After Seeing Harriet Tubman’s Hymnal

These hymns were your prayers.

You couldn’t read but you could Sing.

The pages are thin, yellowed, dogeared. Its cover; soft, cracked. You couldn’t read but you knew these pages like each tree in the woods. The wear and tear trace the turning of pages, trace the drop of tears, trace the sealing of souls.

There is a Power in words. You felt a surge of energy within each syllable as you sang them. Strength. The Word came over you, emboldened you, lifted you, embodied you with these words. You felt Him as close as your own breath and He spoke to you in visions and in dreams. You heard His voice in the song of the woods, the wind dancing through the trees, the call of the owl, the scamper of the deer, the splash of the stream. He led you to freedom. First freedom in mind and spirit. Then, freedom in body and flesh. Then like Moses you came back for the rest of your people.

These hymns were secret language. A code to slaves.

Swing low, sweet chariot  

Be ready, you sang.

Steal away to Jesus

We’re ready, they sang.

Did you sing when you were scared? Your silent songs reminding yourself of His faithfulness and mercy.

These hymns were your memories. Stories of bleeding feet. Of water too high to wade. Of hunger pains. Of the clouds clearing to reveal that bright North Star. Each song a reminder of a slave saved, a family reunited, a dream fulfilled. Freedom. And you didn’t lose one.

To see this book, a simple hymnal but one that touched your skin, that lay in your knapsack, is to see an object of devotion, a relic invested with spiritual power. If we reach through the glass, if we place our hand on its cover, if we purse our lips to kiss-- will your faith flood through us? Could we be as brave? Will we hear His call? He said if we had faith the size of a mustard seed, we could move mountains. Nothing would be impossible. You did the impossible, you moved people.

You couldn’t read but you could Sing.

Well done, Minty, well done.