“Were You There?” A Palm Sunday Reflection

[This essay was first posted in 2016 with the title, "Crafting, the Cross and Holy Week"]

“I could not help thinking that when the slaves sang, 'Were you there when they crucified my Lord?' they actually were there. They were there in a way that neither the plantation owners then – nor nice church people now – could realize.”

On the day after Palm Sunday, I made some palm leaf crosses similar to the ones pictured here (I got the pic from Sermon on the Sidewalk blog). I went online and found a great YouTube guide for making them, as I had done last year. 

In the past, I found it to be a good remembrance of Holy Week and its message, as I kept the cross in the car throughout the year. This year, I made the crosses because I had to do something with my hands to calm the emotions I was feeling and to put my thoughts into perspective.

You see, the Palm Sunday service did an unexpected number on me. I don’t know why I say “unexpected” because Palm Sunday usually has a profound effect on me in some way. This year, though, I thought it would be different because I have not been especially attuned to the season until this week. Sometimes the beauty of church liturgy, whatever the season, is that it is there when you want to truly engage, but if you are not up for deep engagement, you can still take part in the rhythm of the service in a lighter, more peripheral manner. I thought this year would be one of those peripheral participations.

The Liturgy Drew Me In

So we processed into the church with palm branches, participated in a liturgical reading of the passion narrative from the Gospel of Matthew,  heard a brief homily, celebrated the Eucharist, and it was all very nice. I didn’t get all emotionally caught up in the rejoicing stage or in the “crucify him!” moment. It was all nice and pat. Then came the closing hymn, “Were You There?”

“Were You There?” has long been a powerful and moving song for me. It is one of those Negro Spirituals that has made its into many hymnals, Catholic and Protestant alike. It was not the first time I have had mixed emotions about Negro Spirituals, often noting their simple beauty that arose from such hardship. 

During Sunday's service, however, I glanced down at the bottom of the page and read the source of the song which was listed as from “Old Plantation Hymns.” The loaded term, plantation, was just too much to keep me on the periphery. I could not help thinking of the hardship inflicted upon the slaves by the plantation owners. I could not help thinking that when the slaves sang, “Were you there when they crucified my Lord?” they actually were there. They were there in a way that neither the plantation owners then – nor nice church people now – could realize. 

The institution of slavery was oppressing and “crucifying” people, not for our salvation, but so that they could have a bowl of sugar on their table, abundant crops in the field, and money in their coffers. How often does our society still oppress or take advantage of workers just so we can have goods in the market and food on the table? “Sometimes, it causes me to tremble…” 

Craft Time

I had to get still and quiet Sunday night after the service. I couldn’t just shake it off; I had to dwell with it for a while. Then with a new day come Monday, I needed another routine to put me into a productive rhythm. I knew if I let the morning be “craft time” the use of my hands to make things would get me grounded again. 

The other thing that helped my perspective was having just seen the BBC documentary, “How Art Made theWorld.” In one episode, it was pointed out how cultures around the world had used art to come to terms with people’s awareness that we will all face death. Many cultures have incorporated religious art that acknowledges death. One of the things that art can do is to find an object that acknowledges death and at the same time provides comfort and hope. The Christian cross was given as an example of such a symbol.

So I busied my hands, steadied myself, and practiced an age-old art form whereby I could come to terms with death and celebrate life at the same time. There was also the factor that this was a fun thing to do, like so many projects we did as children. There is still the reality of suffering and death, but a little bit of art can give us courage to live. A day of crafts can give us a steady hand to work for change in the future. 

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Crafting, the Cross, and Holy Week

On the day after Palm Sunday, I made some palm leaf crosses similar to the ones pictured here (I got the pic from Sermon on the Sidewalk blog). I went online and found a great YouTube guide for making them, as I had done last year. 

In the past, I found it to be a good remembrance of Holy Week and its message, as I kept the cross in the car throughout the year. This year, I made the crosses because I had to do something with my hands to calm the emotions I was feeling and to put my thoughts into perspective.

You see, the Palm Sunday service did an unexpected number on me. I don’t know why I say “unexpected” because Palm Sunday usually has a profound effect on me in some way. This year, though, I thought it would be different because I have not been especially attuned to the season until this week. Sometimes the beauty of church liturgy, whatever the season, is that it is there when you want to truly engage, but if you are not up for deep engagement, you can still take part in the rhythm of the service in a lighter, more peripheral manner. I thought this year would be one of those peripheral participations.

The Liturgy Drew Me In

So we processed into the church with palm branches, participated in a liturgical reading of the passion narrative from the Gospel of Matthew,  heard a brief homily, celebrated the Eucharist, and it was all very nice. I didn’t get all emotionally caught up in the rejoicing stage or in the “crucify him!” moment. It was all nice and pat. Then came the closing hymn, “Were You There?”

