When I think of the past few months and the months that lie ahead, I feel a bit like I am floating along a river that isn’t really going anywhere.  Life has pretty much stopped.  There are still things to do, things that must be done and the hours fill with tasks, but there doesn’t seem to be much direction.  There are no events to look forward to, no real upcoming plans and no point in making plans.  It isn’t quite boring, but it isn’t quite anything else either.  There are lots of conversations and sharing of memories and stories, but the distance makes this odd.  Interactions are carefully orchestrated to be safe, we are on constant alert and are cautious in our activities.  Spontaneity is out, seeking interest in the ordinary is in.  We’re living virtually, which literally means it is simulated rather than real – sort of better than nothing, but a substitute nonetheless.  The river moves, it doesn’t actually stand still, but its path exists on no map and I can’t tell where its heading.

This old African-American Spiritual reminded me of this.  It is a working song – literally sung when rowing a boat.  Who is Michael?  Some believe he was an oarsman from a plantation on St. Helena Island in South Carolina.  Someone who toiled to carefully get people to and from the mainland.  Others believe he is the Archangel Michael who is called upon when the waters are rough, or called upon to carry one over the River Jordan to heaven beyond.  Either way, Michael works hard to get us where we need to be – offering a route to safety or comfort in a storm or peace as we pass through to the other side.

Michael row the boat ashore, hallelujah.
Michael row the boat ashore, hallelujah.

Sister help to trim the sail, hallelujah.
Sister help to trim the sail, hallelujah.

The River Jordan is chilly and cold, hallelujah.
Chills the body but not the soul, hallelujah.

The river is deep and the river is wide, hallelujah.
Milk and honey on the other side, hallelujah.

Michael row the boat ashore, hallelujah.
Michael row the boat ashore, hallelujah.

In some ways, these words are bleak.  We need to get somewhere, we need to help, the way is rough.  There are many, many more verses that can be sung.  One version I came across had more than twenty additional statements.  Boasting will sink your soul, your father and mother have already gone, the river will overflow, darkness is coming.  Row to save your soul.  Imagine singing twenty or more verses, interspersed with Michael row the boat ashore….it is a relentless and long ride, it requires a lot of energy and strength to pull the oars with the rhythm of these words.  It is tiring to think about, it is tiring to do.  And where were these people going?  They didn’t know.

But then there’s this word.  Hallelujah. At the end of every, single statement.  Hallelujah.  When one utters this word, it is an expression of rejoicing.  How could these people who lived lives filled with uncertainty, injustice, pain, suffering, loneliness and hardship complete every observation of their lot with a triumphal proclamation?  A simple word that expresses jubilation, anticipation and hope.  It is a remarkable thing, and a remarkable example of the kind of belief the human spirit is capable of.  It is not dependant on knowing the outcome of our circumstances.  It simply acknowledges that there is joy to be found because we believe in its possibility.

As we float along this strange river we find ourselves in, there is something to be said for believing in whatever inspires a hallelujah.  Yes, we row.  We work, we think, we complete tasks, we contribute, we share, we trust and we serve. But it is a wide river and we also need to remember the milk and honey to be found on the other side.  We don’t know when we will get there, or what new beauties await us, but I am certain if we cannot sing our hallelujahs now, we may miss finding our way later.  Rejoicing is an act of will.  It is not payment for something received, or an exchange withheld until we are satisfied.  So, as I feel myself wandering with an absence of direction, I wonder if I need to sing hallelujah more frequently.  Perhaps there is something about this act that creates the space for hope to grow and for peace to reside.

Hallelujah.