The Story behind Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus.

In April of 1737 at 52, Handel suffered from a stroke which incapacitated him, making it impossible for him to perform or conduct. He also complained of blurred vision. He was not a wise businessman and this led to the loss of his fortune. By 1741, he was swimming in debt and it seemed he would land in debtor’s prison. It was in this period that he was commissioned to write The Messiah which included The Hallelujah Chorus.

While writing the music, Handel never left his house for three weeks. A friend who visited him as he composed, found him sobbing with intense emotion. Later, as Handel groped for words to describe the strange phenomenon he had experienced, he quoted St. Paul, saying, "Whether I was in the body or out of my body when I wrote the music, I did not know."

There are two lessons in this story. Firstly, the true measure of a person lies in his or her ability to maintain a sense of resilience and determination even when faced with personal tribulations or tragedies. Secondly, God has a way of using certain individuals, irrespective of their situations, to achieve extraordinary feats under mysterious circumstances.

 

The Worst Advocacy Against Man.

O LORD, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!
You have set your glory above the heavens.
From the lips of children and infants you have ordained praise because of your enemies, to silence the foe and the avenger.

When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place, what is Man that you are mindful of him, the son of Man that you care for him?
You made him a little lower than the heavenly beings and crowned him with glory and honor.
You made him ruler over the works of your hands; you put everything under his feet: all flocks and herds, and the beasts of the field, the birds of the air, and the fish of the sea, all that swim the paths of the seas.
O LORD, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!

- Psalm 8 (New International Version).

Life is Worth Living Well.

I have a belief that the situation of every human being upon death will be like the arrival point of an international airport. There will be a long line of travelers as they arrive from earth. Waiting at the front of the aisle, are some angels who will take one look at each of the new arrivals and direct them to appropriate cubicles for entry interviews.

And very much like the Parable of Talents (Matthew 25:14-30 English Standard Version), a particular group of people will be directed to a cubicle where the interviewer will yell at each one of them; "You slothful idiot! Do you know how long and how painstaking it took God to create and mold you as a precious, distinct individual? Yet, you got lazy, complacent and wasteful of that same precious life. While on earth, you neither passed nor failed except to remain static in one spot. And now, you return up here all messed up, looking sad, depressed and dispirited! Will someone please cast this worthless fool into the outer darkness where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth!"

FBI Investigates KKK Members That Killed Black Couples in 1946.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2955711/FBI-investigates-KKK-suspects-lynching-black-men-alive.html

Click on the above link to read the news story.

Once in a while, I meditate over what it must have been like for black people to live in the Jim Crow era of the United States. I especially wonder what kind of a harrowing experience every black person must have had in Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia and other evil, blood-dotted places. Those were places where being black meant having a death sentence hang over a person’s head for no reason other than having a wrong skin color. What a horrifying life!

On the other hand, I imagined what a privileged, “wonderful” life it must have been for white folks in those sad days. All a white person needed to feel superior to “all those blacks” was merely his or her skin color. Back then, it didn’t matter how smart, educated or great a black person was, he or she would still be considered inferior by the most stupid, derelict of all human species who merely happened to be created white.

As for the sick, cowardly members of the KKK, they could easily be placed on the same pedestal with the lunatics and animals in ISIS and other Islamic terrorists of the 21^st Century. Many of the KKK members must have died by now. Nevertheless, I wish it was possible to know the fates of their miserable souls while in transit in the Cosmic Plane. From the point of view of Metaphysics, one can only contemplate what horror, sadness and bundles of regrets that each of those rotten souls must be going through “ad infinitum”! And for those of them who would have since re-incarnated, it can never be anything less than hell on earth for them in one form or the other. At least, this is what the Law of Karma is all about.

A Brutal Irony of Life.

A brutal irony of life that I have come to realize is that it’s not everyone that comes with me on this life’s journey that will go with me to the end. Along the road, some individuals will drop off either by choice or due to some circumstances beyond our collective control. When this happens, I believe no offence is meant. It’s just that each affected person has played their destined roles in my life and we both need to move on, in different directions. Once in a while though, I think about certain individuals who made some ground-breaking impacts on my life socially, morally or professionally. Then, I wonder where they are now likely to be on the surface of the earth. After a few seconds of reminiscence however, I let their memories fade away as gently as they have appeared. Such is the irony of life.

