Jan 30, 1945 - May 17, 2020
BILLIE KERL ROBERTS
VIEWING:
Thursday, May 28, 2020 - 9 AM to 7 PM, Black & Clark Funeral Home
NOTABLE ROLES:
🎼 President of Dallas Metroplex Musicians' Association (DMMA)
🎼 Choral Music Director & Fine Arts Administrator in the Dallas Independent School District (DISD)
🎼 DISD Educator since 1945
🎼 Graduate of James Madison High School
🎼 Namesake of Billie Kerl Roberts Youth Choir
🎼 LinkedIn says ... Choral Music & Theater Arts Teacher at Barack Obama Male Leadership Academy
🎼 FB says ... Dear friend, church member, choir director, sorority sister, colleague, mentor, advocate for children, piano teacher, The Chorale, and the list goes on!!
My tears are flowing today, and I really never ever got a chance to talk to her. I scoured the Internet looking for a biography that would help me understand this feeling. That I missed a golden opportunity. But I couldn’t find one. So the preacher did the next best thing. He wrote a sermon about a woman who is dearly loved and admired by so many mutual friends. A sermon nobody else asked me to write. But God has laid on my heart.
See. While I might feel like I missed a golden opportunity. They did not. And I have the blessing of bearing witness to the blessing she has been in their lives.. For decades.
I only knew Billie K Roberts as the accompanist for my chorus, the South Dallas Concert Choir. She carried an air of authority about her that fascinated me. Even our immensely talented director AJ Roberts seemed a bit intimidated by her. It took me months to piece together that they shared the same last name for a reason.
I was new. New to South Dallas. And new to the amazing networks of African American musicians in Dallas. Suddenly I was surrounded by a whole lot of folk who seemed to have studied the Negro Spirituals so much more powerfully than I. As a pastor, a theologian and a partially professional musician, in my not so humble opinion, the Spiritual is the best hymnody America has produced. Sorry Charles Wesley 😉
You know those people that you meet? The ones who impress you for reasons you can’t quite put your finger on? Who comfortably carry a kind of wisdom you haven’t quite yet figured out yourself? Who seem to know things you are only just beginning to piece together?
You want to pull them aside for a brief conversation, just to figure out why their spirit impresses you so much. And, yes, intimidates you a bit. But you, who are hardly ever shy ... suddenly feel a bit shy?
That was Billie during my first year in the SDCC. There was always a crowd around her after every rehearsal. And that moment never came.
Well, it could have. I could have easily pushed my way to the front of the line. How many times have I done that in my life without a second thought?
As the only white man in the room as we sing my favorite songs ... crafted by faith filled men and women who experienced slavery and very brutal kinds of racism and oppression ... I am more aware of the color of my skin than ever. Why do I, whose face more resembles the oppressor than the oppressed in these songs ... why do I long to sing them with all of my heart?
Especially with Billie at the keyboard??
Why?
Because these are the songs I sang as a child, standing beside my mother in the pew. I was old enough to notice, sometimes ours were the only white faces in the sanctuary. But my mother sang them like they were her songs too. Like they were our songs too. So it never dawned on me for a moment that they weren’t.
Those were different years back then. The sixties were turning into the seventies. Martin had just told us he had a Dream. And for years, I was certain his Dream was inevitable. It just made too much sense. I was sure our church doors would open, while I was a still a young man, and soon, and very soon almost every congregation would be singing these songs and teaching them to our children. And when we sang Lift Every Voice and Sing, the children’s choir would have black faces and white faces and brown faces of all different shades. In almost every sanctuary.
And a few of those churches do exist, that Martin dreamed about. But too few. Far too few. And the idealistic child in me is trying hard not to think like a disillusioned old man.
See. I believe if more pastors like me, leading churches like mine, most of my life, mostly white churches ... I believe that if more church leaders like me ... could just sit with Billie over a cup of coffee ... and listen. Not talk. Just listen.
God could teach us a lot about what the Promised Land looks like. God would teach us a lot about what the Kingdom of Heaven feels like. I mean I only got to hear her play the piano. And it filled my heart with hope. That hope a good mother, a great teacher instills in a child. Because they know something about us we haven’t yet come to realize.
Although the barriers seem overwhelming ... God is already at work in our midst. Changing powers and principalities. Changing systems and institutions. Changing cities and nations. One child at a time.
I mean, why do you think these stories and songs introduce these leaders to us as children? Joseph. Moses. Samuel. David. Jesus.
God changes things. Usually one child at a time.
I only heard her play. Ms. Roberts. I never got to ask her about the youth choir that bears her name. The Billie Kerl Roberts Youth Choir. I never got to ask why so many children and teens seemed to respond to her as a teacher and director. But I wonder if they didn’t hear this message, deeply embedded in the Spirituals, as she led them:
“Although the barriers seem overwhelming ... God is already at work in you, my child. Changing the world as we know it. One child at a time. And you, my child, are a part of God’s solution. Any time the world throws suffering in your face. Cling to this: You are a beloved child of God. And God will surround you with the support you need ... when you need it most. And, my child, I will be there with you too. As a part of God’s solution. As a source of your support.”
Yes. I fear this pastor may have really missed a golden opportunity.
But YOU didn’t, did you? You heard that message, didn’t you? The gospel message wrapped up in a mother’s love, an auntie’s stern scolding? The Good News of the Gospel proclaimed in pentatonic notes of the Spiritual? All wrapped up in a teacher’s devotion, a director’s discipline?
That, my friends, is the blessing, the good news. You have been blessed with a golden opportunity. God shared good news though this wonderful life, well lived. And what a gift. What a woman!!
But she’s also looking at us now, at you, and at me. And she’s saying:
“My child. It’s your turn now. This mission. This ministry. This dream. Is far from over. There’s still miles to go before the Promised Land is reached. There is still a Railroad to build, toward freedom ... for all of God’s children.
“But always remember this. Although the barriers seem overwhelming ... God changes things. One child at a time. So any time life, our cause, your journey gets you down.
“Find a child. Longing for hope. Even if that child is looking back at you in the mirror. Look them in the eye. And love them. Like Jesus did.
You know every time I remembered that?” I hear her say. “God changed the world. And God changed me. And it filled me again with hope.”
At least that’s what she told me over coffee this morning. I like to think it was her voice. I know that’s what I heard every time she played the piano.
But you’ll have to tell me. Does that sound like her? Is that what you’ve heard too? God is indeed powerfully at work. Through you. Too?”
I hope so. Amen.