“I Am the Holy Dope Dealer”: The Problem With Gospel Music Today

Abstract

Ecstatic, euphoric, celebratory worship has always been an important part of the Black religious experience. It both pre dates and lives on in the African-American sojourn, as numerous scholars have attested.2 Those of us that have grown up in the Black Church not only know Jesus for ourselves, as the old saints said that we must, but also know for ourselves the centrality of ecstatic worship. We know for ourselves what it means to “make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all ye lands!” We know for ourselves what it means to lift up holy hands in tearful supplication and joyful thanksgiving. We know for ourselves what it means for arms and legs to be carried away by some other spirit, for old and calloused feet to dance unctioned dances of praise, for fire-kissed tongues to speak languages unknown, yet uplifting. Yes, the euphoric, the celebratory, the praise-filled runs in our people as deeply as marrow. Yet, it has never been the only blood coursing our veins; praise and celebration for deliverance, without a concomitant critique of the events and conditions that our people looked to the Lord from which to deliver us, is never what has characterized the heart of African-American religious expression.

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