. And that is a good thing.

Note: With the exception of In the Garden, which is from The Broadman Hymnal, all songs mentioned are from Smoky Mountain Sunday: 40 Favorite Hymns and Gospel Songs, Nashville, TN: Shawnee Press, Inc. 2008.