Lift Every Voice

Today is Juneteenth, a national holiday commemorating the end of slavery in America by recalling a specific event on June 19, 1865, when Union troops arrived in Galveston, Texas, to tell the slaves that they were free. During worship on Sunday, as a nod to that event, our auditioned choral ensemble stood to perform “Lift Every Voice and Sing,” often referred to as the African-American National Anthem.

I love that song.

I learned it when my children were students in DC Public Schools, particularly Alice Deal Junior High, where Ms. Carson, the choral director, thought that every month was Black History Month and wasn’t afraid to mix a little gospel music with the other songs performed at school concerts. I learned that the lyrics were written by James Weldon Johnson in 1900 and set to music by his brother John Rosamund Johnson. The NAACP website explains: “At the turn of the 20th century, Johnson’s lyrics eloquently captured the solemn yet hopeful appeal for the liberty of Black Americans.”

Lift every voice and sing,
‘Til earth and heaven ring,
Ring with the harmonies of Liberty;
Let our rejoicing rise
High as the listening skies,
Let it resound loud as the rolling sea.
Sing a song full of the faith that the dark past has taught us,
Sing a song full of the hope that the present has brought us;
Facing the rising sun of our new day begun,
Let us march on ’til victory is won.

As our ensemble sang those words on Sunday I noticed that Sandra Harris was standing in the congregation. Sandra is one of our African-American members and a dear friend. She and her mother used to come to church together until her mother died a few years ago, and then Sandra came alone. She’s a retired math teacher with a wonderful sense of humor and a tendency to spoil me with little gifts on all the Hallmark Holidays. Father’s Day, for example, when she gave me the latest John Grisham novel and a Starbucks gift card, as if she really did want me to get a cup of coffee, settle into a comfortable chair, and read an entire novel just for the fun of it.

That’s a good friend.

So, when I saw her standing on Sunday my first impulse was to stand with her, but I hesitated because I knew what was coming next:

Stony the road we trod,
Bitter the chastening rod,
Felt in the days when hope unborn had died;
Yet with a steady beat,
Have not our weary feet
Come to the place For which our fathers sighed.
We have come, over a way that with tears has been watered,
We have come, treading our path through the blood of the slaughtered,
Out from the gloomy past,
‘Til now we stand at last
Where the white gleam of our bright star is cast.

I texted Sandra later and said, “I’m glad you stood for the African-American National Anthem today. Tell me: is it appropriate for everyone to stand when it is sung or played, or only African-Americans? I love that song, but I always feel a little funny singing about my weary feet having come to the place for which my fathers sighed. That is not my history as a white person, and I don’t want to pretend that it is, but I do love that song and I love singing it at the top of my lungs.”

I didn’t hear back from Sandra right away. I was afraid she was angry, and letting me stew in my white guilt for a while as a way of punishing me. While I was waiting I asked ChatGPT, the Artificial Intelligence app on my phone, if it’s appropriate for white people to stand during the singing of the African-American National Anthem. It came back with a very nuanced answer that concluded with this paragraph:

In summary, while there isn’t a definitive yes or no answer, standing during “Lift Every Voice and Sing” can be appropriate if done with genuine respect and understanding of its significance to the African-American community. It’s essential to approach such gestures with sensitivity and awareness of the cultural context and feelings of others involved.

So, even before I heard back from Sandra I made up my mind that the next time we sing that song in worship we will introduce it as the African-American National Anthem and invite the entire congregation to stand as a gesture of respect and solidarity. I sent her an email to that effect, apologizing for any previous offense and asking if she had received my text message, and that’s when she wrote back and explained that she didn’t get my text because I had, apparently, sent it to her landline.

I tell you the truth: it’s hard to get things right these days, whether it’s standing for “Lift Every Voice” or texting to an actual cell phone number. I’m grateful for patient friends like Sandra who have learned how to forgive old, well-intentioned white men like me. She must cluck her tongue from time to time, shake her head and say, “Help him, Jesus!”

Yes, please.

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Photo at top: Emancipation Day celebration, June 19, 1900 held in “East Woods” on East 24th Street in Austin. Credit: Austin History Center.