Go tell it on the mountain: Christmas and the Black spirit - Brief Article

Ebony, Dec, 2001

Go tell it on the mountain, Over the hills and everywhere; Go tell it on the mountain, That Jesus Christ is born.

--Spiritual

THE "Black and unknown bards" of slavery appropriated the event and transformed it. For them and for millions of their descendants, Christmas was a time of joy and celebration expressed in a communal spirit of giving and relatedness. Since that time, the Black response to Christmas has gone through a number of transformations, including modern-day Kwanzaa celebrations. But whatever the form, the spirit has remained constant. There is a sense of identification with the mother and the child, born in a manger in a place where there was no room in the inn. There is also a challenge and a reinterpretation of the event in terms of the question, Can anything good come out of Nazareth or out of the Harlems or the South Sides of the world? Always, everywhere, as the poems and Spirituals on the following pages indicate, there is a bold and joyous affirmation based on the belief that the answer is implicit in the question and the event.

   Born in a manger.
   Yes, my Lord,
   Born in a manger,
   Yes, Lord!
   The people keep-a comin'
   An' the train done gone. *
Christmas Is
Waiting To Be Born

   Where refugees seek
   deliverance that never comes,
   And the heart consumes itself,
   if it would live,
   Where little children age
   before their time,
   And life wears down the
   edges of the mind,
   Where the old man sits
   with mind grown cold,
   While bones and sinew, blood
   and cell, go slowly
   down to death,
   Where fear companions
   each day's life,
   And Perfect Love seems
   long delayed.
   CHRISTMAS IS WAITING
   TO BE BORN:
   In you, in me, in all mankind.

-- Howard Thurman

From The Moon Of Christmas And Other Celebrations, by Howard Thurman. Copyright [C] 1973, Howard Thurman. Reproduced by permission.

What You Gonna
Name That Pretty
Little Baby?

   O Mary what you
   gonna name that
   pretty little baby?
   Some call him one thing,
   I think I'll call Him Jesus.
   Glory! Glory!
   Glory to that new-born King!
   Some call him one thing,
   I think I'll say Emmanuel.
   Glory! Glory!
   Glory to that new-born King!

-- Spiritual

Speakin' O' Christmas

   Breezes blowin' midlin' brisk,
   Snow-flakes thro' the air a
   --whisk,
   Fallin' kind o' soft an' light,
   Not enough to make things white,
   But jest sorter siftin' down
   So's to cover tip the brown
   Of the world's rugged ways
   `N' make things look like holidays.
   Not smoothed over, but jest specked.
   Sorter strainin' fur effect,'
   An' not quite a-gittin' through
   What it started in to do.
   Mercy sakes! It docs seem queer
   Christmas day is `most nigh here.
   Somehow it don't seem to me
   Christmas like it used to be,--
   Christmas with its ice an' snow,
   Christmas of the long ago.
   You could feel its stir an' hum
   Weeks an' weeks before it come;
   Somethin' in the atmosphere
   Told you when the day was near,
   Didn't need no almanacs;
   That was one o' Nature's fac's.
   Every cottage decked out gay--
   Cedar wreaths an' holly spray--
   An' the stores, how they were drest,
   Tinsel till you couldn't rest'
   Every winder fixed up pat,
   Candy canes, an' things like that,
   Noah's arks, an' guns, an' dolls,
   An' all kinds o' fol-de-rols.
   Then with frosty bells a-chime,
   Slidin' down the hills o' time,
   Right amidst the fun an' din
   Christmas come a bustlin' in,
   Raised his cheery voice to call
   Out a welcome to us all;
   Hale and hearty, strong an' bluff,
   That was Christmas, sure enough.
   Snow knee-deep an' coastin' fine,
   Frozen mill-ponds all ashine,
   Seemin' jest to lay in wait,
   Beggin' you to come an' skate,
   An' you'd git your gal an' go
   Stumpin' cheerily thro' the snow,
   Feelin' pleased an' skeert an' warm
   `Cause she had a-hol yore arm.
   Why, when Christmas come in, we
   Spent the whole glad day in glee
   Havin' fun and feastin' high
   An, some courtin' on the sly.
   Bustin' in some neighbor's door
   An' then suddenly, before
   He could give his voice a lift,
   Yellin' at him, "Christmas gift."
   Now such things are never heard,
   "Merry Christmas" is the word.
   But it's only change o' name,
   An' means givin' jest the same.
   There's too many new-styled ways
   Now about the holidays.
   I'd jest like once more to see
   Christmas like it used to be!

--Paul Laurence Dunbar

The Work of Christmas

   When the song of the
   angels is stilled,
   When the star in the sky is gone,
   When the kings and princes
   are home,
   When the shepherds are
   back with their flock,
   The work of Christmas begins:
   To find the lost,
   To heal the broken,
   To feed the hungry,
   To release the prisoner,
   To rebuild the nations,
   To bring peace among brothers,
   To make music in the heart.

--Howard Thurman

From The Mood Of Christmas And Other Celebrations, by Howard Thurman. Copyright [C] 1973, Howard Thurman. Reproduced by permission.