1910 AFRICAN METHODIST EPISCOPAL. Important 19pp Unpublished Manuscript Account of "Negro Church.".

A superb, unpublished 19pp manuscript detailing the visit of several white folks invited by a "negro houseman" in southern Georgia to attend a mourning service at his church, which was either an African Methodist Episcopal [A.M.E.] or an A.M.E. Zion Church. These were the only two black denominations we can trace who engaged "Presiding Elders" at the time who were also active in the State. 

Between the names mentioned and the geographical details, it is likely the specific church can be traced. 

In fair condition, quite chipped, but textually complete and well-worth institutional preservation. 

It reads, in full:

Impressions of a Negro Church.

Introduction.

This isn’t given in a spirit of fun, nor is it anything I have heard or been told; it’s something I heard and saw myself, and it made an impression that has been lasting. I am not telling with any criticism of the negroes, or with any idea of ridicule, just to give you an idea of their way of worship; I hope you will find something to laugh at, also see the more serious side.

Time and Place.

We were spending the Xmas Holidays with my cousin, in South West Georgia, a small country town, where there are a few very wealthy people, and people of old Southern families, of education and refinement; but there largest part of the population consists of poor people, and negroes who have never been over ten miles from where they were born, a good man of them never saw a street car of the movies, but course there are lots of automobiles of all kinds.

It's a delightful place, just the same, and it’s just on the border of Florida, have grape fruit, and oranges in their yards, and continuous gardens, one crop after the other, seldom, killing frost hurt them.

George was a very black George, and my cousin’s house man, he was very genial, and adored for my cousin to have what he called “quality company.” We came under that head, and he treated us with the respect and attention he thought due to “quality company.” He also was the organist in his church, when asked where he learned to play, he said, ‘I ain’t never learnt, I jest plays.’ Then how do you know the tunes to play for the hymns? ‘I don’t knows ‘em. I just throws in a chord, now and den, and dey sings. De ain’t nobody else in dat church, wot can make even chords, on de orgen.

We told George that some night when they were having a special service at his church we would like to go. And there it is considered the most wonderful thing that can happen, to have the ‘white folks’ go to their church. So one evening, as we all sat around the bright wood fire, George appeared in the doorway, and with a very low bow, he said, ‘The white folks in dis house, is issued a spechul invitation to atten the service at our church on Sunday night, de Presiding Elder will be dere and we will have a morning service for Sister Clarissa Stearns.” A mourning service is a kind of memorial service to one who has died since the last visit of the Presiding Elder, and they make a great deal of it, everybody who ***** and wear the best they have.

The night arrived, and we went to the church, just the simplest place imaginable, of wood, inside the benches were of boards, with another board across for the back, the cracks in the floor were wide enough to see daylight, if there had been any daylight. There was a rude platform with a plain pine table, with a pitcher of water on it, and a glass, and a Bible. Also, there was on the platform what we would call a kitchen chair.

Seats had been reserved for us, and we were ushered to them with great dignity, by George, who was waiting at the door for us. And he left us with a low bow, and walked, or I might say, strutted up to the organ.

On to the platform came the Presiding Elder, a very tall and very rotund Presiding Elder, also very black. He had on a cutaway coat, striped pants and a very gay and very loud vest across which a huge gold chain was draped. On the end of that, a large gold watch. We found out afterwards, it was a gift from that congregation to him. He took it out every few minutes, all during the service, looked at it, and would give it a flip back into his pocket. Each time I would expect it to fall, at least the length of the chain, for it didn’t seem possible that it would hit the pocket every time, but always did. It must have taken a great deal of practice to do it so well.

During his sermon, he walked many miles across and back on the little platform and took exercise enough in his gesticulation to do for daily dozens for a week. He got very hot, and had to mop his brow quite often. There was no question about his being intensely interested in what he was doing and saying, and he most surely held the interest, every moment, of his audience, including the ‘white folks.’

First of all, he majestically gave out the number of the hymn. George ‘threw in’ some chords, and the congregation sang. No particular tune, but with the most beautiful harmonies you can imagine they chanted. Nearly every negro is naturally musical, and their voices blend well, and although untrained, they most surely ‘make good music.’

Then came the collection. They did not pass the plate, but all were invited to ‘Bring up what you wish to give to de Lord tonight.’ They didn’t wait until after the sermon. I suppose they were afraid some might go out before it was over. Of course, the ‘white folks’ were supposed to do nobly. So one of the men in our crowd took our contribution, which seemed very large to them. They have whatever they can afford to give changed into pennies, and take the up one at a time, so a nickel in pennies meant five trips to the platform and gave everyone else a good chance to see what they were wearing. And of course, the more times they went up, the more money they were putting in.

