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COPYRIGHT 2002 Center For Black Music Research
Since the 1920s, Haiti has witnessed an evangelical movement characterized by the rapid growth of Protestant and Pentecostal churches (Jeanty 1989, 56). Despite persecution by the Catholic Church and a brief closure (1941-43) under President Elie Lescot, Pentecostal churches in Haiti continued to flourish in the 1940s and 1950s (Louis 1998, 197-198). When Francois "Papa Doc" Duvalier came to power in 1957, he began encouraging a greater influx of evangelical missions in an attempt to undermine the power of the Catholic Church (McAlister 2000, 3; Louis 1998, 156). By 1960, Protestants and Pentecostals comprised about twenty percent of the Haitian population, compared with only three percent in 1940. (1) Despite the persistence of the misleading adage "Haiti is 90 percent Catholic and 100 percent vaudou" (Dash 2001, 51), recent figures indicate that at the turn of the twenty-first century as much as one-third of the country self-identifies as Protestant or Pentecostal (Lain 1998, 72; Louis 1998, 197). Catholic churches have found perhaps the stiffest competition among Pentecostal organizations, such as the various Churches of God (e.g., Church of God in Christ, Church of God of Prophecy), and independent Pentecostal churches scattered throughout Haiti. Nevertheless, the rise of Pentecostalism and its profound impact on Haitian expressive culture have yet to be adequately researched. Most ethnomusicological literature on Haiti examines the music of Vodou (Fleurant 1987; Wilcken 1992; Yih 1995; McAlister 2002) and, to a lesser degree, Haitian classical and popular music (Largey 1991; Averill 1993, 1997); but Haitian gospel music (mizik evanjelik) constitutes a realm of expressive culture that remains largely untapped by ethnomusicologists. (2) It seems that music made in Christian churches is assumed to lack the richness of the supposedly more "Haitian" genres. I hope to call this notion into question by examining the dynamic links among music, ecstasy, (3) and identity in Haitian Pentecostal worship.
Much of the existing ethnomusicological research on Haiti discusses mizik Vodou (Vodou music) as a means of serving the spirits (lwas). Fleurant (1987), Wilcken (1992), and Yih (1995) look at ways in which specific musical devices, such as distinct rhythms, dances, and lyrics, serve to induce spirit possession. A few Haitian writers, such as Belany (1998) and Romain (1986), offer historical and sociological treatments of Haitian Protestantism, but most scholars downplay the role of music in sustaining the evangelical revival throughout the Caribbean region. Conway's dissertation (1978) contains very little discussion of music, yet it remains the primary anthropological resource for research on Haitian Pentecostalism. Brodwin (1996, 2003) and McAlister (1995, 2000) are among the few scholars who have contributed insightful research on the topic. Brodwin (1996) deals with competition among the ethical systems of Catholicism, Protestanism, and Vodou as they relate to the practice of healing in rural Haiti. In a more recent essay, Brodwin (2003) explores Pentecostalism among Haitian migrants in Guadeloupe. Calley (1965), Toulis (1997), and Brodwin (2003) identify transnational issues surrounding Pentecostal practice, showing how marginalized Afro-Caribbean communities assert national, ethnic, and gender identities among dominant majority populations perceived as hostile. McAlister (2000) examines the influence of U.S. missions on both the historical development of Pentecostalism in Haiti and on contemporary debates concerning Haitian national identity.
