In the Beginning, There Was the Word

"And when those white-sailed ships piled us together, cargo in the hull of hell, the word rode with us, our tongues anointed with the power of God. When the lash found our language, when they said don't read or write, our tongues were still gilded with a heavenly word. We still sang that holy song, even in this strange land. Even here, God spoke to us and through us. Our hands made language and earth became fruitful, and song became prayer."

"And we became messengers with each sin pitched against us- in Birmingham, there was God in the feet of the marchers and in the starched collar of Fred Shuttlesworth, in the curls and dimples of those four girls, in the boyish joy of Virgil and Johnny before their song was cut short."

"And there is a messenger on Nassau Avenue with the word clear and strong on his tongue, a warrior for the Lord, a servant of the word. And the ancestors find his brown hands and anoint them, and metal becomes message; wood and paint interpret scripture, the wind blows through, and there is God."

Enslaved Africans carried sacred language and song across the Atlantic, turning imposed silence into spiritual power and communal resilience. Prohibition of literacy and physical violence could not erase devotional speech; faith and music became prayer, survival, and instruction. Communities assumed the role of messengers, embodying divine presence in protest, labor, and everyday life, consecrating art and craft into testimony. Ancestors anointed hands so ordinary materials became vessels of scripture and message. The word persists as a living torch and collective soul, manifesting love in motion and an unstoppable, sustaining song.

Read at The Atlantic