Worship Across the Racial Divide: An Interview with Gerardo Marti
Paul Harvey
Editor's Note: In spite of what I said yesterday, we'll be posting during spring break after all, leading to our "Faces and Places of Jesus" series beginning on Friday. I'm pleased to post this interview with our blog contributor Gerardo Marti, author of the new book Worship Across the Racial Divide, which I previously blogged about here. A sociologist by training, Gerardo reflects below on sociological and historical approaches to the study of religion. Part I of this interview is today; Part II will go up tomorrow.
Editor's Note: In spite of what I said yesterday, we'll be posting during spring break after all, leading to our "Faces and Places of Jesus" series beginning on Friday. I'm pleased to post this interview with our blog contributor Gerardo Marti, author of the new book Worship Across the Racial Divide, which I previously blogged about here. A sociologist by training, Gerardo reflects below on sociological and historical approaches to the study of religion. Part I of this interview is today; Part II will go up tomorrow.
PH: Gerardo, talk
about the process that led you to this book, from initial conceptualization to
final product. How did you come up with some of the basic questions that you
address in this book?
GERARDO: In
my first two ethnographies of A Mosaic of Believers and Hollywood Faith, it
appeared that people stayed in congregations that reflected their musical
tastes and desires. More importantly, church leaders believed music to be
critical, and they corralled their worship directors and key leaders to focus deliberate
attention on the construction and performance of music in hopes of attracting
and keeping diverse congregants.
Yet
I found problems every time church leaders made “common sense” connections
between race and music. Like during a summer seminar at Calvin College in 2006—a
music director of a fairly large church talked openly about the immense
pressure he experienced to become more “multicultural” in worship. He was told,
“We need to become ‘blacker.’” In pursuit of what he called a “quick fix” he introduced
gospel choir music with a few Negro spirituals “thrown in.” The almost entirely
white congregation thought the music as “cool” saying that it had “a great
beat” and even prompted some reflection on what it meant to hear music that
expressed survival and liberation, yet the “quick fix” approach ended up
reinforcing stereotypes of what African Americans are “supposed to be” overall.
The “black music” intended to expand diversity effectively deepened racial
divides already embedded.
Grant
funding from the Louisville Institute and the Congregational StudiesTeam allowed me to pursue a focused analysis of musical liturgy in
successfully diverse congregations. I was interested in how music and worship
“work” in multiracial churches. The new research centered around two questions:
Could religious music be the gateway for stimulating integrated congregations?
Or do the structures of musical liturgy provide yet another opportunity to
maintain the racial divide – even in the midst of “successful” racial
integration?
Most of the
contributors to my blog are historians by training; you are a sociologist by
training. Talk about what you think historians can learn/need to learn from
sociologists, and (if such a thing exists) a work that combines the two
disciplinary methods most fruitfully?
I
get most excited when I read the work of American religious historians who provide
immersive narratives that draw out the contingent construction of institutions
and ideational structures comprising our contemporary world. Perhaps the best
book I read for this analysis was Curtis Evans’ The Burden of Black Religion, a text I quote excessively because it provided such crucial background
for the discursive themes of African Americans as “superior worshipers.” This is
certainly not the only book I read. I was fairly ambitious in the attempt to
address race, church, and music under an initially vague notion of “worship,”
and I drew from many astounding works of historians to enlighten and guide my
vantage point, especially to remove any “presentist” bias and to uncover what
has been significant in the past to suggest what may continue to be significant
for our future. The final word count of the printed book came to roughly
100,000 words, yet my first full draft contained nearly 150,000, and it could
have been much longer! While few made it into the text, they still feed my current
scholarship.
On
connecting our two disciplines, I don’t know if a full integration of sociology
and history is possible. The array of evolving methodological tools can be
confusing, the ongoing development/critique of theoretical frameworks hard to
keep up with, and the sensitivities inherent to each are difficult to master. For
me, the pragmatic consideration of sociological work is constrained to
articulating concrete mechanisms of social life in the arena under
investigation. My academic work is done while simultaneously attending to clear
research questions, a self-conscious use of conceptual frameworks, and
attentiveness to methodologically sound processes of investigation. Figuring
this out takes a lot of time; writing all this up takes up a lot of room. So I
find little time and ability to adequately follow all the issues and debates
among my colleagues in history.
On
the other hand, I find that historians and others frequently come across
intriguing sociological findings that reveal previously ignored dynamics. Ultimately,
sociologists like myself attempt to draw out a complex of social structures and
seek to produce heuristic insights. Sometimes our results are more “factual” in
orientation; other times more “theoretical.” Either way, historians could use
such work as a provocative source of enrichment for their own investigations.
You write that
"the diversification of churches is not about racially accommodating
distinct music styles or enacting simplistic notions of leadership
intentionality, but rather about stimulating cross-racial interaction through
music worship practices." What is it about music in worship that holds
such a key to the successful creation of multiracial churches?
I
thought I might come to grasp something of the emotional power of sacred music,
how music “tugs at the heart,” “lifts the human spirit,” and “transcends our
earthly concerns” by “stirring the passions” of a crowd. Music would be
“soothing,” “inspiring,” or just plain “worshipful,” and the experience of
music would create a profound human connection. Once I began my research, what
stood out was a fundamental belief that only certain music connects with
certain racial and ethnic groups. Leaders select worship music that
incorporates “diversity friendly” musical influences such as “gospel” and
“salsa” to “spice up” their music. Like a chef preparing a musical casserole,
worship leaders in multiracial churches invoke a musical pluralism to promote a
buffet style of musical genres with crossover appeal.
The
key finding described at length in the book is that multiracial churches
aggressively recruit (and sometimes pay) people from diverse racial and ethnic
backgrounds to be featured in public worship. Beliefs of racial authenticity drive
musical performance such that diverse churches ironically reproduce notions of
racial and ethnic differences at the same time they try to eliminate them.
Despite
such racialized tactics, a connection is forged between diverse performers and
the congregational “audience.” Singers may be off-key, but the choir provides a
place of belonging and sacred connection. The occasional dissonant chord of the
pianist and the ill-placed harmonies of vocalist connect fellow church members who
serve with reverence and a sense of duty on behalf of the people gathered in
that place. And it’s not just the “performances” but the “rehearsals.” Diverse
members may only see each other a few hours each week, but these members come
to know each other and have surprisingly deep relationships with each other.
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