{ swing low }

Swing low, sweet chariot. 'Cause that's where I've found myself. Low. Not the low they knew, not the low the chariot had to swing down to in those days. Mine is not a spirit cracked by whips nor crusted over with blood that sometimes struggles to find reason enough to flow. But low to where I've slowly dug myself with the shovel of boredom, with the shovel of distraction, with the shovel of aimlessness. Low to where I lose sight of the horizon - with its promise that the heavens do indeed touch the earth. Swing low, sweet chariot. Come for to carry me home.

Come for to carry me home? But did I not have a home? No. Slavery was no home - that house which was a prison, built my by own hands or not. And this desert is no home. And the home of my forefather, before slavery and sand? My father was wandering Aramean, he had no home - he left his long ago for the promise that I'd have one my own. So, sweet chariot, carry me home, carry me to where I'll learn all that home was ever and always meant to mean.

But then, then! I looked over Jordan - that river, that ocean in the desert - and what did I see coming for to carry me home? What did I see coming forth from that promised land? What did I see, coming for to carry me home? A band of angles coming after me - coming after me, 'cause they had to chase me, 'cause I ran, 'cause men wandering in the desert are accustomed to sand and monotony, and don't take easily to heavenly beings.

No, they had to chase me. I ran. I turned back to the monotone in dead-fright of the harmonies that pursued me. I didn't expect home to be such a frightening place! Couldn't it have been just a more comfortable desert...without angels. I don't know what to do with angels. But they were coming after me, coming for to carry me home. Yes, the love of God runs on the wings of angels, it's a heedless, reckless love that sprints with no thought to distance. It will pursue you till it has to strip itself of the weight of glory just to have a chance at catching you. You ask, what did I see? I saw a band of angels coming after me, coming for to carry me home.

...and they'll drag me into the Jordan, down those muddy banks and drown me. Oh sweet chariot! And they'll drag me through the Jordan, 'neath the waters that are death and chaos and birth and life - the primal stuff that the breath of God moves into new creation. Oh sweet chariot! And they'll drag me out of the Jordan, up those muddy banks and set me on my feet. But feet that are now coated in the muddy clay of home. Oh sweet chariot!

Swing low, sweet, sweet chariot. Swing low and sweep me from this shallow timid grave. Swing low and sweep me through the muck and mire of Jordan's muddy banks. Swing low, sweet chariot, come for to carry me home.