Next to me a feminine voice kept crying out: “_Help her, Lord, help her!_” and I back-pedalled for all I was worth. Presently the preacher was lifted out of the ordinary, everyday voice into a barbaric chant, which rose and fell and acclaimed and declaimed in rhythmical grandeur and music. I dared not look at the woman at my side. But she now lisped out, “She’s all right now, Lord; she’s all right now,” and I thought of the relief of the Welsh when their preachers get into the strain they call the _hwyl_. I then very cautiously peered round at the woman. What was my astonishment to see a girl of eighteen with a face like a huge, dusky melon. Her jaws were perfectly relaxed, her eyes half shut, and her upper lip, which was raised, exposed her smiling teeth and a layer of sweet chewing gum. Meanwhile the Reverend Norah up above was urging us all to come out from behind the stuff. We were always hiding behind our business, behind our families, behind our bodies. “They are hiding behind their bodies, O Lord! “Yes, O Lord, they say that they are sick, that they are ill, “That they cannot do this and they cannot do that because they are feeble in health. “O come out from behind the stuff! “You saw Saul hide behind the baggage, O Lord. “Our Negro brothers and sisters are hiding there to-day. “Hiding behind their wealth—— “Hiding behind their charity—— “Hiding behind their houses and their clothes and their cars, “Yes, and their wives and their husbands, “And other peoples’ opinions. “But You see them, O Lord, “You see them, and You’ll bring them out——” “I’m hiding there right enough,” broke out from the congregation, and “Lord, save us!” “Lord, help us!” The whole mass of black humanity swayed under the power of the emotion which the woman had kindled. They were about to stand in frenzy and give the great gospel shout of repentance, when something happened; the woman’s strength gave way, and she slipped out of the chant back into her ordinary voice. At once the spell was broken. The tiniest tots in the congregation then came out carrying little jam jars which they bore to each individual for his collection, and we sang a rolling and clamorous hymn, and all went home. One note further in the sermon, and there would have been a great scene of conversion at the close of the service, and everyone would have decided to come out from behind his stuff, as the preacher recommended. But it’s better for one’s religion not to be converted every Sunday. Many white people would no doubt be so greatly amused by a sermon of this kind that they would find difficulty in containing their laughter. One laugh from a white stranger might have proved calamitous, and would certainly have evoked hostility. On the other hand, there are Whites who love psycho-physical religious emotionalism. Such a type is the poet who wrote— We mourned all our terrible sins away, And we all found Jesus at the break of the day. Blessed Jesus!