As you know, we are holding our first Advisory Board meeting in over two years. For those of you who prefer to join us virtually, please log into our Zoom meeting using the following information:

Topic: Diocese of Brooklyn Vicariate for Black Catholic Concerns Advisory Board Meeting
Time: Apr 2, 2022 12:00 PM Eastern Time (US and Canada)

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The following is a verbatim reprinting of the work of the late Sr. Thea Bowman, African American Franciscan Nun, Musician, Minster, Activist, and current Servant of God of the Roman Catholic Church. This document was originally featured in the 1st Edition of “Lead Me, Guide Me,” the critically acclaimed African American Catholic Hymnal for Liturgical use in the United States. The work was omitted from the preface of the 2nd and most recent Edition of “Lead Me, Guide Me,” for reasons yet undisclosed. The Brooklyn Vicariate Office for Black Catholic Concerns is proud to share this work with our Diocesan family, so as to keep the noble work of Sr. Thea alive in our community, as a means of continuing to uplift the spiritual lives of Black Catholics everywhere.

From the African Mother Continent, African men and women, through the Middle Passage, throughout the Diaspora, to the Americas carried the African gift and treasure of sacred song. To the Americas, African men and women brought sacred songs and chants that reminded them of their homelands and that sustained them in separation and in captivity, songs to respond to all life situations, and the ability to create new songs to answer new needs.

African Americans in sacred song preserved the memory of African religious rites and symbols, of a holistic African spirituality, of rhythms and tones and harmonies that communicated their deepest feelings across barriers of religion and language. African Americans in fields and quarters, at work, in secret meetings, (2) in slave festivals, (3) in churches, camp meets and revivals, wherever they met or congregated, consoled and strengthened themselves and one another with sacred song — moans, chants, shouts, psalms, hymns, and jubilees, first African songs, then African American songs. In the crucible of separation and suffering, African American sacred song was formed.

In My Bondage and my Freedom, Frederick Douglass wrote:

Slaves are generally expected to sing as well as to work. A silent slave is not liked by masters or overseers. ‘Make a noise,’ ‘make a noise,’ and ‘bear a hand,’ are words usually addressed to the slaves when there is silence amongst them. This may account for the almost constant singing heard in the southern states. There was, generally, more or less singing among the teamsters, as it was one means of letting the overseer know where they were, and that they were moving on with the work. But, on allowance day, those who visited the great house farm were peculiarly excited and noisy. While on their way, they would make the dense old woods, for miles around, reverberate with their wild notes. These were not always merry because they were wild. On the contrary, they were mostly of a plaintive cast and told a tale of grief and sorrow. In the most boisterous of rapturous sentiment, there was ever a tinge of deep melancholy. (4)

As early as 1691, slaves in colonial homes, slaves in colonial homes, slave galleries or separate pews participated in worship services with white slave holders. They learned to sing the traditional European psalms and hymns from the Cambridge Short Time, the Dutch Tune or the Hymns and Psalms of Dr. Watts, which they loved and adapted to their own style and use. (5) In 1755, Reverend Samuel Davies wrote:

The Negroes … have an Ear for Musick, and a kind of ecstatic Delight in Psalmody and there are no Books they learn so or take so much pleasure in, as those used in that heavenly Part of divine Worship. (6)

Slave records dating back as far as 1723 show there were proficient slave musicians — singers and instrumentalists who played fiddle, violin, trumpet, drums, guitar, French horn or flute, slave musicians highly valued for their musicianship, slave musicians, some who were able to read and write. (7)

In 1801, Richard Allen, founder of the African Methodist Episcopal Church, published A Collection of Hymns and Scriptural Songs from Various Authors, (8) hymns and songs which were used by slaves and fugitive slaves in worship. In 1871, the Fisk Jubilee Singers began concert tours of America and Europe, which for the first time brought the original sacred song of Black America to white audiences and to the concert stage. Harry Burleigh, John Wesley Work, James Weldon and J. Rosamund Johnson scored and arranged Black American sacred songs for soloists and ensembles in concert performance. In 1921, Thomas A. Dorsey, the Father of Gospel Music, composed “If I Don’t Get There”, and initiated a new rhythm, a new harmony and new style. Gospel singers like Kenneth Morris, Roberta Martin, Mahalia Jackson, James Cleveland and Edwin Hawkins enriched sacred song.

