I Remember Frances

A friend called this morning to tell me that Frances had died. Months ago she was diagnosed with a brain tumor and mercifully she did not live too long after that. I was her Pastor for eight years and she was an utter delight.

Never married, worked for as a Secretary for years and years. It was one of the only jobs a woman could get back then. When her First Baptist Church refused to allow a black lady and her daughter to join the church in 1970 she was one of many who marched out and formed an integrated congregation in Birmingham, Alabama. Back then this news was so spectacular that Life Magazine featured a story on the new church. Frances was part of that beginning and stayed until her death.

This little woman with dyed hair and pin curls would come by my door on Sundays. She always hugged me and from time to time as shook my hand she would tell a story. One Sunday, on the way out, she said, “Preacher when you talked about driving this morning, it reminded me of when I started driving. I was 25 years old and had never driven. So I took lessons. And that first day I got into the car with the teacher he said, ‘Crank her up’.” Puzzled she turned the key and the engine started. “Let’s go,” he said. And they started down the street with Frances behind the wheel. When they came to a stop sign Frances asked him what she was supposed to do. Her instructor said, “Ah, hell—run the son of a bitch.” And she did.

When I found out about her tumor I called her up and we talked for a while. She said she wasn’t scared. She said she hoped she wouldn’t suffer too much. She said she was ready to go. I asked her, “Frances, do you remember your driving story?” She was quiet for just a minute and said, “Oh, you remember that old story?” I told her that it was one of my favorite stories and I told it over and over. “Well,” she said, “it was true.” That was my last conversation with her.

I am told she died peacefully in her sleep Friday morning around 6:00. In every church there are those wonderful rare people you never forget. They make ministry fun and worth the effort. She was always there. She always supported her preacher whoever he/she was. She did her part and I think that Church kept her going.

I thank God that I knew her and that our paths criss-crossed for eight years. And as I remember I lift up that wonderful old prayer from the Roman Mass: “Into paradise may the angels lead her; at her coming may the martyrs take her up into eternal rest, and may the chorus of angels lead her to that holy city, and the place of perpetual light.”