A dressin’ up room: An African American eschatology
Photograph by Cottonbro Studios via Pexels
Rev. Elijah Gipson-Davis
Sunday morning worship begins in a myriad of ways across churches — some with intercessory prayer, others with a prelude — but I grew up with Devotion led by the deacons. A tradition that once seemed like a dreary and somber opening, I came to understand as a moment of collective meditation.
The deacons’ voices, weathered by years of faith, rise in a slow, steady hymn, emphasizing the heavy hearts and burdens carried from the prior week. As they sing, the congregation stands, a sacred ritual passed down through generations. The deacons move through the aisles, shaking hands, signaling that service is beginning.
Then, from the front of the church, a deep, resonant voice breaks through the sacred stillness:
This is a dressin’ up room and it’s (down here)
Oh (down here), oh (down here)
This is a dressin’ up room and it’s (down here)
Oh (down here), oh (down here)
You got to go to heaven from down here
The saints hum, sway, and tap their feet. The Spirit moves through worn wooden pews, filling the nave with a sacred weight. The congregation stirs, some nodding, others clapping softly as the familiar spiritual takes shape.
The songs, born from a history of hope and hardship, remind the saints that there is a place of rest and preparation beyond this life’s struggles. Voices rise in harmony, filling the sanctuary with an assurance passed down through generations.
While often perceived as a longing for heaven, this spiritual is a gentle reminder of the work Christians are called to do in the world. “A Dressin’ Up Room” speaks to the deep yearning for freedom, restoration, and divine justice. The lyrics reflect the belief that earth is a place of preparation — a dressing room where one gets ready to meet God.
In other words, this song reminds us to not be so heavenly bound that we are no earthly good. We Christians can not retreat to our ivory towers of salvation, because of our calling to share in the grace of salvation with all of God’s creation. This song reminds us of our eternal hope, but also our present hope, where we may find harmony and healing in the here and now.
In the Black church tradition, songs like “A Dressin’ Up Room” become theological texts in their own right — oral expressions of an eschatology that is not escapist but liberative. They echo the teachings of elders and ancestors who understood that God is not only waiting for us at the gates of glory but walking with us through the valleys of this life.
“A Dressin’ Up Room” teaches us that eschatology is not just about the sweet by-and-by but also about how we walk, talk, and serve in the meantime. It is a call to live faithfully, dress ourselves in righteousness, and prepare not in passivity but in action — loving our neighbor, fighting for justice, and embodying hope. This affirmation reminded me of the words I so often repeated reading the Church Covenant on the first Sunday, “to walk circumspectly in the world.”[i] That phrase, though simple, carried a great deal of weight. It invited me to pay attention, to live with purpose and awareness, to carry myself in a way that reflected the Christ I claimed to follow.
To walk circumspectly is to walk like we know where we’re going and who we represent. It is to walk with care through systems that have historically tried to break us. It is to move through the world as living testimonies of grace, truth, and transformation. And in the Black church tradition, songs like “A Dressin’ Up Room” become theological texts in their own right — oral expressions of an eschatology that is not escapist but liberative. They echo the teachings of elders and ancestors who understood that God is not only waiting for us at the gates of glory but walking with us through the valleys of this life.
This is why the dressing room isn’t just a place of passive waiting, but a place of sacred preparation. To dress up should mean more than putting on our Sunday best. It should involve adorning ourselves with compassion, justice, and holy boldness. It means becoming who God has called us to be, despite oppression, grief, and the weight of a world that often fails to see our humanity.
So when the deacons sang out that old refrain, they weren’t just signaling the start of worship. They were issuing a charge: Get ready. Get dressed. Prepare yourself. Because heaven isn’t just a destination — it’s a way of life. If we are to be truly ready, we must be found doing the work of the Lord, here and now.
With hands stretched and hearts open, we are reminded that the journey to heaven starts right here, in the daily dressin’ up of our souls and in the sacred work of making earth a little more like the Kingdom.
The Rev. Elijah Gipson-Davis, a native of Riverdale, GA, is currently a second-year student at Harvard Divinity School in Cambridge, MA and Minister of Administration at Myrtle Baptist Church in West Newton, MA.
The views expressed are those of the author and not necessarily those of American Baptist Home Mission Societies.
[i] The Church Covenant, in The New National Baptist Hymnal (Nashville: National Baptist Publishing Board, 1977).
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