Shirley R. Banks sings at Eden Community Baptist Church in Northeast Washington. (By Michael Williamson – The Washington Post)

By Shirley R. Banks
Saturday, October 31, 1998; Page C08

The high tenor voices started: I know I know I know I know . . .

And the low basses finished the line: I have another building.

Now the baritones joined in: I know I know I know I know I have another building.

Now all the voices, each in key, complementing the others: I know I know I know I know I have another building.

And it, My Lord (basses), and it, Oh Lord (tenors), will not be made by hand.

I love the harmonizing of male voices, just voices, and I can remember when the only accompaniment for many groups was the slapping on the thigh and the patting of the feet, all in harmony with the beat, the sound pulsating rhythmically, making music, the music of the black church.

From this music came some of the most marvelous voices of the century – Mahalia Jackson, Sam Cooke, Sarah Vaughan, just to name a few – voices that then spilled into the middle of American society. Rhythm and blues, rap and jazz all had their roots in the black church.

Jazz speaks for life, and blues tells the story, to paraphrase the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. in his speech at the 1964 Berlin Jazz Festival. Jazz, the only original American music, and rap, which began back in the late 1800s, are in a direct line from the metered hymns of the Deep South congregations, where the song leaders would recite the lines to be sung (or moaned), giving the rhythm in the recitation, and old mothers of the church would beat the drum or tub.

The immeasurable amount of our diverse music has been the single-biggest influence on American music as we know it.

Incorporated into everything salable today, on television, in books and movies, black music has been stolen, borrowed, abused and misused, its writers cheated and bamboozled until those who choose to use it almost try to claim it as their own, and sho' 'nuff use it in every conceivable avenue for revenue, as I often say.

Reams have been written regarding the black church and its influence on our lives.

The first institution to establish schools for the children of slaves, ex-slaves and all colored children, the black church was respected and revered and continues to be held in high regard.

I am sure there are many who join me when I say the earliest training outside of home was in Sunday school and BYPU (Baptist Young Peoples Union). And so I've been Baptist-trained as long as I can remember, with the sisters and deacons always admonishing us to "do good now, you hear?"

And we done good.

On top of it all, Mama was a deaconess for about 50 years, so you know I had to take care. But as patient Job, from the land of Uz, cautions, man is of few days and full of trouble. So I've struggled through many mistakes and my own trials, from sickness and distress to untimely deaths, and His grace and mercy have brought me through.

The old spiritual "How I Got Over" is a testimony to my faith in God, crying out to him in prayer and supplication. It goes:

I thank Him because He kept me,

I thank Him because He never left me.

Oh yes, I'm gonna sing, I'm gonna shout, trouble's over!

And my soul looks back and wonders, how I got over.

That ol' time religion is such a part of me, having been enforced by the preaching, gospel singing and testimonies of the sisters – and the spirited shouting sure doesn't hurt. I can't imagine church without it all.

Shirley R. Banks, 69, a retired federal employee, is writing a memory book for her four sons and their children. This faith story will be part of that collection. Banks likes to worship at different churches, but she is a 35-year, charter member of Eden Community Baptist Church in Northeast Washington.