?? Sermon 2: Robinson Chapel UMC, Liberty, SC
Title: “How Shall We Sing in Babylon?”
Texts: Habakkuk 1:1–4; 2:1–4, Psalm 137
Introduction / Background
Psalm 137 is one of the rawest prayers in all of Scripture. It begins with tears by the rivers of Babylon and ends with rage, calling for vengeance. We might flinch at that last verse, but the psalm reminds us: real faith does not sanitize grief. It brings the full pain of oppression before God.
Habakkuk cried in the same spirit: “Violence! Justice never prevails. The wicked surround the righteous.” And God replied: “Write the vision. It will not lie. The proud will fall, but the righteous shall live by faithfulness.”
This is the heritage of the Black church: sitting in Babylon, yet daring to remember Jerusalem. Refusing to be silent. Refusing to forget. Refusing to let oppression have the last word.
Three Points of Liberation (and then y’all can go watch football)
1. Liberation Refuses the Captor’s Song
The Babylonians demanded: “Sing us one of the songs of Zion!” That’s the way of empires—they demand cheer while they oppress. Today, White Christian nationalism demands that we sing a false song of retribution and hatred, even at funerals. But the church must say no. We will not sing Babylon’s song. We will sing the Lord’s song of justice, mercy, and peace.
Let’s be real: folks will try to tell you who your heroes should be, what songs to sing, even in seasons of death and recovery. Think about “Ring Around the Rosie,” a nursery rhyme rooted in the horrors of plague and mass death. It carried hidden trauma.
The same is true in church music. Amazing Grace is beloved, yes. But sometimes it’s better to lift up songs born directly out of Black experience. John Newton, its author, was once a slave trader. Even after his conversion, he continued in the trade for years before finally renouncing it. The hymn speaks powerfully of grace, but when sung without context, it can feel like forgiveness without accountability. For some, it is a song written by a man who profited from Black suffering.
And don’t get me started on the national anthem. Francis Scott Key wrote “The Star-Spangled Banner” in 1814, but most of us only sing the first verse. The third verse celebrates that enslaved people seeking freedom found “no refuge.” Imagine singing a national song that rejoices in the death of Black people longing to be free. That, my friends, is Babylon’s song.
2. Liberation Stands Watch Against Injustice
Habakkuk climbed the ramparts to watch. The exiles swore never to forget Jerusalem. And today, Robinson Chapel is called to be a watchpost on Main Street.
You may be small, but you are not silent. Your table is resistance—against ICE raids, against healthcare cuts, against politicians who call hate holy.
I know you may feel like just a few in this “Golden Corner” of South Carolina, but your witness matters. You can still watch. You can still warn. You can tell the truth about the cost of eggs, the price of medicine, the weight of injustice. You can testify to joy and truth in the middle of Babylon.
Some of you here will see more than the rest of us. Keep watching. Keep warning. Keep standing watch for the vision.
3. Liberation Lives by Faithfulness in a Strange Land
The psalmist asked, “How shall we sing the Lord’s song in a strange land?” Yet the Black church has always sung.
From spirituals to gospel. From We Shall Overcome to Ain’t Gonna Let Nobody Turn Me Around. Singing was survival. Singing was vision. Singing was faithfulness.
Even now, new songs keep us alive:
• Affirmation (Worth – Anthony Brown)
• Survival (Made a Way – Travis Greene)
• Protest and liberation (Glory – Common & John Legend)
• Cross-cultural worship (Way Maker – Sinach)
• New blends of gospel + hip hop (Kirk Franklin, Maverick City, Chance the Rapper).
The themes echo the old songs of hope and struggle—but in languages, beats, and styles that connect with Gen Z, Millennials, and global Blackness.
But listen—faith must be refilled like gas in a tank. Too many of us are running on low faith, just enough to get by. And like driving on fumes, it seems fine—until you need to go further or face a crisis. In times like these, we’ve got to raise our faithfulness level. And singing—real singing, faithful singing—keeps that tank full.
Closing Illustration (Rev. Barber)
When Donald Trump declared retribution better than forgiveness before 95,000 cheering fans, that was Babylon demanding we sing its song. That was empire mocking God’s vision.
But as Rev. William Barber reminds us: the answer is not in a messiah candidate. The answer is in us—everyday people letting their light shine together.
At MacArthur Park, people launched Operation Liberty—vans rolling out to confront injustice with truth. Not violence, but faithfulness.
Robinson Chapel, that is your call. Your very name says it—Liberty. You are God’s Liberty Van on Main Street. You may be few, but you are faithful. You may be in Babylon, but you are still singing the Lord’s song.
And today, as you eat this bread and drink this cup, remember: the vision is still alive. The proud will fall. The righteous will live by their faithfulness. And the Lord’s song will be sung in every land.
