First Person: Sunday School
This is not a story about finding God, nor is this a story about Civil Rights. This is a story about surrender.
For my 3rd quarter Publications class, one of my assignments was to create a type-driven book interpreting Martin Luther King Jr.’s renowned ‘I Have A Dream’ speech. First, I had to remind myself that this would not be akin to changing long-winded historical documents into posters (i.e. my 1st quarter Declaration of Independence project); this time I would be working with words that had later established a man as one of the greatest orators in U.S. history.
But the written words alone did not make the legacy. One can ask, ‘Would the speech have had as much impact if it had been said by someone else?’ I became determined to find out what made the delivery of the address so encapsulating. So upon the suggestion of my instructor, I decided to attend a Sunday mass at Ebenezer Baptist Church, the very center where Reverend Dr. King himself once gave sermons; I thought perhaps his eloquence stemmed from his early preaching experiences.
It’s imperative to note that I am not at all a religious person. Being raised with exposure to many faiths, I can confidently say that throughout the years I’ve had my pick, and by the time I graduated from [Catholic] high school, the conclusion was made that organized religion was not for me. I would even go as far as to say that I make a conscious effort to avoid it. However, I consider myself an open person and I always welcome new experiences.
The drive downtown to the church was spent cycling through my expectations. Was this event going to verify my preconceived notions of Southern Baptist Churches? I thought of a scene in The Blues Brothers where ‘Reverend’ James Brown repeatedly called out “Can I get an AMEN” to an enthusiastic church audience. How foreign, I thought. After all, my current perception of church came from Catholic ceremonies – people sitting, standing, and eating wafers in a strictly regimented fashion.
Upon arrival, the ambience felt new right away. Though everyone was clad in formal attire, the air was laid back, loose; I would never have thought of ‘looseness’ and ‘church’ going together at all. We were greeted not with traditional church hymns, but by the melismatic wailing of a gospel choir. And as the ceremony commenced, the novelty ensued.
Reverend Raphael G. Warnock took the floor, a middle-aged African American man, wearing a three-piece suit. He peered out at the crowd from behind wire spectacles.
“Good morning.”
Two small words, but he spoke them with the weight of a hundred voices – slowly and deeply. For the sake of my assignment, I began to analyze the manner in which he gave his discourse. What struck me immediately was how every word was supported with immense precision and clarity as though each were carefully crafted gifts being handed out. And his pacing was flawless. His silences were just as powerful as his words. Occasionally, to heighten the emphasis, a brief pause was taken before the final phrase in a sentence like so, ‘no book better explains this notion than the book of (pause) Luke.’ It became clear why Martin Luther King Jr. had a history as a pastor.
For a moment I took my attention off of the man speaking and onto the people surrounding me. Their reactions to the sermon were unlike anything I had ever seen. To my right, a yellow-shirted man in his late twenties would shudder as if having ice cold water poured down his back every time the pastor would emphasize a word. Moreover, two ladies behind would utter phrases like ‘Praise the Lord’ or ‘Amen to that’ every fifteen seconds. Following this, the elderly man sitting in front of me would extend his palm towards the front of the church and motion like he was shaking an imaginary tambourine. After a while, these people would operate rhythmically, one after the other, upon the pastor’s command: Yellow shirt shudders, then ‘praise the Lord,’ then elderly palm shake – one after the other, like clockwork. I could only smile to myself, knowing that my expectations had been met.
But what I did not expect was that I began to envy these people. They acted as if no one were around them and held no inhibitions whatsoever of their actions. Within their individual glass bubbles, it was only them and the Reverend – completely removed from the outside world. Here I sat with an analytical mind, completely removed from the experience.
How I yearned to have the courage to shed inhibitions.
How I yearned to just let go.
Then, all of a sudden I had trouble hearing myself think. My thoughts began to drown in the deep of what was erupting around me. As I panned the large open room, I realized that the sermon wasn’t about the pastor anymore but the people as well. PRAISE THE LORD! The two ladies behind were now standing up, soon followed by the rest of the church. Reverend Warnock was now talking faster and more aggressively. He furrowed his brow and delivered consonants with clenched white teeth. The people were wildly on there feet, filling in the pastor’s pauses with cheers and claps. HALLELUJAH! When he gestured with his hands, the people would raise theirs. He was yelling at full volume. Soon there were no pauses between the people and the pastor. Just a consistent thunder of voices and applause. Arms were raised, fists were pumped. AMEN!
And me, I was in tears. My hairs on end. What had just happened? Where was my composure?
Things became quiet again and Reverand Warnock returned to his slow and deep tone.
In the past few minutes, the energy of the church had escalated like the most emotional of orchestral crescendos, forcing me to let go and lose myself. Had I found God? No. Was I about to join the Southern Baptist community? Not likely. But I now realized the power of an experience. I realized how one man’s words could move millions.
Part of it was due to the delivery. However, part of it was due to letting go. Throughout my life, I had been consistently taught to take control – to steer things the way I wanted them to go. But I’ve come to recognize that this is not the way to truly experience something. The individual can’t control an experience; an experience has to control him.
And with that being said, it is only until the individual gives himself or herself completely to the experience that it truly can take hold. This might seem like a minuscule task, but letting down guard and becoming vulnerable is immensely difficult. Little do we know that it is practically an instinct to stay removed from an experience – to have one foot planted in what is familiar.
Perhaps this directly relates to the career I plan to pursue. In design, I have come to learn that it is vital to understand a client, culture, or business before creating products for them. Is it fair to ask how one can truly understand a business if he or she has not experienced it firsthand? Would a more successful design be reached if I allow myself to be emotionally moved by the client’s business? I can only hope that these will be answered in due time.
Out of the entire sermon, the words that struck me the most were, ‘Faith is surrender.’ I can’t help but think of my present experience at Portfolio Center. Often I have questioned the design process. And many times I’ve been driven to inquire if I am doing the right thing being here. But my question now is, ‘What if I just let go?’ Is it too much to have faith that I have made the right decision?
My gut tells me that I won’t know unless I completely give myself to this experience, this education. My brief time at Ebenezer Church was significant because it forced me lose control; and because of it, I felt that I truly understood the power behind Martin Luther King Jr.’s speech.