In the sixties, Father Clarence Joseph Rivers revitalized Catholic worship, inaugurated a revolution in liturgical music, stirred international interest in the indigenization of Catholic Liturgy, and brought new hope, joy, and spirit to millions of Black Americans when he introduced the melodies, harmonies, symbols and rituals of African American Sacred Song into Roman Catholic worship. His American Mass Program and subsequent compositions and recordings popularized Black music for Catholic worship. His Soulfull Worship and The Spirit in Worship (9) analyzed the history, theology and practice of Black sacred song and its appropriateness and effectiveness in Catholic liturgy and worship. (10) Rawn Harbor, Grayson Brown, Eddie Bonnemere, Leon Roberts, and others began to compose for Catholic worship.

Black sacred song is soulful song —

1. holistic: challenging the full engagement of mind, imagination, memory, feeling, emotion, voice, and body;
2. participation: inviting the worshipping community to join in contemplation, in celebration and in prayer;
3. real: celebrating the immediate concrete reality of the worshipping community — grief or separation, struggle or oppression, determination or joy — bringing that reality to prayer within the community of believers;
4. spirit-filled: energetic, engrossing, intense;
5. life-giving: refreshing, encouraging, consoling, invigorating, sustaining.

Influenced by Africa, the Middle Passages, the Islands, Europe and the Americas; created, shaped, treasured, and shared by Black American Christians across time, geographic, socioeconomic and denominational lines, our heritage of sacred song encompasses a vast variety of kinds, styles, and forms.

Wyatt Tee Walker charts the development of five distinctive kinds of Black Sacred Music:

Wendel Whalum shows how the various kinds of Black sacred song are created:

Black sacred song celebrates our God, His goodness, His promise, our faith and hope, our journey toward the promise. Black sacred song carries melodies and tonalities, rhythms and harmonies; metaphors, symbols and stories of faith that speak to our hearts; words, phrases and images that touch and move us. (13)

Stephen Henderson says of Black speech:

Certain words and construction seem to carry an inordinate charge of emotional and psychological weight, so whenever they are used they set all kinds of bells ringing, all kinds of synapses snapping, on all kinds of levels…I am speaking of words…which have levels of meaning that seem to go back to our earliest grappling with the English language in a strange and hostile land. These words, of course, are used in complex associations, and thus form meaningful wholes in ways which defy understanding by outsiders. I call such words “mascon” words, borrowing from (of all places!) the National Aeronautics and Space Administration. NASA invented the acronym to mean a “massive concentration”of matter below the lunar surface after it was observed that the gravitational pull on a satellite was stronger in some places than in others.

I use it to mean a massive concentration of Black experimental energy which powerfully affects the meaning of Black speech, Black song, and Black poetry — if one, indeed, has to make distinctions. (14)

Black sacred music lifts up Biblical symbols which bear the accumulated meanings of four hundred years of experience of the Black community in America:

God is Father, Mother, Sister, Brother, Captain, King, Liberator, Friend;

God is a God of Peace, a God of War;

God is water to the thirsty, bread to the hungry, shelter to the homeless;

God is my rock, my sword, my shield;

God is rest in a weary land;

God is my all and all.

