from Sorrow Songs—the Ground of Hope
(part three)

The note of the transcendence of death is never lacking—whether it is viewed merely as a release or as the door to heaven of endless joys. We shall examine the place and significance of the concepts dealing with that which is beyond death at a later point in our discussion. But the great idea about death itself is that it is not the master of life. It may be inevitable, yes; gruesome, perhaps; releasing, yes; but triumphant, never. With such an affirmation ringing in their ears, it became possible for them, slaves though they were, to stand anything that life could bring against them.

It is next in order to examine the attitude taken toward life, because the attitude toward death cannot be separated from the attitude toward life. Was life merely a “veil of soul-making”? Was it merely a vast anteroom to the great beyond? Was it regarded as an end in itself? Or was it a series of progressions, a pilgrimage, a meaningful sojourn?

There seems to be no songs dealing with the origin of life as such or the origin of the individual life in particular. Life was regarded essentially as the given—it was accepted as a fact without reflection as to cause or reason. They were content to let the mystery remain intact.

Given the fact of life, there is much which has to do with interpretation of its meanings, its point and even its validity. In the first place, life is regarded as an experience of evil, of frustration, of despair. There are at least two moods in evidence here. One mood has to do with an impersonal characteristic of life itself. Loneliness and discouragement—such is the way of life. One cannot escape—such experiences are inherent in the process itself. Hence:

Let us cheer the weary traveler,
Let us cheer the weary traveler,
along the heavenly way.

This has some elements similar to the philosophy of unyielding despair developed by Bertrand Russell in his essay on a Free Man’s Worship.

Sometimes I feel like a motherless child,
a long way from home.

Here is another song which reflects the same temper.

There is also the familiar note in:

Nobody knows the trouble I've seen,
Nobody knows my sorrow.
Nobody knows the trouble I've seen,
Glory, Hallelujah!

All the reaches of despair are caught up and held in a trembling wail in:

I couldn't hear nobody pray,
Oh, I couldn't hear nobody pray,
Oh, way down yonder by myself,
And I couldn't hear nobody pray.

A climactic chord in the mood of the seventh chapter of Paul's letter to the Romans is to be found in:

O wretched man that I am!
O wretched man that I am!
Who will deliver poor me?
My heart is filled with sadness and pain,
Who will deliver poor me?

The solitariness of the human spirit, the intensely personal characteristic of all experience as distinguished from mere frustration or despair, is evident in such a song as:

I've got to walk my lonesome valley,
I've got to walk it by myself.
Nobody else can walk it for me,
I've got to walk it for myself!

Here we are in the presence of an essential insight into all human experience. It seems, that it is the solitariness of life that's causes it to move with such intensity and power. In the last analysis all the great moments of profoundest meaning are solitary. We walk the ways of life together with our associates, our friends, our loved ones. How precious it is to lean upon another, to have a staggered sense of the everlasting arms felt in communion with a friend. But there are thresholds before which all must stop and no one may enter save God, and even He in disguise. I am alone but even in my aloneness I seem sometimes to be all that there is in life, and all that there is in life seems to be synthesized in me.

It is a matter of more than passing interests that this element of overwhelming poignancy is relieved somewhat by a clear note of triumph. Out of the fullness of a tremendous vitality the lowering clouds are highlighted by an overflowing of utter exuberance:

I feel like a motherless child;
I feel like a motherless child;
Glory Hallelujah!
Sometimes my way is sad and alone
When far away and lost from home;
Glory Hallelujah!

The same note appears in a softer key expresses of a quiet but sure confidence at:

Soon-a-will be done with the troubles of the world;
Soon-a-will be done with the troubles of the world;
Going home to live with God.

Or again the quality of triumph is to be found in the total accent of the song:

All-a-my troubles will soon be over with,
All-a-my troubles will soon be over with,
All over this world.

(For the Inward Journey: the writings of Howard Thurman.
Selected by Anne Spencer Thurman. pages 207-210
Originally published in The Negro Spiritual Speaks of Life and Death)

On Wednesday, I spend a fuller morning thinking of these things. I won’t share my personal thoughts, but continue to share Professor Harding’s biographical notes.

Introduction to Thurman’s life, by Vincent Harding
(part three, continued from the March 19th post)

Howard and Sue returned to Howard University and continued to expand and deepen their creative ministry there, paying even more attention than before to the needs of international students (a special concern of Sue’s) and to the development of worship experiences that drew people together across all lines. Then in 1943 they received an invitation that seemed to make it possible for them to focus their energies on the fulfillment of the vision Thurman had had at the Khyber Pass. In the fall of 1944, with the war still raging, the Thurmans left behind a secure academic position and moved to San Francisco. There Howard became copastor of the newly formed Church for the Fellowship of All Peoples, the nation's first really interracial church congregation. It was an act of faith, a movement of vision, for very little was assured financially; but Howard and Sue were sure that this was where they should be.

The time at Fellowship Church provided the first opportunities for Howard Thurman's poetic meditations to be published. This style became his hallmark, and many of these brief but powerful openings to the spirit are included in the present volume. (Many of the tapes that contain his sermons and meditations over a span of some 25 years are available through the Howard Thurman Educational Trust in San Francisco. They are important, for Thurman never hesitated to say, “Though I have published [many] books, my craft remains the spoken word.”)

After nine years of creative and pathbreaking ministry at fellowship, the Thurmans accepted an invitation to return to the East Coast, this time with Howard as dean of the Chapel at Boston University. In 1953 that was an unheard of position for a Black man, but Howard was in no way intimidated. Indeed, by this time he was a nationally and internationally known figure, identified by everyone—including Life magazine—as one of the great preachers and pastors of his era.

Howard and Sue saw the Boston University opening as a chance to expand the ministry they had developed at Fellowship Church. Moreover, they loved students, and the period at Marsh Chapel was in most rewarding one for them. (Martin Luther King, Jr. was in his last year of residence as a doctoral student at the University when the Thurmans arrived, and at one of their informal sessions at the house Sue tried to make a case for the young minister-philosopher to take Howard's place at Fellowship. But King had set his face toward the South.) The B.U. period also allowed the Thurmans to make a long-desired pilgrimage to Africa. As usual, Howard went in search not only of his own fully appreciated roots but also of the common ground that might be available to all humankind through the proper appropriation of indigenous African religions.

(For the Inward Journey: the writings of Howard Thurman.
Selected by Anne Spencer Thurman. pages ix-xi)