After all money had been put in, the Elder said, ‘Let us pray.’ Followed the Lord’s Prayer. I’ll give just a few lines to give you a very faint idea of how it was done. ‘Our Father, which art in Heaven tonight. Hallowed be thy Precious name. Thy Kingdom come on this wicked world, as it is in your Beautiful Heaven,’ and so on through the most amazing rendition of the Lord’s Prayer you could ever conceive. In fact, I don’t believe you could conceive of it even in your wildest flights of fancy. He knelt on the floor by the chair, he roared, he prayed for everything you could ever imagine, he heaped coals of fire on the sinners heads. He tore his hair, beat upon his breast. He screamed in the most impassioned voice for mercy on sinners of all kinds. And when he had gotten your nerves to the point of snapping, he said in a perfectly calm, meek voice, ‘For Christ’s sake. Amen.’ It was such a let down, and suddent calm after the raging storm, I almost laughed aloud.

Then he read a portion of Scripture, with some side remarks in explanation.

The subject of the sermon was, ‘Your Pantry Shelf.’ Of course I can’t remember it all, for it took a long long while, and remember that while he was preaching, he was making all manner of gestures, walking, or prancing about the platform, mopping his brow, looking at his watch and flipping it back into his pocket. This is just the theme of the sermon.

‘All of you folks is got a top shelf in your pantry, where you puts things you don’t use very often, and where the dust gets thick for want of cleaning, and up dere you puts a bottle of medicine you don’t need. It den some day comes a pain and you goes scrabbling after dat bottle, and de medicine eases yo pain. On de oder shelves you keeps your best dishes, and dey is kep dusted, and you shows dem wif pride to whoever comes ter see yo. Now dese shelfs is your life, and de dusted ones you keep – your fine clothes, your cheap jewelry and your on the installment plan furniture, and on some of dem is a tin Lizzie. You shows off all dese things and uses a lou mouf to let folks know you got em. But what has you don wif Jesus? You done put him on dat top shelf. And like dat bottle, you don forgot all about him. Den one day comes ole black trouble, an you cloes and furniture and tin lizzy ain’t no help to yez, so you goes on dat top shelf and finds Jesus, and you prays to him to help and bring you peace and he gibs it to you. He ain’t mean and deserts you cause you forgot him. He helps you in your black trouble. Den after awhile you don needs him, and back on de shelf you puts him.

Now Jesus didn’t come into dis world, a full gron man, and lay down de laws and make people do how he wanted em to. He could a did it, but no, he came meek and lowly, a little helpless baby, to show you dats how you got to get in to dis Kingdom. Become as a little baby, meek an lowly, before you can be took in, an He alone can help you to be like dat. So you got to keep dat shelf dusted and clean and show him in your lives, jest like you showed your oder things. Be proud of him and let all folks know you worships him, and depends on Him in de bright days as well as de dark. And he will reward.

After much more very good advice, the sermon ended. And I can assure you the white folks felt they had been told things they should do.

When the sermon as over, they proceeded to the mourning of Sister Clarissa Stearns, a member in good standing who had died since the Elders last visit, and this was to be a memorial to her. The elder praised her for her goodness – and the example she had set in her day – followed a prayer for her ‘And now Brethren and Sisterin, we will mourn our lost loved one.’

It is rather difficult to describe this mourning service. They start with a low, deep hum of their voices, and raise it gradually to a loud wail, and almost a scream, and then down again almost to a whisper. It rises and falls, like wind in pine trees, only more weird. It is quite unusually beautiful and unless you have heard it, I’m afraid I can’t give you much idea of its cadances, its uncanny, weird, wild beauty. And through it all the occasional, Amen. Glory to God. And groan or shout as the different emotions were aroused. It grew wilder and wilder and a number of the congregation shouted. They would get up, rock back and forth, groan, scream, dance up and down, wave their arms about, and ‘got religion on’ as they call it it coming through. Old Aunt Tildy, a former cook of my cousins, who had grown too feeble to work, began to shout. And she was a good old soul who had gotten religion years before, but the excitement was too much for her, so she got up and shouted, groaned, screamed, rocked and you could tell her strength was giving out. My cousin went to her to try to calm her, but it couldn’t be done, and she kept it up until she fell from exhaustion. They carried her home unconscious, and she died in a few days. She had ‘gone through to her God.’

After the mourning service was over, I was choked with emotion and the tears were streaming down my face. I was completely unstrung and felt very meek and lowly.

The white folks were very much impressed by the deadly earnestness, the childlike faith, and devoted loyalty of their service. ‘The white folks’ felt they had learned a deep and lasting lesson. I thank you.