Something For Sunday
By Rob J. Thrash IV, Ed.D.
In the Black Church, music isn’t just part of the service—it is the lifeblood of worship. You cannot separate our praise from our song any more than you can separate a heartbeat from a living body. Music has always been central to the Black Church experience, a necessity carried in our very souls. That truth stretches back beyond the shores of America to the Motherland, where music was prayer, history, and survival. Even during the brutal dehumanization of slavery, our ancestors clung to their songs. In secret gatherings, a leader would cry out a line, and the people would answer—a call and response that tethered them to God and to one another when the world tried to sever every other tie.
I was raised in Christ-Centered Apostolic Church, founded by my grandmother, the late District Superintendent Victoria L. Thrash—a woman who built a church not with brick and mortar alone, but with prayer, song, and unwavering faith. Growing up in that Pentecostal church, I learned that songs were not a formality; they were necessity. Worship was not simply an introduction to the preached Word; worship was the Word. There were many Sundays when the music carried such a heavy presence of God that the sermon never came forth. The congregation would weep, shout, and rest in the Spirit’s movement, knowing that we had already been fed. That foundation shaped how I view worship even now. The church my grandmother birthed later became The A.R.M.E.D. Church under my father’s pastorate, now pastored by my sister, Nicole T. Stelly, who continues the work with the same fiery devotion. The sound of worship remains our inheritance.
As the Black Church evolved, so too did the ways we worshiped. In the late twentieth century, praise and worship teams emerged, ushering in a style that emphasized extended, Spirit-led songs of intimacy with God. These teams were not a replacement for choirs, nor a threat to tradition—they were an expansion, another stream flowing from the same holy river. Born from the rich soil of the Black Pentecostal and Holiness traditions, praise and worship teams created space where the congregation could move beyond scripted selections into deeper, often spontaneous encounters with God.
In the Black Church, choirs have always been a mighty force—a collective declaration of power, hope, and resilience. Their harmonies called us into remembrance of who we are and whose we are. Praise and worship offered something just as necessary: collective intimacy. If the choir was the sound of a people marching together toward freedom, praise and worship was the sound of a people bowing together before their Deliverer. The two expressions are not at odds; they are two sides of the same sacred coin. One reminds us of our strength; the other reminds us of our need. And when they flow together, they create a worship experience that uplifts the body and humbles the soul.
Leading worship is not a role I take lightly. It is a sacred charge. I have the deep honor of leading worship at both The A.R.M.E.D. Church—the church that shaped my early walk—and Faithful Central Bible Church, the church I now call home. In these spaces, I stand shoulder to shoulder with gifted worship leaders like Angela Polk, Camille Grigsby, Kurt Lykes, and Maranda Curtis. Each brings a distinct sound, a unique fragrance of worship, yet every offering is rooted firmly in the unchanging Word of God. We understand that worship is not performance; it is ministry. We are vessels—cracked and human—yet somehow chosen to carry glory.
There are moments when the Spirit moves so powerfully that every plan falls away. We set aside our order of service, our programs, and simply follow His lead. Some Sundays, the preached Word becomes the living Word sung among the people, and no sermon is needed. We know when to step back and let God take center stage.
Scripture roots us in this sacred work. Colossians 3:16 teaches us to let the word of Christ dwell in us richly, to sing psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs, making melody in our hearts to God. Christ Himself promised, “For where two or three are gathered together in My name, there am I in the midst of them” (Matthew 18:20). When we gather in song—whether through the thunderous voices of a choir or the heartfelt sound of a praise and worship team—we are gathering into His presence
Praise and worship in the Black Church is not innovation for innovation’s sake. It is the continuation of something ancient and holy. Our ancestors sang their way through suffering, through sorrow, into hope. Their songs stretched back across the ocean to the rhythms of Africa and reached forward to the promises of God. When we sing today, we do not sing alone—we sing with them.
This is why music in the Black Church is non-negotiable. It is not a luxury. It is not an accessory to the service. It is the service. It is how we remember. It is how we survive. It is how we testify that even when chains rattled at our ankles, heaven still heard our songs. Every drumbeat, every harmony, every shouted praise and whispered moan carries the echo of a people who refused to be silenced.
And so, when I stand before God’s people and lift my voice—whether backed by the full swell of a choir or standing alongside a worship team calling the congregation deeper—I do so knowing that I stand in a long, unbroken line. I stand with my grandmother’s prayers behind me, Pastor JP’s and Pastor Nicole’s leadership beside me, and the Spirit of the living God before me.
We are still here. God is still here. And as long as there is breath in our bodies, we will sing our way forward.