The baptism of the Holy Spirit, with the initial evidence of speaking in tongues (also known as glossolalia or xenoglossy) lies at the heart of Pentecostalism and distinguishes Pentecostal churches from mainline Protestant denominations. Although Pentecostal congregations generally share this belief, the character of musical worship in Haitian Pentecostal churches varies significantly according to the type of service and church in which musical worship takes place. In this article, I will highlight the musical differences between independent "heavenly army" churches and organizational churches affiliated with a U.S.-based Pentecostal mission, both of which I attended in the town of Jacmel, located in Haiti's southeastern department. I hope to bring these musical differences into sharp relief by describing two types of Pentecostal services: prayer and fasting services (jenn or veydenwit) in independent heavenly army churches and Sunday-morning worship services (gran kilt) in organizational churches. After focusing on these two types of worship services, I will broaden the scope of analysis to encompass Haitian Pentecostal churches in Brooklyn, New York, exploring how musical worship relates to its transnational context. I contend that in facilitating an ecstatic state of Christian worship, Haitian Pentecostal music serves a threefold task: it allows Pentecostals to assert distinct religious identities in relation to denominational Protestants, Catholics, and those who practice Afro-Haitian folk religion; it distinguishes independent and organizational Pentecostal churches; and it expresses a Haitian cultural identity (4) through the use of musical style, instrumentation, and language (French and Haitian Creole). In exploring the relationship between identity and ecstatic experience, I also stress the musical, social, and ideological criteria by which Haitians distinguish mizik evanjelik (gospel music), mizik popile (popular music, containing Afro-Haitian folk rhythms), and mizik mondenn (worldly or secular music). Although at times I refer to African-American Pentecostal practice, this is not so much for the sake of direct comparison but to call attention to this project's dialogic and multi-sited (5) character and to reveal how my personal background--as an African American, a Pentecostal, and a scholar--informs my ethnographic representation of Haitian Pentecostal musical worship. (6)
Musical Worship as Weaponry in "Heavenly Army" Churches
Since its successful war against France (1791-1804) to become the first independent black republic, Haiti has witnessed a tremendous amount of political instability, characterized by a series of coups d'etat, presidential assassinations, and U.S. military interventions. Gage Averill and David Yih (2000) argue that this historical legacy contributes to an ethos of militarism in Haitian culture. Elizabeth McAlister (2000) extends this argument by showing how this ethos resonates with biblical themes of "spiritual warfare"--the story of Joshua and the battle of Jericho and accounts of the children of Israel fighting to possess the Promised Land. The rise of Pentecostalism in Haiti and its overseas diaspora may indeed be related to the fact that "evangelical language centering on the advancing of Christ's army and Christ's eventual victory could be understood in the military terms already at work in the culture" (12). Military imagery surfaces frequently in African-American Pentecostal churches through songs such as "I'm on the Battlefield" and "I'm a Soldier in the Army of the Lord."
The success of Haiti's heavenly army churches in particular may stem from the fact that Pentecostalism has been planted on cultural ground fertilized by the country's tumultuous military history. The term "heavenly army" (lame seles) usually refers to a battalion of spiritual entities empowered by God to wage war against Satanic forces. Although this battle is fought primarily in the spiritual realm, congregants who have been "filled" (ranpli) with the Holy Spirit or "have gifts of the Spirit" (gen don Sentespri) are the human vehicles through whom the power of God is manifested. These Spirit-filled individuals, known collectively as manm solda (soldiers), pwofet (prophets), or simply lame (the army), (7) have been chosen by God to perform a variety of spiritual tasks. When "the army is working" (lame ap travay), it is understood to be engaged in intense song and dance intended to facilitate an ecstatic state of worship and to evoke powerful manifestations of the Holy Spirit. The army's "work" also includes prophesying and healing during and after musical worship. Army members often serve as God's mouthpiece, prophesying in tongues to deliver messages to congregants or interpreting words spoken by God through the pastor. The heavenly army may also pray for those seeking deliverance from physical or spiritual afflictions, which can include extreme financial hardship (see Chestnut 1997).
In heavenly army churches, musical worship is a form of spiritual weaponry. Through divinely inspired singing, playing, and dancing, congregants praise God and implore him to intervene on their behalf. They may even call upon God to "attack" (atake) evil spirits and individuals who are the cause of misfortune, as in the song "Papa, Papa, Papa" (see Ex. 1). This chorus is usually repeated several times as a way of building musical intensity and emphasizing the meaning of the text. I heard it sung most often during the loudest and most intense moments of worship services, when singing and bodily movements were highly energetic and emotional. Some Pentecostals view this chorus, along with others like it, as a kind of "point song" (chan pwen) whose lyrics are inappropriate for Christian worship. Gage Averill's (1997, 15-16) definition of chan pwen is worth citing:
Songs that censure, recriminate, criticize, and cast aspersions (usually indirectly) are called chan pwen, which literally means "point song," and singers are said to voye pwen (send a point) in song or simply chante pwen (sing a point).... One meaning of pwen is a class of "magical" spells whose power works over distances. The art of chan pwen--which can imply sending an "opinion" or point of view in the midst of an argument or conflict, as well as sending the power of song against someone else is part of the traditional musicopolitical arsenal of the musician.
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One popular technique used in chan pwen is that of targeting an unspecified "they" (yo) rather than precisely identifying the intended recipient of the pwen (Averill 1997, 181). The Pentecostal chan pwen, "Yo vann mwen nan simitye," exemplifies this technique (see Ex. 2). The references in Example 2 to Afro-Haitian folk religion (e.g., Bizango, Bawon) suggest, without specifying any single individual, that the song is directed against those who attempt to attack the "army" of God through spiritual warfare. After each line sung by the soloist, the congregation responds with the phrase "Ame a pa bay mwen" ("The army doesn't give me [to them]"), celebrating the protective power of the army over those who try to "sell" the souls of army members to practitioners of witchcraft.
