Oh when the saints
go marching in;
Oh when the saints go marching in,
I want to be in that number,
when the saints go marching in!
Go on – your feet are already tapping! This traditional spiritual seems to have emerged around the beginning of the 19th century. It has been recorded many times, notably by Louis Armstrong in 1938. It has its origin among people who were cruelly enslaved, bought and sold across continents; and whose descendants still face complex struggles for their lives to count, to matter. But it rings with a greater hope: ‘I want to be in that number’: the number of the redeemed, whose names are written in the Lamb’s Book of Life, in that great multitude around the throne, praising God. Yes! I want to be in that number!
Tomorrow is the day when, very prosaically, we are all numbered, census day, which comes round once a decade. What does that process of numbering say to us and about us, about who counts, and how? In the 1991 census, I was involved in interfaith discussions with the government over the question about religious affiliation. The present census is engaging with how we define gender. They are important issues, that go to heart of who we are, and how we are counted, what we count for.
On the surface, it is all very innocent. A lot of people turn to the census nowadays, if they are interested in family history, or the history of ordinary lives. But we also know that data can be used to harm and oppress. From the holocaust to modern genocides, we have learnt that if you can count people in, you can also blot them out of the record. So we are right to keep a careful eye on those questions of belonging, and responsibility. And we will do so through two more songs.
You may know Sydney Carter’s song based on the parable of the sheep and goats in Matthew 25. ‘When I needed a neighbour, were you there?’, but he also wrote a less well known version, based on the events of Jesus’ arrest and crucifixion: ‘When they shouted hosanna’ . . . ‘When they took me to prison’ . . .’When the crosses were burning, were you there?’. That last verse, of course, refers to the lynchings in the Southern United States in the early twentieth century. Wherever there is hunger, or poverty, or injustice, we are called to ‘be there’, to stand by the cross, to stand by those who suffer.
Over the next two weeks, we will recall and retell the Easter story. These events speak to us in many ways. We may come to the cross with Sydney Carter’s challenge ringing in our ears; but as we stay, and worship, we may find the question changing. In the words of perhaps one of the best known and most powerful Spirituals of all times: ‘Were you there . . . when they crucified my Lord?’
Well, the answer is no, not literally. And this year, for the second time, we may not even be able to be ‘there’ in church, worshipping as we have every Easter of our lives. But we can respond in the pure awestruck wonder of the song: ‘Oh, sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble’.
As we live through the counting and being counted, the struggles for justice, and longing for a better world, we can see that steady light shining from the empty tomb, and trust that, in God’s love, we will be numbered among the redeemed, when the saints go marching in.
Let us pray
When census day comes, and we are counted,
Help us to be sure that no-one is excluded,
that there are no lives that don’t count, or don’t matter.
When the numbers are analysed, and recorded
Help us, as a nation, to use the information
to create a just and inclusive society, which cares for the weakest.
And this Easter
Help us to witness to our nation and our world
in the name of the God whose love in Jesus reaches out to all.
Amen.
Janet Wootton