When I wanted to name a program, "The Gospel Truth," I was not thinking of the words in the most literal sense. I was thinking about truth more generally. When my daughter Lauren was in second grade, she had a vocabulary test and one of the words was, "truth." Her initial answer was, "what really happened." She must have considered her answer again and used a caret to insert "you think" after what....so it read, "what you think really happened." I have never found another definition of truth that I think is more accurate.
When I was 19, I was in nursing school in downtown Detroit near where the DMC is now located. I went there in September after the 1967 riots. The struggle happened just a few blocks away. That first year changed my life in so many ways. It was a time of social upheaval and personal growth into new ways of being. One Sunday morning, a friend of mine and I walked just two blocks to a small Black Church. We sat inconspicuously in the back but as the service continued with hymns and praise, I felt something new, an awakening of Spirit that I had never experienced in my years as a Catholic Christian. I could almost feel the ground move below my feet and a very real fullness of heart.
My next thought was to wonder. Wonder how this music came to be, why it resonated with me in such an intimate way? What connected the two? Through years of reading and listening, I have a partial answer. I have read many African American writers such as Zora Neal Hurston, "Their I Eyes Were Watching God," "The Slave Narratives," The Confessions of Nat Turner by Gray, Te-Nhesi Coates, "The Water Walkers" and "Middle Passage" by Charles Johnson and more. What has struck me, is the resiliency of the human spirit against all odds. For me, this resiliency comes through and touches my very being in Gospel Music.
Gospel music is so moving because it speaks directly to the soul. It’s born out of struggle and hope, sorrow and joy—rooted in the Black church experience, where music became a lifeline for survival, praise, and resistance. It tells the truth. Gospel doesn’t shy away from pain. It names grief, fear, doubt—and still dares to rejoice. It’s embodied. The rhythm, the harmony, the call and response—it pulls you in. You don’t just hear it, you feel it. It’s communal. Whether in church pews or concert halls, gospel is about togetherness. It invites everyone to lift their voice. It connects. To ancestors. To faith. To something bigger than yourself. It transforms. Even in my darkest hour, a gospel song can stir hope, shift my spirit, and send me back out stronger. Some of my favorites singers are Sweet Honey and the Rock, Canton Spirituals, The Blind Boys of Alabama, Aretha Franklin and anywhere Motown meets Gospel.
This is what I think of when I think, "Gospel Truth." It is a truth contained in the human spirit, voice and rhythm.
At its best, gospel music doesn’t just entertain—it heals.
