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June/July 2025 | maconmagazine.com 95 Moments before the service began, she said, "I almost couldn't sing this tonight. I'm not sure I can." I said, "That's why we need you to sing." We needed a voice willing to be vulnerable, a voice that had truly wept. Across Macon, people gather in religious communities and spiritual gatherings. The struggles that shaped us during the week are still present as we show up for services. How are our faith communities inviting a "hard fought hallelujah"? That kind of expression is described in a popular song. The gravely voice of Jelly Roll is an unlikely psalmist, but his song echoes the psalms of lament found in the Christian Bible: "I'll bring my hard-fought, heartfelt, been-through-hell hallelujah. I'll bring my storm-tossed, torn-sail, story-to-tell hallelujah." Hallelujah, a word derived from the Hebrew language, expresses the highest form of thanks and praise. In religious communities, hallelujahs echo in choir anthems, in liturgical readings, and in scripture. When a leader declares a hallelujah in communal spaces, the words are an invitation to join in the claim of gratitude or thanksgiving. Rev. Paul Little, Pastor of Bibb Mt. Zion Baptist Church, reflects on the journey of ancestors. "Music has always been a crucial element of our story as African American people, and our ability to sing and pray through difficulty is a testament to God, who has strengthened us to rise amid the challenges of living in America." Rev. Little remembers the power of a recent congregational song, "Optimistic" by Sounds of Blackness, and connects it to history. "For my ancestors to sing a 'hard-fought hallelujah' is an act of resistance and protest against the injustices and inequities that exist in this nation," he said. Worship theologian Anne Streaty Wimberly says expressions like these "validate our awareness of a compassionate God." The more our expressions of praise come from an authentic voice, the more life-giving the sacred moments can be. Wimberly says that "a perspective of hope cannot be wholly formed without the full disclosure of the depths of hurt and despair." Kiley Minter has lived through storm- tossed days, and now he sings his story. He What is your hard fought hallelujah? Tell us your story by emailing hello@ maconmagazine.com has experienced homelessness, addiction, grief, and family estrangement. As a resident of Centenary Community Ministries Transitional House, he has been sober for over two years. These days, he sings solos in the praise team during worship. Singing now gives him a way to process his journey. "I've been homeless in the woods and had to rely on God for every step. I finally found a home with Centenary," Minter said, "I give God all the praise and glory with my singing and every aspect of my life." Recovery is a journey that flourishes in community. A path to healing opens more fully when people share their broken-hearted melodies. Epps remembered the Hannah Service with me recently. I remembered how her song "Let It Fall" allowed me to overcome the numbness I felt a er a miscarriage. Singing even as she grieved infertility, she said, "I was in such despair at that time." In May, three congregations in Warner Robbins co-hosted a similar event at All Saints Episcopal Church. The event called "Unspoken" was a gathering for Mother's Day grief that featured prayer through music, movement, and art. Rev. Bonnie Underwood, Rev. Krystle Morass and Rev. Sarah McLelland-Brown "hold space for the more complicated aspects of motherhood and the grief surrounding it," said McLelland-Brown. When despair threatens to silence us, we need the music of a hard-fought hallelujah. "It's the sound of survival or surrender, of gratitude birthed from struggle," said Dr. Gloria Cisse, who practices the Baha'i Faith. Sometimes, that music happens in drumming. Cisse hosts a drum circle with Macon Mental Health Matters on Sunday a ernoons at the Booker T. Washington Center. The drum circle offers "a sense of belonging, a moment of joy, a spiritual reconnection, and o en the unexpected gi of laughter." When the gathered drummers "Making music through pain is a spiritual act. It says, I'm still here. I've endured. And I still have something beautiful to offer." make music together, "the rhythm invites us to be fully present, to listen deeply, and to feel connected not only to those around us but also to something greater than ourselves." Researches like Jim Donovan have found that drumming affects the limbic system, which is the part of your body that impacts emotions and memory. "Engaging rhythm like a beat can help synchronize both sides of the brain, which can help boost creativity," said Donovan. Cisse says that drumming involves "that inner, sacred strength that pushes forward through adversity, even when the outcome is unknown." Expressing a hallelujah in the midst of a struggle is a sacred claim, said Cisse. "Making music through pain is a spiritual act. It says, I'm still here. I've endured. And I still have something beautiful to offer." The ways we make space for expression and vulnerability deepen our capacity for spiritual vitality. May we hear the wholehearted sounds of the soul work happening among us.