If you read my last post, you know that I work at a small, Christian summer camp. The other day, I was asked to help lead worship. Worship is something done nightly before bed, we gather around a fire and sing songs and then hear a message that incorporates the theme of the day. I said I would gladly help out and I heard someone behind me chuckle. Jokingly, one of the higher-ups (the chuckler) said "yes Annie, show us how to do worship your way" and laughed like it was the most outlandish thing he'd ever said. Now, we'd talked in the past casually about how at my home church we sung some of the same songs but had our own variations. But, he said it as a joke. The thought of me and all my blackness standing in front of the group and teaching them some of my music in the way that I know to worship was so ridiculous, so ludicrous that it was something to be mocked and ridiculed. The fact that I worship God using the beats of my African ancestors' drum is not worthy of being shared. The way that I clap my hands and stomp my feet in reverence of my God is not good enough. My praise, of negro spirituals and hymns of passion is not something that he can easily relate to because 150 years ago his people were not objects to be owned. You see, a thing as dark as slavery is something that only a praise dance and a hymn sung from the depths of the diaphragm of the African diaspora can see you through. Music is in my blood. In my culture we express our sorrows and triumphs through song. We put our thoughts and feelings to music as we were once told not to read or write so we belted out lyrics inspired by our love of the motherland and our hopes to one day see freedom. Today, I still have those hopes. During the civil rights movement we marched to the beat of our own drum as we peacefully protested injustices. How dare he? Act as if my praise was not good enough, something to be laughed at. I will shout and sing from the rooftops about how good my God has been any and every way that I know how, and just because the melody and tune of my praise may not fit the Eurocentric standards of worship does not mean God does not hear my cries. I will not make my self smaller or less loud in worship to make you feel more comfortable. I will not clap off beat and lose the rhythm in the sway of my body as I give glory to the Most High to fit in with the white way, I mean the right way. I will praise God the way my mother praises God and her mother before that and Harriet Tubman and Martin Luther King, and while I'm at it, I'll be sure not to belittle others for the way that they worship. One day, when the Glory comes, it will be ours, it will be ours.