African people are diunital people, seeking richness of meaning in apparent contradiction. They are comfortable with bringing together realities which may appear contradictory or in opposition: for example, body/spirit, sacred/secular, individual/community. They reach toward unification or synthesis or opposites. God is like father and mother (Father — mother — sister — brother symbols are not sexist). God is like fire and balm. African people are comfortable with symbol. African Americans for 400 years have used symbol and song to express a faith and yearning too high, too low, too wide, too deep for words, too passionate to be confined by concepts. As Father Rivers writes:

Music is important for worship because in worship we have to express the unexpressable, the transcendent, human values that defy ordinary expression. Music, like its other self, poetry, seems capable of doing what plain rational words cannot do: namely, to express the unexpressable, to touch men’s hearts, to penetrate their souls, create an experience of things that cannot be reasoned. (15)

Black sacred song — old or new, folk or composed, rural or urban, traditional or contemporary — is in a very real sense, the song of the people.

• The music comes from a people who share and claim a common history, common experience, common oppression, common values, hopes, dreams, and visions.
• The singer, the singers, the instrumentalists voice the experience and faith of the community.
• The leader (some would say soloist) leads the community in worship. The leader revives and inspirits.
• The worshipping community is active, not passive. People participate — sing, pray, clap, sway, raise their hands, nod their heads. Eye contact, voiced response, the silent testimony of tears, a smile of relief or contemplation or ecstasy says, “This is my story, this is my song.”
• The singer is chosen from the people by the people to suit their immediate need.
  “Sometimes I feel like a motherless child.”
  “I just came from the fountain.”
  “I love the Lord.”
  “My Heavenly Father watches over me.”
• The first person pronoun, the “I” reference, is communal. The individual sings the soul of the community. In heart and voice and gesture the Church, the community responds.
• The singer lifts the Church, the people, to a higher level of understanding, feeling, motivation, and participation.

Among African peoples, most art is designed for use, that is to express a feeling or insight, to have an impact in the real world. (16) Song is not an object to be admired so much as an instrument to teach, comfort, inspire, persuade, convince, and motivate. Music is chosen precisely for its effect upon the worshipping community. The aim is effective worship. Black sacred song is designed to move. It moves because depth of feeling gives it “spiritual power.” Father Clarence Rivers explains:

A singer who performs without feeling lacks soul. As in original biblical concept of the spiritual, the spirit or the soul is the life principal, the source of life and liveliness, of dynamism and movement, of motion and emotion. That which is unmoved and ummoving is not spiritual, it is dead! To be spiritual is to be alive, to be capable of moving and responding to movement…Since the Spirit moves, that which does not move would seem to lack the presence of the Spirit. (17)

Black sacred song has been at once a source and expression of Black faith, spirituality and devotion. By song, our people have called the Spirit into our hearts, homes, churches, and communities. Seeking to enrich our liturgies with the gift of sacred song, we pray:

“Spirit, Sweet Holy Spirit, fall afresh on me.”

“Everytime I hear the Spirit
Moving in my heart
I will pray.”

Bibliography / Citations

Homily | Trinity Sunday 2020 | Fr. Alonzo Cox

Today we celebrate the Solemnity of the Most Holy Trinity. As Catholics, we believe that God is in three persons, that of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. It is in the Trinity that we are baptized into the one, holy, Catholic and Apostolic Church. When a priest or deacon baptizes an infant or an adult he says, “I baptize you in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit.” The Trinity is the epicenter of our faith as disciples of the Lord. We encounter God as Father, through his Son Jesus, united in the Holy Spirit. On this Trinity Sunday, may we continue to hold in our minds, hearts and souls, the eternal love that God has for us in these three persons.

We hear in today’s first reading how Moses uses the term, “stiff necked people”. “This is indeed a stiff-necked people.” Moses had no problem telling the God of Israel that the flock which he had been ordained to shepherd was as problematic as any group of people that had come before, or that would come after him. Stubborn, at-times ignorant, divisive, impatient, and yes, violent. It seems to me, even as this great Prophet helped free an entire civilization from bondage, that their human condition could simply not be helped. I don’t know about you, but I’d like to say that if I saw a guy stick a rod in the sand and part and whole body of water, with the goal of liberating my family from violent enslavement, I probably wouldn’t complain so much. It’s what I’d LIKE to say, but anyone who knows me knows I’m the guy who gets upset and wants to toss my cell-phone out the window, when I have to call GrubHub because they got my delivery order wrong, so take that as you will.

