Wednesday's Woe - Go Down, Death

Wednesday's Woe Go Down, Death Last night, Tommy and I went to our older son Rollin's play, "Lift Every Voice and Sing" in honor of Black History Month. It was a wonderful celebration of the creative contributions to our culture of "The Harlem Renaissance" artisans. Many gifted Black artists were celebrated within the play including Thomas A. Dorsey who brought Gospel blues into our rich spiritual experience (See this week's Monday's Mourning Ministry for his beautiful and poignant, "Precious Lord, Take My Hand.), and James Weldon Johnson who wrote the amazingly moving poem below, "Go Down, Death" that was recited beautifully. The play was delightful, moving me both to tears and to laughter. I wish you could have heard along with me the poem belted out in the deeply resonating bass voice of the operatic-trained singer Carlton "Starr" Releford last night. But, at the very least, I wanted you to be able to read the moving poem...
Go Down, Death by James Weldon Johnson
(A Funeral Sermon) Weep not, weep not, She is not dead; She's resting in the bosom of Jesus. Heart-broken husband--weep no more; Grief-stricken son--weep no more; Left-lonesome daughter --weep no more; She only just gone home. Day before yesterday morning, God was looking down from his great, high heaven, Looking down on all his children, And his eye fell on Sister Caroline, Tossing on her bed of pain. And God's big heart was touched with pity, With the everlasting pity. And God sat back on his throne, And he commanded that tall, bright angel standing at his right hand: Call me Death! And that tall, bright angel cried in a voice That broke like a clap of thunder: Call Death!--Call Death! And the echo sounded down the streets of heaven Till it reached away back to that shadowy place, Where Death waits with his pale, white horses. And Death heard the summons, And he leaped on his fastest horse, Pale as a sheet in the moonlight. Up the golden street Death galloped, And the hooves of his horses struck fire from the gold, But they didn't make no sound. Up Death rode to the Great White Throne, And waited for God's command. And God said: Go down, Death, go down, Go down to Savannah, Georgia, Down in Yamacraw, And find Sister Caroline. She's borne the burden and heat of the day, She's labored long in my vineyard, And she's tired-- She's weary-- Go down, Death, and bring her to me. And Death didn't say a word, But he loosed the reins on his pale, white horse, And he clamped the spurs to his bloodless sides, And out and down he rode, Through heaven's pearly gates, Past suns and moons and stars; on Death rode, Leaving the lightning's flash behind; Straight down he came. While we were watching round her bed, She turned her eyes and looked away, She saw what we couldn't see; She saw Old Death. She saw Old Death Coming like a falling star. But Death didn't frighten Sister Caroline; He looked to her like a welcome friend. And she whispered to us: I'm going home, And she smiled and closed her eyes. And Death took her up like a baby, And she lay in his icy arms, But she didn't feel no chill. And death began to ride again-- Up beyond the evening star, Into the glittering light of glory, On to the Great White Throne. And there he laid Sister Caroline On the loving breast of Jesus. And Jesus took his own hand and wiped away her tears, And he smoothed the furrows from her face, And the angels sang a little song, And Jesus rocked her in his arms, And kept a-saying: Take your rest, Take your rest. Weep not--weep not, She is not dead; She's resting in the bosom of Jesus.

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James Weldon Johnson

James Weldon Johnson was born in 1871 in Jacksonville, Florida. He was encouraged to study English literature and the European musical tradition. He attended Atlanta University with the intention that the education he received there would be used to further the interests of the black people. After graduation, he took a job as a high school principal in Jacksonville.

In 1900, he wrote the song "Lift Ev'ry Voice and Sing" on the occasion of Lincoln's birthday; the song which became immensely popular in the black community and became known as the "Negro National Anthem." Johnson moved to New York in 1901 to collaborate with his brother Rosamond, a composer, and attained some success as a songwriter for Broadway, but decided to take a job as U.S. Consul to Venezuela in 1906. While employed by the diplomatic corps, Johnson had poems published in the Century Magazine and The Independent.

In 1912, Johnson published The Autobiography of an Ex-Colored Man under a pseudonym, the story of a musician who rejects his black roots for a life of material comfort in the white world. The novel explores the issue of racial identity in the twentieth century, a common theme in the writing of the Harlem Renaissance.

He had a talent for persuading people of differing ideological agendas to work together for a common goal, and in 1920 he became the national organizer for the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP). He edited The Book of American Negro Poetry (1922), a major contribution to the history of African-American literature. His book of poetry God's Trombones (1927) was influenced by his impressions of the rural South, drawn from a trip he took to Georgia while a freshman in college. It was this trip that ignited his interest in the African-American folk tradition.

James Weldon Johnson died in 1938.

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The Word Players in "Lift Every Voice":

The WordPlayers, from left, Carlton “STARR” Releford, LaKeta Renez, Brandon Gibson, Jeni Lamm and Rollin Prince rehearse a scene from “Lift Every Voice” at Middlebrook Christian Ministries. The original play written by Doug Floyd and directed by Daniel Barrett is about the Harlem Renaissance and its influence on music, art, the spoken word and American culture. It will be performed throughout the area during Black History Month.

http://www.angelsghosts.com/real_angel_in_sky_picture.html

Poem, "Go Down, Death" from poet.org

Word Player picture from http://www.knoxnews.com/photos/2010/jan/29/77695/