“Were You There?” has long been a powerful and moving song for me. It is one of those Negro Spirituals that has made its into many hymnals, Catholic and Protestant alike. It was not the first time I have had mixed emotions about Negro Spirituals, often noting their simple beauty that arose from such hardship. 

During Sunday's service, however, I glanced down at the bottom of the page and read the source of the song which was listed as from “Old Plantation Hymns.” The loaded term, plantation, was just too much to keep me on the periphery. I could not help thinking of the hardship inflicted upon the slaves by the plantation owners. I could not help thinking that when the slaves sang, “Were you there when they crucified my Lord?” they actually were there. They were there in a way that neither the plantation owners then – nor nice church people now – could realize. 

The institution of slavery was oppressing and “crucifying” people, not for our salvation, but so that they could have a bowl of sugar on their table, abundant crops in the field, and money in their coffers. How often does our society still oppress or take advantage of workers just so we can have goods in the market and food on the table? “Sometimes, it causes me to tremble…” 

Craft Time

I had to get still and quiet Sunday night after the service. I couldn’t just shake it off; I had to dwell with it for a while. Then with a new day come Monday, I needed another routine to put me into a productive rhythm. I knew if I let the morning be “craft time” the use of my hands to make things would get me grounded again. 

The other thing that helped my perspective was having just seen the BBC documentary, “How Art Made theWorld.” In one episode, it was pointed out how cultures around the world had used art to come to terms with people’s awareness that we will all face death. Many cultures have incorporated religious art that acknowledges death. One of the things that art can do is to find an object that acknowledges death and at the same time provides comfort and hope. The Christian cross was given as an example of such a symbol.

So I busied my hands, steadied myself, and practiced an age-old art form whereby I could come to terms with death and celebrate life at the same time. There was also the factor that this was a fun thing to do, like so many projects we did as children. There is still the reality of suffering and death, but a little bit of art can give us courage to live. A day of crafts can give us a steady hand to work for change in the future. 

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Monday Music: Ezekiel Saw De Wheel

Years ago I wrote a poem that ended with the lines, "I don't know which is worse - to have sorrow mixed with such beauty, or to have beauty arise from such sorrow."  If we are alive in the world, we will surely find joy, sorrow, and beauty to be intrinsic to the mix. Negro Spirituals, which arose among the American slaves during the antebellum days in the South, certainly call to mind that tragic mix. White slave-owners instructed their slaves in the Christian faith, and those slaves in turn discovered stories of oppression and liberation that the white Christians did not even know were there. Songs such as "Let My People Go," and "Steal Away" reflected the hope that oppressed people can find in scripture.

"Ezekiel Saw De Wheel," performed beautifully here by the Breath of Life Quartet, is a musically spirited recalling of a vision that was seen by Ezekiel when he was among those who had been uprooted and taken captive into a foreign land, living under the oppression of an expansive empire.    

Monday Music: Jacob's Ladder

Jacob's Ladder, as envisioned by William Blake

Jacob's Ladder: it is an image of mythic and archetypal dimension. The Negro spiritual by that name is one of beauty and simplicity, and it is a song that makes that archetypal depth readily accessible. The tune is easily sung and the lyrics can be quickly learned. With its origins among an enslaved people and its imagery rooted in an the Old Testament account of a man on the run, it speaks from a deep authenticity. William Blake's artistry sought to capture the cosmic nature of an ancient dream while the song affirms humanity's participation in a common hope, perhaps even cosmic in nature, that dares to look beyond the mundane earthly fabric of ordinary existence. For me, the memorable power of this song is experienced when it is sung by an audience -- a congregation, if you will -- a group of people gathered together. The act of singing, joining in the harmony, placing oneself within the imagery of hope makes the song one that can expand the soul and cause people to take heart for tomorrow.

I have fond memories of singing this spiritual in church congregations where hearts and voices made for a palpable sense of belonging. Pete Seeger, perhaps more than any other performer, understood the significance of group singing. He managed to form a choir out of his audience whenever he performed. Seeger had the ability to draw his audience in to the experience of song and his version of "Jacob's Ladder" is the most universally accessible that I have heard.

Every round, a generation

I've included two videos of Seeger leading the audience in Jacob's Ladder, both are live recordings. The first features a 1980 audio recording from a concert at Harvard's Sanders Theatre in Cambridge, MA. It offers the listener that sense of purpose, hope, and camaraderie that everyone needs to experience from time to time. You can hear that voice, still vibrant and strong at the youthful age of 61. The second video is from a live concert  at Wolftrap in 1993. Pete gets the audience singing along, as was his custom. He also adds another version of the song that he learned "from the women in Milwaukee ...'We are dancing Sarah's circle... Every round a generation'..." At that time he was 74, still learning, still holding his own. (You'll also see Arlo Guthrie and Pete's son-in-law, Tao Rodriguez performing on stage)

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