UIBC (United Institutional Baptist Church)

A purgatory of my own conceit

and choice – wherefore a Mephistopheles?

The first half of shahada got it right:

There is no small-g god.

In the Baptist church where I was raised,

between the end of Sunday School

and the start of the 11 o’clock service,

the old ladies in big hats sang the songs of old.

We would giggle and call them slavery songs

But we listened, and sometimes, we sang along.

They sang:

Halleluuuuuuuuujah…..

Halleluuuuuuuuujah…..

You know the storm is passing over,

Halleluuuuuuuuujah…..

They sang in low tones and in flat notes…

They sang:

There’ll be nooooo moooooore weeping….

          Nooooo moooooore weeping

          Nooooo moooooore weeping over me…

And before I be a slave

I’ll be buried in my grave

And I’ll go home, home to my Lord, and I’ll be free…

They sang in high notes and sharp tones…

They sang:

That’s alright, that’s alright

That’s alright, that’s alright

As long as I know I got a seat in the kingdom,

That’s alright.

They sang without scales

They sang without any lyrics you could read

They sang from their hearts

They sang from their souls

They sang words and hopes and dreams

passed down from a dark past.

And sometimes,

                           sometimes,

                                               sometimes,

They just made shit up.