On my desk is my friend Walter F. Pitts’ posthumously published Old Ship of Zion: The Afro-Baptist Ritual in the African Diaspora (Oxford UP). It was reprinted in 1996, but my copy is dated 1993, and signed by Walter’s partner, the Reverend Leroy Davis.
Walter’s funeral, at Mt. Calvary Baptist Church in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, where he used to play the piano, was the first open casket funeral I ever attended. I had always heard that these were difficult, but I liked it. I had not realized Walter’s death was so imminent, and seeing him en cuerpo presente was reassuring. He had been here, and now he was leaving. Tomorrow, he would be gone, but at that point, his spirit still lingered close to us.
The church was packed. In their robes, standing on a raised platform, the large choir looked like a band of angels. Swing low, sweet chariot. People were “falling out” in religious ecstasy all around. The preacher gave one of those rousing, Baptist sermons, based on repetition and the extension of poetic lines.
“My friend, Walter Pitts, has died today. My friend, Dr. Walter Pitts, has died today. My good, kind, caring friend, Dr. Walter Pitts, has died today. My good, kind, caring friend, Dr. Walter Pitts, was a brilliant man. My good, kind, caring friend, Dr. Walter Pitts, was a brilliant man made brave by Leroy’s love! Yes, sir, made brave by Leroy’s love.”
He went on to discuss “the Job question,” saying, “and I am not satisfied, I am not satisfied with your answer to the Job question, I cannot accept that Walter has died.” Then, having brought the audience to this emotional crescendo, he ended: “Good-bye my dear friend, I will see you on the other side!” And although I do not believe in the afterlife, Walter did, and I saw his spirit rise.
My mother said that when you visit someone’s church, you must thank the preacher, so I did this on the way out. I told him he had given a lovely ceremony. “And you were inspired,” he said. Now, I am not a Christian and I would never be a Baptist, but when I had expressed surprise to Walter that he belonged to such a non-intellectual church, he had said, “Oh, I don’t go for the dogma. I feel the spirit in the ceremony.” And when his preacher told me I had been inspired, all I had to say was “Yes.” And that is one of the reasons I always sign these posts axé, calling on the power of the spirits.
In honor of all of this, we will listen to Huddy Ledbetter singing Old Ship of Zion–a ship which has, in his version of the lyrics, “landed many a thousand,” and which in Walter’s words, “provided both a shelter against the storm of racial oppression and a vessel for sailing through it” (p. 175).
Here is another version of the lyrics.
What ship is this that will take us all home,
Oh, glory hallelujah,
And safely land us on Canaan’s bright shore?
Oh, glory hallelujah.
She landed all who have gone before,
Oh, glory hallelujah,
And yet she is able to land still more,
Oh, glory hallelujah.
If I arrive there, then, before you do,
Oh, glory hallelujah,
I’ll tell them that you are coming up, too,
Oh, glory hallelujah.
‘Tis the old ship of Zion, hallelujah.
The winds may blow and the billows may foam,
Oh, glory hallelujah,
But she is able to land us all home.
Oh, glory hallelujah.
Axé.
coldhearted scientist وداد 
Lovely post. Thanks.
Beautiful.
This is a lovely post.
I wonder what the funeral will be like from my friend’s point of view, whose brother’s is happening next week: a soul who was deemed as lost years before his own death, by 5 of his 7 siblings, and leaving 3 of his own children to the scathing cultism of Jehovah Witnesses from St Vincent — that finally ‘found him’ amidst bottles and crack-pipes.
My friend has put a demand in his will to prevent his doomsday family from attempting to hijack his own burial, with their fainting and wailing and to prevent them from overiding his wishes to make it an affair for friends.
Yeah, once one feels the spirits it’s difficult to deny. You may already know that my father is a pastor in the AME church. So, I grew up in that atmosphere. I first felt the spirit in my early teens. It started in my feet and completely took over my entire being. I sat in my chair curled and bent trying to contain it. I did this because I was afraid what may happen if I let go. It felt like a surge of electricity.
This was a beautiful and inspring post.
Give thanks for this post. Yes, feel them spirits…
Blessings,
Geoffrey
having grown up ‘part’ baptist – i hear you when you say you were inspired by the preacher..they are great for getting your blood moving on Sunday mornings.
in fact – i just came from a funeral in New Mexico USA…baptist also…beautiful singing…just love the choir…
What a wonderful post and moving tribute, Professor.
Thank you for this.
I’m sorry about your friend.
When I was younger I would go to my friend’s annual “Battle of the Choirs” or when special guest preached. I enjoyed so much the pitch and how the rhytmn would provoke excitement. In my African American Literature class we were shown several texts that had the same effect. One I remember for sure was a Martin Luther King speech.
Great post!