New Play Celebrates Black Spirituality And History
D. Woods and the company of “(pray).” (Photo by Ben Arons)
NEW YORK — A sign outside the auditorium at the Greenwich House Theater in Manhattan’s West Village lists “Nine Dos Before the Ritual” for audience members about to see “(pray).”
Among general rules about keeping cell phones turned off and theater etiquette, the list includes the following:
1. Do remain present, open and curious.
3. Do sing, hum, dance, yell and praise out loud!
6. Do trust in the power of Black femmes.
8. Do consider what is sacred to you.
This list reflects many of the core values and experiences of “(pray),” which is intended to be as much a meditation as it is a theater performance. The show is a choreopoem that tells a story through the lens of a feminine experience in a Black Baptist Church. It blends the past with the present, the divine with the earthly and the fear of the unknown with the delight of faith.
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In this format, which combines dance, music and the spoken word, “(pray)” is a conglomerate. It contains multitudes, but it’s also a concise and poignant piece that’s successful in its reflection on what’s sacred.
“(pray)” is structured like a church service, including routines that will likely be familiar to current or former churchgoers. The theater is set up like a church auditorium, pews in rows on all four sides of the room to surround the performance space and bring the audience into the heart of it.
The several women who make up the majority of the show’s cast of characters — all named Sister Anna Bertha — weave in and out of the pews throughout, dancing in the aisles and the center. They even sit with the audience members in the pews to participate, chatting animatedly with adjacent churchgoers about what’s being said and done in the service.
This vivid churchy atmosphere is of course all intentional, connected to what writer, director and choreographer nicHi douglas wanted to explore when they were creating the work.
“I felt like I needed to have a deeper or more concrete relationship to faith,” they told ReligionUnplugged. “I grew up with a mother who is religious and has a really strong ethic, and my sister also has a deep relationship to her spirituality. I wanted to be able to have access to what my sister and mother had such clear access to.”
The show very clearly reflects this doubtful but yearning spirit, and that gives it strong roots in the present — representing many younger people of faith who’re grappling with their faith and hoping to reconcile the history of belief in their family and culture with their beliefs in the present.
These questions are pinned primarily on Free, a character described in the script as “the mind personified.” For much of the beginning of the show, as the church service goes on in a fairly traditional manner, Free sits in the back of the room in a pew oscillating between mild stress and panic.
Amara Granderson (Free) and the company of “(pray).” (Photo by Ben Arons)
This culminates a few times in an impassioned outburst turned breathtaking monologue. These monologues contain some of the most harrowing lines of dialogue, ones that cut directly at the heart of the play’s meaning.
“I’d give my left foot to be able to agree with myself — my many selves. To reconcile my many thoughts, to align my worth with something real,” they say.
“Does my confusion mean that I’m bad as a person?” they ask.
It’s a visceral representation of the confusion and guilt that accompanies asking questions about faith, and it encapsulates so much and so well the present feeling many have when approaching any long-held religion, especially if it’s one that’s close to their family or culture.
That’s the other beautiful part of “(pray)” — it’s tied so closely to the religious practices of Black women and evangelical Christianity that it’s able to look back on history with sadness, anger and celebration.
The play contains two readings, both from the essay “My Mother Could Send up the Most Powerful Prayer: The Role of African American Slave Women in Evangelical Christianity” by Sherry L. Abbott.
The readings do as the essay’s title suggests: they herald Black women as trailblazers of evangelical Christianity and as pillars of strength in their communities while their people were enslaved. They used it as a source of strength and comfort in times of suffering; they helped preserve tradition that’s lasted to the present day.
“Black women and femmes played a massive role in evangelical Christianity in the Antebellum South through to now,” douglas said, “so why don't we go ahead and celebrate that and shed light on that? Not to complain about not being noticed, but to be able to claim and celebrate the feminine divine and the power of it throughout history.”
The other fundamental connection to Black evangelical Christianity is in the use of traditional hymns, which douglas researched extensively and uses throughout the piece.
“The lyrics I chose were the ones that were literally related to things I was already writing,” they said. “It felt like the universe was just sort of matchmaking.”
These hymns are evocative on their own — aided by the performances of an entire cast of stunning vocalists — but their impact is only emphasized when paired with the show’s original compositions, which at times moved me to tears.
When planning for these songs, douglas asked composers Starr Busby and JJJJJerome Ellis to consider a question themselves: “What would a new Negro spiritual sound like?”
The result involves an electronic sound and lyrics that include beliefs beyond those of evangelical Christianity.
Language is a powerful tool douglas utilizes overall. In a playful moment, the words of familiar hymns are reversed: instead of “this little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine,” the singers proclaim, “this little shine of mine, I’m gonna let it light.”
Many such replacements are made elsewhere, religious jargon replaced with more generic words that sound similar.
“From an Afrofuturist standpoint, it's using language as technology, to dig into the themes and concepts of the word,” douglas said.
“Amen” in the show is replaced with “again,” used in a rousing call-and-response at the end of the service. Because it’s being used as technology, each replacement word is chosen with intention even beyond its sound.
“First, and this is just how I respond to the word, it has ‘men’ in it, and this work is too femme for that,” douglas said, laughing.
But “(pray)” more than anything celebrates community and a willingness to keep learning, even if answers aren’t readily apparent. It encourages embracing the past and making peace with asking difficult questions.
“An amen has such a finality to it; it feels like the end,” douglas said. “There's something about spirituality to me that invites repetition and invites continuation.”
(pray) is currently on view at Greenwich House until Oct. 28.
Jillian Cheney is Religion Unplugged’s Senior Culture Correspondent. She writes about film, TV, music, art, books and more. Find her on Twitter @_jilliancheney.