Right now, in our fair city, and across this nation, we are watching as people are banding together, standing in solidarity with the Black American community which is my community — as we once again express outrage at yet another murder of an unarmed Black citizen at the hands of a violent, bigoted, law enforcement officer. In addition, we are seeing how that justified outrage is translating into acts of vandalism and violence. All of this, lest we forget, amidst the backdrop of a horrifying pandemic, which, in addition to the tens of thousands of people on its death count, has disproportionately affected and killed countless Black & Brown Americans, simply because of issues like no access to the medical care necessary to fight COVID-19. For those of you who follow the social media platforms for my Parish, St. Martin de Porres, you saw, and heard, my homily last week. You witnessed my outrage at watching in horror as another member of my community was the victim of a racially charged summary execution by police; keeping in mind also that the death of George Floyd was one of several recent incidents, where an unarmed Black citizen, an unarmed Black American, fell by the hands, or the gun, of the very people who swore an oath to protect us.

“These are indeed a stiff-necked people, yet pardon our wickedness and our sins.”

The great thing about Moses’ prayer, as the God of Israel is in the midst of the faithful, is that he does not separate himself from his people, but rather invokes himself as a participant in the sinful nature of his flock. As a Black man raised in [what was until recently] a predominantly Black & Brown community in Brooklyn, I know all too well the kind of sins my community has committed against itself. I’ve seen the violence, I’ve heard about friends & neighbors becoming victims of senseless acts of theft and assault. I’ve watched, helpless, as good Black people have succumbed to the ills of addiction and depression. And yet, I cannot disassociate myself from people in my community who do these things, because “there but for the grace of God go I.”

You see, it’s easy for many of us to turn on the TV, watch these protests, see the violence, and demand that the people responsible be punished; of course, violence for violence’s sake should be held to account. But while it is heartbreaking to see a society dealing with this kind of turmoil, I think we need to be reminded of Moses, and his willingness to openly pray to God, and say, not, “pardon *their* wickedness​ and *their* sins​,” but “pardon *our* wickedness and *our* sins.”

Racism, in these United States, is this country’s original sin.

And whether we like or not, whether we want to admit it or not, that sin persists, and that sin is why we are where we are today, in this very moment.

This past week, Gavin Newson, the governor of California, gave what I feel to be some of the most truthful reflections from non-Black political leaders on what is happening in our country today. Speaking as an elected official, he said that for all the violence that has happened in the past several days, and the obvious need to address it, he was clear: “​Our​ institutions are responsible, WE are accountable to this moment.” For myself, as a shepherd of a beautiful three-church Parish, whose flock is comprised mostly of wonderful Black American & Caribbean Catholics, speaking also as Vicar for Black Catholic Concerns, I’ve seen far too many times how the despair and frustration of my people has either gone unnoticed — or unheeded — by the very institution which professes a spiritual commitment to uplifting and helping ​all ​God’s people. A commitment that is upheld by the Church at large.

We must always speak truth to power: Black & Brown people are still suffering, in our Church, in our nation, and in our world, because of the sin of racism, and this suffering has existed for centuries. Of course we want to stop this violence, and I am not supporting useless harm being done to our communities in light of these demonstrations.

But if this country — all of it — continues to act like the “stiff-necked people” Moses prayed for in the desert, if we fail to collectively recognize and provide restorative justice for the generations of bigotry, hatred, and oppression that got us here, then praying for God’s mercy may be the only recourse we have left.