Yes, I am Blessed!

This is my most favorite book of Psalms, my daily affirmation, spiritual sustenance and song of victory. To God be the glory.

My Life as The Apple of God’s Eye.

From infancy to this moment, I have been privileged to survive several possible deaths and a lot of potential calamities. From terrible, debilitating sicknesses to assassination attempts, auto accidents, near-death experiences on hospital operating table, medical malpractices, criminal implications, incriminating set-ups and even self-induced sheer recklessness, I have survived them all, to date. Since the year I turned 50 therefore, I have considered every additional day a bonus. And it's in view of this strange fate that I have often wondered if God has made it a special assignment for some angels to keep watch over my life, maybe for one reason or the other.

While I am not sure about the role of providence, there is however one thing I am very sure of. In all of my adult life so far, I have always likened life to a highway. No matter how great and careful a driver is, he or she needs to painstakingly think for the other drivers on the highway lest such a driver be involved in an accident that arises due to no fault of him or her. Such is the case in my life. I have always been in the habit of thinking for the other people by preempting or anticipating their actions at home, in the neighborhood, at the work place, on the road and among friends or colleagues. This is because I will not want to be “messed up” by some other people’s negligence, recklessness or carelessness.

With this personal principle in place, I have been able to conform to an adage that says “heaven helps only those who help themselves.” Therefore, even if God has designed a special protective system solely for my survival on this earth plane, he will realize and probably be impressed with my own efforts in ensuring that all is well at every point in my life.

The Best Routes to Wisdom.

“There are three methods to gaining wisdom. The first is reflection, which is the highest. The second is limitation, which is the easiest. The third is experience, which is the bitterest.” – Confucius.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Cosmic Implications of African Names

On August 12, 2005, The News Journal did a story on Delaware’s African community. One of the interesting aspects was the exotic array of African names of those of us who were interviewed. My non-African friends and colleagues who have known me for several years were suddenly eager to satisfy their curiosity about those names. One friend actually pointed at a couple and wondered why anyone would bear such “mouth-twisting” names.

In the sub-Saharan African continent, a name says a lot about the circumstances of birth of a child—his or her ancestral and religious background. It’s a spiritual chain that also indicates the positive vibrations a chosen name is expected to exert on the child.

To Africans, names are too fundamental to be trivialized. They are rooted in social and cultural significance. No African would name a child without careful consideration. This explains a proverb of the Yoruba in southwest Nigeria that “we have to appraise the circumstances at home before naming a child.”

For instance, shortly before my birth, there was an obvious manifestation of abundant blessings in the lives of my parents. It was therefore easy for my father to showcase his gratitude in my first name, Olufemi (God loves me). My mother’s choice of my middle name, Olabode (the arrival of wealth) also derived from this sentiment. In appreciation of the circumstance of my birth, three factors were considered to be crucial for my life’s journey. These were the positive vibrations in the combination of God, love and wealth in my first and middle names. The last name also plays a monumental role. It’s not only considered a precious family possession worth more than gold, but a special privilege conferred on the bearer. In my ancestral homeland, it’s a disservice to bring a surname to disrepute. Indeed, the worst sin anyone can commit against his or her last name is to be convicted of a crime.

The advent of British, French and Portuguese colonialism and foreign religions such as Christianity and Islam in Africa by the 19th century eroded a great portion of the people’s culture. One major casualty is child-naming.

Consequently, many Africans have been turning their original first names into middle names upon conversion to Christianity or Islam. And Africans have adopted foreign names upon migration to the Western world. This was done under the pretext of having easily pronounced names. However, this excuse is silly. Every African name has its short, easily pronounced version. Olugbemileke can be shortened to Olu or Gbemi or Leke. In the same vein, Olufemi is often shortened to Femi or Olu.

Nothing can be more encouraging than to see basketball star Dikembe Mutombo of Congo, actors Chiwetel Ejiofor of Nigeria and Djimon Hounsou of Benin and other celebrities of African origin hold on proudly to their African names. If they are not ashamed of their names, ordinary folks like us have no reason to be. Whether in Delaware, Alaska or some remote corner of the globe, every African should bear his or her indigenous name with pride.  Those names are the cosmic windows through which our souls breathe inspiration, aspiration, intellect and harmony. To do away with them is to shut down ventilation for the soul

First published in The News Journal of Delaware, United States in 2004.