In 1930, a play debuted in New York that would leave an indelible mark on American theater: The Green Pastures by Marc Connelly. Published on February 26 of that year by Rinehart & Co., this Pulitzer Prize-winning work (ML, G21) reimagines the Book of Genesis and other biblical narratives through the lens of African American culture, specifically drawing from the oral traditions and spirituals of the Black church in the American South. With its background music composed by a Negro choir, the play is both a reverent retelling and a deeply human exploration of faith, community, and the divine. As someone who has always been fascinated by how stories can bridge cultural divides, I found *The Green Pastures* to be a remarkable piece of art that speaks to universal truths while remaining firmly rooted in a specific cultural experience.
The play opens in a Sunday School classroom in a Negro church in Louisiana, where a preacher named Mr. Deshee introduces the children to the story of Creation. What follows is a vivid, imaginative retelling of Genesis, where the angels-all portrayed as Black-are enjoying a fish fry in a picnic setting. The angel Gabriel enters and announces the “Lawd God Jehovah,” who appears as a Black man dressed in a Prince Albert coat. The Lord, in this depiction, is a figure of both authority and warmth, exchanging greetings with the angels and decreeing the creation of the earth as a place to “drain off the firmament.” He leaves Gabriel in charge of heaven and descends to oversee his new creation, setting the stage for a narrative that spans the major events of the Old Testament, from Adam and Eve to Moses and the Exodus.
What strikes me most about The Green Pastures is how it humanizes these ancient stories while preserving their spiritual weight. The Lord, for instance, is not a distant, omnipotent deity but a relatable figure who experiences frustration, hope, and even doubt. When Adam and Eve eat the forbidden fruit, the Lord is disappointed, and Mr. Deshee’s explanation to the children-that they “got the man and woman started on the earth”—underscores the play’s focus on human fallibility. The story of Cain and Abel follows, with Cain portrayed as a young man who, after killing his brother, seeks out a “better git” in the form of a girl named Nod. The Lord, observing this, reflects on the consequences of human choice, a theme that resonates throughout the play.
As the narrative progresses, the Lord’s interactions with humanity reveal a deity who is deeply invested in his creation but often perplexed by its shortcomings. In Act I, Scene 7, the Lord, disguised as a preacher, walks down a country road on a Sunday morning and encounters a group of people engaging in what he deems sinful behavior-violating the Sabbath and mocking prayer. His frustration peaks when he meets Noah, whom he initially mistakes for a fellow preacher. Noah, however, proves to be a faithful servant, and the Lord instructs him to build an ark to save his family and two of every animal from the coming flood. The scene is both humorous and poignant, capturing the Lord’s exasperation with humanity’s flaws and his enduring hope for its redemption.
The play’s second act shifts focus to the story of Moses and the Exodus, with the Lord working through human leaders like Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and eventually Moses to guide his people. Moses, chosen to lead the Hebrews out of Egypt, receives the Ten Commandments from the Lord, but when the people fail to honor the promised land, the Lord takes Moses to heaven. The narrative then moves through the Babylonian exile and culminates in a powerful scene where the Lord, having witnessed humanity’s suffering, decides to experience it firsthand. He descends to earth, where he encounters Hezdrel, a soldier guarding the temple in Jerusalem, who speaks of a God of mercy rather than wrath. This moment of revelation leads the Lord to a deeper understanding of suffering, culminating in a scene where the angels sing “Hallelujah, King Jesus!” as a voice from below foretells the Crucifixion.
What makes The Green Pastures so compelling is its ability to weave together humor, spirituality, and cultural specificity. The play’s use of African American vernacular and spirituals-such as “De ol’ Ark’s a-moverin’”-grounds the biblical narrative in the lived experiences of Black Americans in the early 20th century. At the same time, its themes of faith, redemption, and the relationship between humanity and the divine are universal. I can’t help but admire how Connelly, a white playwright, collaborated with Black artists and drew inspiration from Roark Bradford’s Ol’ Man Adam an’ His Chillun’ to create a work that feels authentic and respectful. The play’s background music, performed by a Negro choir, adds an emotional depth that enhances the storytelling, making the audience feel as though they’re part of the congregation.
However, The Green Pastures is not without its complexities. While it was groundbreaking for its time, some modern audiences might view its portrayal of Black characters through a critical lens, questioning whether it perpetuates stereotypes, even if unintentionally. The play’s depiction of heaven as a fish fry and the Lord as a Black preacher, while charming and heartfelt, could be seen as reductive by today’s standards. Yet, I believe the play’s intent-to celebrate the richness of Black spiritual traditions and present a vision of the divine that resonates with a marginalized community-remains powerful. It’s a reminder of the importance of context: in 1930, a play that centered Black voices and experiences in such a prominent way was a radical act.
Reflecting on The Green Pastures, I’m struck by its enduring relevance. Its exploration of faith as a lived, communal experience feels as vital today as it did nearly a century ago. The play invites us to consider how stories-whether biblical or cultural-shape our understanding of the world and our place in it. For me, it’s a testament to the power of theater to transcend boundaries, bringing together diverse perspectives in a shared act of storytelling. As the angels sing “Hallelujah, King Jesus!” at the play’s close, I’m left with a sense of awe at how The Green Pastures manages to be both a product of its time and a timeless meditation on the human condition.
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