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Heavenly army churches frequently use spontaneously improvised songs, most of which, as in "Yo vann mwen nan simitye," are led by the pastor (or designated songleader) in call-and-response fashion. Some slow songs express a particularly somber or plaintive mood and provide congregants a means of communicating to God feelings of despair and dependency. This type of song is sometimes called a plent (lament or "complaint" song). "Jezu Nazaret se ou menm map rele" is frequently sung in a heavenly army church that I attended in Port-au-Prince (see Ex. 3). The leader improvises a line that is repeated twice by the congregation and followed by the recurring line "Ou pa we m santi m angaje?" ("Don't you see I feel distressed?").
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While many song types are employed in heavenly army churches, they all tend to revolve around the themes of prayer, praise, and worship as a means of drawing on the power of God to combat evil spiritual forces. Moreover, heavenly army congregants use music to distinguish themselves from other religious groups and to express a Haitian cultural identity. In the following section, I discuss one of the worship services that I attended in Jacmel as a way to shed more light on how music functions in heavenly army churches.
A Jenn at Deliverance Temple
"Don't call out to Patricia. (8) She won't recognize you," cautioned Junior as we made our way toward Deliverance Temple. Junior, age eleven, is Patricia's younger brother, and on this day she had instructed him to accompany me to their church, located about a twenty-minute walk from the center of town. Just two weeks prior, I had engaged in the first of many conversations with Patricia about Pentecostalism. She spoke at length about her experiences at Deliverance: how her mother had first taken her there as a young child, how she had decided at one point to leave Deliverance and "become Catholic," and how she had only recently rejoined Deliverance and become "filled" (ranpli) with the Holy Spirit. Patricia also told me that she was one of seven "army members" (manm lame) in her church, each of whom had received spiritual "gifts" from God and was regularly expected to "work" (travay) during jenn. Scholars have explored the cultural concept of "work" as it applies to Afro-Haitian religious practice in particular (McAlister 2002, 85-111) and African diasporic spirituality in general (Murphy 1994). Most jenn at Deliverance take place during the day from 10 A.M. to 4 P.M.; however, a jenn may also begin around 8 or 9 P.M., lasting until the early morning hours, in which case it is usually referred to as a "watch-night service" (veydenwit).
Patricia's work during these services consists of spiritual warfare carried out through Holy Spirit-inspired song and dance; it was this work that Junior was now taking me to witness. As we trudged our way through sugarcane fields, sidestepped chickens and goats, and climbed up and down the rough dirt trails leading to the church, Junior's gentle but surprising warning echoed in my mind: "Don't call out to Patricia. She won't recognize you." Although Patricia and I had established a rapport based on the common ground of Pentecostal experience--and we shared a belief that God uses music to drive away evil spirits (see 1 Sam. 16:23), bring about divine healing, and spur an individual toward salvation--Junior's words and the musical worship that I saw once we arrived attested to something with which I was considerably less familiar. At Deliverance Temple, musical worship helps army members achieve a level of spiritual transcendence (9) in which they are "outside of themselves," completely undistracted by their physical environment, and temporarily free from normal bodily limitations. (10) Once this transcendent level is reached, army members are able to work effectively in the supernatural realm and may dance continuously for extended periods of time without showing signs of fatigue.
Neatly written in white chalk just above the wooden doorway to the church were the words "Nou kwe nan Sentespri. Tanpri mare tet ou anvan ou antre" ("We believe in the Holy Spirit. Please tie your head before entering"). (11) As my eyes adusted to the relative darkness of the church's interior, I noticed that of the seventy-nine congregants that I counted, over eighty percent were women. The chairs and benches had been removed, and the congregants were seated on the floor with their backs against the walls. Since the service had only just begun, they were still singing slow hymns in a musical style that Haitian Pentecostals often refer to as adorasyon (worship). Pastor Yves was leading some songs in call-and-response fashion, singing a line of text that was repeated by the congregation. Unlike the previous lament song ("Jezu Nazaret"), the lyrics of which express utter dependency on God, asking him for desperately needed help, the song "Mwen beni non ou" ("I Bless Your Name") praises God for deliverance from life's difficulties:
Verse Ala bon sa bon le map sevi Bondye. Traka te chaje, se pou yon ti moman. Pa genyen barye Letenel pap kraze. Se pou m beni non ou pou sa ou fe pou mwen. Chorus Mwen beni non ou. Mwen beni non ou. Mwen beni non ou pou sa ou fe pou mwen. Verse How good is it when I am serving God....
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