Caribbean Worship

Although Christians have worshiped on the Caribbean Islands for many decades, patterns of worship that reflect local culture have only arisen in recent years. This article describes this process and calls for further attention to cultural issues and provides both a brief introduction to worship in this cultural tradition and a helpful point of comparison for churches that are struggling with cultural issues in other settings.

Contemporary Caribbean worship is an adventure of the spirit. But the road to an indigenous form of Caribbean worship has been arduous. The European colonizers brought to the West Indies (as well as to the rest of the world) their cultural heritage. There was only one-way cultural communication: from the rich and dominant Europeans to the backward and primitive non-Northerners. The mores of the Arawak and Carib Indian, and even more those of the African slaves, were denigrated and European things were promoted and idolized. The former were considered pagan, the latter were to be emulated. Thus the slaves and natives learned to dress, eat, speak, and worship like their masters. They desired to have children, whose complexions were as light as possible. There was a cultural miscegenation. African and Indian traditions were subsumed. Christianity and Westernization became synonymous. The church was used by the oppressive colonists to maintain their dominance. Thus all religious expressions indigenous to the slaves were viewed negatively, suppressed, or devalued. An nineteenth-century anonymous writer while describing a funeral ceremony displays a typical negative attitude toward the slaves' musical culture:

During the whole of the ceremony, many fantastic motions and wild gesticulations are practiced, accompanied with a suitable beat of their drums, and other rude instruments, while a melancholy dirge is sung by a female .… This species of barbarous music in indeed more enchanting to their ears than all the most exquisite notes of a Purcell or Pleyel, and however delighted they might appear to be with the finest melody of our bands, let them but hear at a distance from the one to enjoy the other. (cited on page 7 in Prince, from An Account of Jamaica and its Inhabitants [London: Longman: 1808], 250–251.)

With the advent of independence, beginning with Jamaica in 1962, Caribbean nations have become more sensitive to their African heritage. The Jamaican national hero, Marcus Garvey, had chided black ministers decades before for not teaching people to appreciate their African cultural heritage. Now many Caribbean people have begun to ask questions of identity, while moving away from the attitude that whatever is foreign is superior to that which is indigenous. The colonial umbilical cords are being cut. A number of churches have been attempting to decolonize their theology. As part of the process, attempts are being made to decolonize the liturgy. It is recognized that the Caribbeans have a unique, distinctive, peculiar, and historical experience, which is not reflected in their worship because they have adopted the modes of life from Europe and America and have become extensions of such. Some Jamaicans and Jamaican religions have long retained some vital cultural heritages from their African roots. Many have been syncretized with Christian European tradition and developed a unique indigenous form as is evident in Revivalism (e.g., Pocamania) and Rastafarianism. However since 1962, mainline religious traditions such as the Anglican church have liturgically evolved and are making slow but steady progress in indigenizing their worship, incorporating more participation, gestures, and body movements, which all are vital components of the everyday life of the people. Yet a recent survey suggests that the gap between Caribbean culture and Christian worship remains wide. The inherited traditions "?disaffirmed the indigenous and glorified the '?emigrant?' [sic],?" said one respondent. Davis noted that "?there was a feeling that there was a … sincerity gap between the rites and ceremonies and real life?"—something not unique to the Caribbean (Kortright Davis, The Caribbean Church—To Change or to Stay? Just a Simple Survey [Barbados: CGSRS, 1982], 19). To be truly indigenous in its theology and liturgy, the church must "?take seriously and responsibly the cultural milieu and environment in which it finds itself thereby recognizing the cultural and social experience of that milieu?" (see Knolly Clarke, "?Liturgy and Culture in the Caribbean: What is to be Done??" in Troubling of the Waters, ed. Idris Hamid [Trinidad: Rahaman, 1973]). Indigenization will take into account not only the realities of the peoples' Afro-European heritage, but the total realities of Caribbean societies: "?hunger, disease, ignorance, illiteracy, unemployment, frustrations, and the struggles of people for liberation, justice, and peace?" (cited in page 7 of Prince, from An Account of Jamaica and Its Inhabitants [London: Longman, 1808], 250–251). All these realities must be expressed in the church's music, language, dance, and symbols. Local Caribbean music has been looked upon as sacrilegious, sensual, ungodly, and carnal because of its rhythmic idiom. But the Caribbean person is a rhythmic being. Iris Hamid sees rhythm as a key phenomenon in communications in the Caribbean (Iris Hamid, In Search of New Perspectives, 18, cited in Donovan L. Grant, "?Towards a Ministry of Music: An Examination of the Ministry of Music in the Roman Catholic church of Jamaica and the United Church of Jamaica and Grand Cayman?" [Unpublished paper, University of the West Indies, 1985], 8). Rhythmic music has existed in the Jamaican Christian worship for decades. But it was found among the sects, such as Revival and Pocamania, and the "?lower class?" churches, such as the Pentecostal and the Church of God. These churches transformed Western hymns into a neo-African form. Noel Dexter, the Director of Music at the University of the West Indies, has noted that more and more youth want more rhythm, a mode a person can clap to. For them, the straightforward metrical hymns are boring. Yet Marjorie Whylie (Director of Studies, Jamaica School of Music) argues that even the traditional hymns lend themselves to rhythm. The problem is that the mode in which the music is set is European. "?What we need to do then is to apply it to our own arrangement. Normal Jamaican common rhythmic patterns are all double and quadruple for the most part .… Therefore those hymns that are written in simple double can be arranged so as to bring in certain rhythmic components?" (Richard O. Ramsey, "?The Relationship Between the Church Music and Songs Used in the Main-line Churches in Jamaica and the Jamaican Culture and Social Classes?" [Unpublished paper, United Theological College of the West Indies, n.d.], 8). Not only rhythm, but instrumentation must reflect the West Indian experience. The organ has been the traditional instrument of preference. But as Althea Spencer noted this instrument is suited to the smooth plodding of European hymns. It is unnatural for people whose bodies are rhythmic. Thus instruments, such as drums (especially the congo drum), guitars, mouth organs, tambourines, shakers, steel pans, violin, flute, bango, rumbo boxes, and maracas, etc., evoke a more natural response in the people. Although the instrumentation allows us to express the physical in worship, the lyrics are as much an important component in the indigenization enterprise. Ralph Hoyte has demonstrated how folk songs have been the spontaneous expression of the human spirit—its philosophy of life, its joys and sorrow, its religion. Folk songs define and articulate the meaning of existence. This is true also of indigenized religious songs and hymns. Instead of hymns which cater to the class of Caribbean people, whose experience has a North American or European orientation, there is blossoming a new hymnody, which focuses on the historic and present experience of the majority of Caribbean people—their poverty, their oppression, the injustice they face, and the pain they bear. Victor H. Job's "?Lord God of All the Nations,?" which can be sung to the tune of "?Lead on O King Eternal,?" is illustrative (All songs cited in this article are from Sing a New Song, vol. 3 [Barbados: Cedar Press, Caribbean Conference of Churches, 1981]):