St. Paul tells us in today’s 2nd reading, “Mend your ways, encourage one another, agree with one another, live in peace, and the God of love and peace will be with you.” We must remember, especially in times like these, that the God of love and peace is also, at all times, a God of justice. There is nothing right or just about the cyclical violence that is done to Black & Brown people because of the color of their skin. Keeping in mind that violence isn’t just physical. The emotional, psychological, and spiritual violence that my community has endured because of racism is so widespread, and so pervasive, that we have been willing to harm ourselves and each other in desperate attempts to free ourselves from it. But this is the very essence of American racism, and this is why we must see it as not only sinful, but systemic. We must be willing to dismantle any racist ideologies that make it acceptable — and profitable — for people to remain ignorant, or fully engage in its violence.

There is a wonderful saying among the great authors and thinkers of the Black American community, that we as a people have an incomparable way of being able to “shake the table.” To make racist people and institutions uncomfortable, pointing out their sin in word and deed, so as to make space for ourselves and our loved ones. I’m convinced that some of the inspiration for that idea comes from Christ Himself, who had no problem, literally, turning over tables, forcing vendors and money changers out of the temple. He did that without thinking, knowing the Jews at the time would be furious, because He knew it was right & just. Does any of this sound familiar? By today’s standards, many people would call what He did a violent protest too. And yet, all four Gospels give witness to the need for the Savior to “shake that table,” to get His message across: no one disgraces the House of my Father and gets away with it.

Brothers and Sisters, in our own way, in the face of the sin of racism, we must be willing to shake the table. To continue making the actions of racist people unacceptable, and bigoted institutions obsolete. History has shown that nonviolent acts of social justice can lead to major shifts in our world; as Christians, as Catholics, we are called to bring about justice in this way. St. Paul is clear when he tells the Corinthians to mend their ways; we must do the same. We must allow our God to guide our actions, ensuring that we will truly no longer tolerate or support the deadly effects of systemic racism anywhere, but especially in these United States. We must call on the Savior, Jesus Christ, to help mend and dispel this society’s ignorance, its bigotry, and needless violence. We must invoke the Holy Spirit so we can better use our gifts as we demand the restorative justice that Black & Brown Americans need and deserve.

As we move towards this goal, in love and solidarity, we look upon the one woman whose unbounded love for all of us has carried us through times even more difficult than these. Mary, our Mother, mirror of justice, and comforter of the afflicted. We ask our Blessed Mother to bring a full healing to all those afflicted by racism, that we may be agents of that healing, to uplift Black & Brown communities to a state of true freedom and self-acceptance, knowing that we are made in the image and likeness of her only begotten son: Christ Jesus, sent into the world, not to condemn it, but that through Him, it might be saved.

Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit. As it was in the beginning is now and ever shall be; world without end, Amen.

May, 2020

“Of all the forms of inequality,” Martin Luther King Jr. told a gathering of the Medical Committee for Human Rights in 1966, “injustice in health is the most shocking and the most inhumane.”
 — Damon Tweedy, MD

It goes without saying that from the first wave of the African Diaspora and the long-standing racial oppression it has rendered in the United States, marginalized Black communities in post-modern America have continually found themselves desperately grasping for even the lowest rungs of this nation’s social, economic, and political ladders as a means of self-determination. It’s also clear that those in opposition to these goals have used all sorts of underhanded, violent methods and false logic to justify this societal bigotry.

However, as Dr. Tweedy’s statement points out, some of the worst offenses levied against Black Americans in more recent decades have come in the form of recurrent healthcare discrimination. It is all the more disconcerting, then, to be made aware of preliminary projections as to how Parishes in Brooklyn & Queens can begin to reopen their doors to the lay Faithful. The seriousness and mortality rates surrounding the 2020 COVID-19 Pandemic make it crucial to get to the underlying issue(s) being raised by these kinds of conversations. Having said this, it is ultimately the position of the Brooklyn Vicariate Office for Black Catholic Concerns to make our issues plain:

By prematurely opening the Parishes of Brooklyn & Queens, we are undeniably putting every member of the Faith in this Diocese at risk for COVID-19 infection, and, in a very particular way, Black Catholics.

