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