Big men feeling small
Weak ones standing tall
I will watch them fall
They won't go when I go
And I'll go where I've longed
To go so long
Away from tears
Unclean minds mislead the pure
The innocent will leave for sure
For them there is a resting place
People sinning just for fun
They will never see the sun
For they can never show their faces
There ain't no room for
the hopeless sinner
Who will take more
than he will give
He ain't hardly gonna give
They won't go when I go
-Stevie Wonder
The sun is bright for spite and the sky and sea are showing off their bluest blueness.I am standing waist deep in this sea water trying to get a good shot of the Bishop as he gently, firmly pushes men, women, children into the water. He ducks them three times into the water, which is churning in a most excited manner. It is a renewal of baptism for most of the faithful gathered here. And it's a little selfish but I am relieved that there aren't a hundred other cameras here to witness this.But then again there are no politicians here, dressed for the occasion, putting on a show of national unity. Here are the beautiful, uncomplicated people. Who know how to praise God and they're pretty clear on who their god is.They inherited one, some of them. Some have been chosen.Some cannot resist the dipping and the weaving.The songs that make your spine move of its own volition.Some catch the spirit and the spirit doesn't leave them alone.
The water is dirty. Full of all descriptions of rubbish.Part of me is disgusted at the rubbish.Ashamed that some of us don't mind making a mess of sacred spaces.But perhaps I lack the wisdom to understand that even dirty sea water is cleansing. The voices of Mount Gilead Baptist church singers mingle with the delighted screams of children splashing. My arm is catching cramp trying to keep the camera away from the sea water's licks.I watch them getting immersed. Three is the magic number for Father, Son and Holy Ghost. The bell keeps time with the dips, keeps time with the arrival of waves. They come up spluttering and shocked. Like this is the first time this has happened to them. They looked surprised and relieved.As if during those few silent seconds under water they saw visions of other places and times.
I wonder if this water really has the power to rebirth you.To make you new and whole again. This water that I worry is full of all our modern toxins.
But this day is about intent. This day is about triumph over fears.An old ritual made new.Here the stench of stale oil to fry chicken does not matter.Here the escaped dust from Alcoa does not matter. This is new to me, this old tradition.And I see people a lot wiser than me gathered here. And I am thankful for their wisdom and their preservation of ways of doing things and ways of seeing the world. But this is the truth I learn that day.From watching the members of Mount Gilead Spiritual Baptist church worship. From trying to not get blinded by anger over uncle Nizam's logic.
It's like my granny used to say, it have mother and it have mother ass.In Trinidad, not every old person is an elder.Age does not predispose one to sensible thought.Wisdom is not as prevalent as it should be among those who should know better. Not every brother is a brother. The ones you feel closest to, may look nothing at all like you. Some traditions need to be done away with. Washed off in sea water. Smoked out of our minds. Some we need to hold on to with our lives.