Lord God of all the nations and these Caribbean lands,

Look now on your creation with mercy and with love; We need your consolation as never before; Grant us your free salvation, and guide us safely home. Our islands are divided by land, by air, by sea; By race, by creed, by culture, political decree. The Church too is fragmented and full of enmity; But God calls us together to work for unity. Your people are surrounded by hatred, greed, and lust, By poverty, oppression, injustice and mistrust. With God who is our Healer we'll cure the wounds and pain; We'll give them food and shelter and bring new life again. For we have seen your guidance through changing scenes of life, Your help and your deliverance from tyrannies and strife, You broke the chains and shackles and set your people free To save our lands and people from sin and misery. Give to us that new vision that clearly we may see; A new determination onward to strive with you To fight for human justice, for love and liberty For unity and concord and human dignity. O God of our salvation our Hope, our Strength, our Trust! We pray for all the nations for all our deeds unjust. In our tribulations, we know you'll see us through, And when life's journey's ended we'll just rest in peace with you.

Not only do the Caribbean people need more hymns that conceptually treat the large issues of tyranny, oppression, injustice, pain, and deliverance, but hymns and songs that do not prolong the colonial ethos. For example, Marjorie Whylie notes that snow-capped mountains is completely foreign to the Caribbean experience and appreciable only to those who travel (Ramsey 8). More hymns like Hugh B. Sherlock's, "?God of the Earth and Sky,?" is more meaningful to Caribbean peoples' experience.

God of the earth and sky, Lord of our hills and plains

Ruler of night and day, bright sun and cooling rains— Great Elohim! To thee we raise our harvest hymn of joyful praise. '?Mid dancing azure seas, upheld by thy command, Our lovely islands rise in tropic splendor planned. And we are stewards of thy grace, unless we see thee face to face. Thine is the fruitful field, the broad-leaved plantain thine, Banana, slender cane, tall palm and lowly vine. Thine own, O Lord, we bring to thee of all thy bounty rich and free. Star-apples, purple-dyed, their leaves of bronze and green With ackees scarlet-hued, gay citrus gold is seen. Thou matchless Artist! Here may we thine own eternal beauty see.

More and more hymns are being written which reflect the daily experiences and cultural norms of the people. Much of the contextualizing of theology, tunes, rhythms, lyrics, and performance have been done by Catholics (see Grant 20; and Ramsey xvi–xviii). Father Richard Ho Lung has been at the forefront of this enterprise. He argues that "?spiritual truths must be conveyed through Jamaican local images. For example, struggle for labor, survival?" (cited in Ramsey 18). His "?Communion Feast?" is illustrative of this theme of struggle:

Come pray, Kushu, we go long to watch we papa a reap.

Come here, Kushu, come pray bredda where Sammy a nail zinc to cover we head You're there Savior, I don't mean maybe. De big girl a cook calaloo in a soup, she help Die but your rise, yes, you rise a Savior-love. CHORUS Come we Mavis, come we children, celebrate in the feast of love. The worry and the hurry and the work can provide our prayer. Come we Sammy, come we children celebrate in the feast of love The sharing and the caring bring the bread of our Savior's life. You're there Jesus, we go wash de children for school, You're there Jesus, I don't mean maybe Alphy a cut sugar cane fi a job, You're there, Jesus, we know you Jesus our Father above send you down to the earth to love, You come here and you live here and you die as a Savior Die but you rise, yes, you rise as a Savior-love. We're home, Jesus, your body and your blood they nourish and heal, We're home, Jesus, we're home, Jesus, We work and we strong and we worship in song We're home, Jesus, I don't mean maybe. Your Father above send you down to the earth our home, You come here and you grow here and you die as a Savior, Die but you rise, yes, you rise as a Savior-love.

Here, I am arguing that hymns such as this and Caribbean music with its rhythmic and other idiomatic components must be the mainstay of Caribbean worship. Caribbean worship and thus Caribbean liturgical music must be incarnational. It must come closer home to the twenty-four hour cultural experience of the people. Thus, it must be indigenous. It is not good enough to relegate the rhythm, the clapping, the physical portions, and the indigenous instrumentation to the evening services and crusades. These elements ought to be incorporated into the worship experience. They should become the common currency of the people. The challenge for the diaspora Caribbean community is to create a worship experience, which does not ignore Caribbean history, but speaks to the unique presence of the Caribbeans in an adopted society.