• Draconian measures for social distancing at Mass is a form of hyper-policing.

It is important to note that the issue of violent interventionist tactics by law enforcement in disenfranchised Black neighborhoods for places like Brooklyn & Queens is a problem the USCCB has expressed in recent documentation on racism. It is now being compounded by the increased police presence in said areas, monitoring social distancing and punishing those who are noncompliant. As to be expected, the end result has been that Black New Yorkers are once again being unfairly targeted and arrested at exponentially higher rates than violators who identify as White or [Non-Black] Latin.

Concurrently, it has been suggested that Diocesan Pastors reopening their churches utilize strict safety guidelines for Liturgy (ex: add’l Masses, modified occupancy limits, socially distanced seating and procession lines, etc.) outlined in content provided by institutions like the World Health Organization and CDC. Cultivating these ideas would require a more forceful team of volunteers or security personnel. To now have Black Catholics be subject to this kind of drastic crowd control is unequivocally a recipe for misunderstanding and potentially confrontational interactions between laypersons & staff, the results of which could end up requiring assistance from local precincts.

All of which ends up completely negating the social distancing being suggested in the first place.

• Placing an added fiscal burden on poor Black Parishes is a discriminatory act.

It would seem that the kind of personnel & materials necessary to engage in a socially distanced reopening of the Diocese would be funded through Parish budgets. That said, it is no secret that some of our most financially struggling Parishes are those with predominantly or historically Black congregations. Forcing these churches to now have to make additional sacrifices in compliance with future Diocesan mandates for reopening, knowing full-well the generational economic disenfranchisement experienced specifically by Black communities in Brooklyn & Queens, is a wildly intellectually dishonest take on how to achieve this goal safely & responsibly.

• For Black Catholics, devotion to Liturgy should never outweigh practical risk.

Any Pastor assigned to a Black Parish in this Diocese knows & has seen the lengths to which members of his community will go to attend Holy Mass. An announcement to reopen could certainly render a large turnout in support of their church. Based on these assumptions, we can surmise that traveling to & from Sunday Liturgy, even if it’s within walking distance, will be a risk that Black Catholics in Brooklyn & Queens will be willing to take, since it’s something they’ve done proudly and persistently in the midst of their marginalization, national crises, or social upheaval. However, this modified participation still carries with it the very real threat of churchgoers returning to Mass on a Sunday, and ending up in a hospital bed the following week — or worse. Why any of our Black Parishioners should be compelled to make this kind of a choice is an affront to their sensibility, their experience, and, quite frankly, is directly juxtaposed to the Catholic advocacy for the sanctity of life.

CLOSING: In the ABC series, “Blackish,” during an episode about the 2016 election, actor Anthony Anderson opens a final monologue with these words: “I love this country, even though at times it doesn’t love me back.” In a parallel way, the same can be said of racially marginalized Catholics in places like New York City. The devotion and generosity of Black Catholics in this Diocese is some of the most astounding, given the ways they have been treated by their peers from other races — historically & presently. The truth is, for any Diocesan Parish, the amount of time, personnel, and planning necessary to accomplish a socially distanced Liturgy at this time, with a truly minimal risk of COVID-19 infection, is virtually impossible.

Furthermore, in discussing these kinds of projections, there is a de facto point of liability for the potentially harmful and/or traumatic interactions that will naturally be part of the execution of these ideas. Medical experts agree that such stress can exacerbate any health problems of an individual or group. And since Black Americans at large already grapple with a host of underlying medical conditions, a disproportionate lack of access to healthcare, as well as the Anti-Black racism that is present in various US Health institutions when being seen for treatment, this kind of comorbidity makes it all the more likely that if the faithful in our Diocese are being told to come back to Mass too early, Black Catholics, who are subject to all of these factors, will inevitably find themselves even more susceptible to COVID-19 infection — the dangerous consequences of which we now know all too well.