How God Exposed the Depth and Tenaciousness of My White Male Supremacy and I Became a Recovering Racists

McCoy United Methodist Church

How God Exposed the Depth and Tenaciousness of My White Male Supremacy and I Became a Recovering Racists

In the summer of 1984 the Rev. Bob Morgan was elected as a Bishop of the United Methodist Church at the Southeastern Jurisdiction Conference at Camp Junaluska.  That set in motion a chain of appointments in the North Alabama Conference that resulted in the Rev. Bill Davis calling me to discus me being appointed to the McCoy United Methodist Church in Birmingham.  I agreed to the move and on August 15, 1984, Nancy, Beth Ann and I moved to the McCoy Parsonage located next door to the McCoy Church on 8^th Avenue West.  Lawton Jr. and Kevin were in school at Birmingham Southern College just across Arkadelphia Road from the church and behind the tall wrought iron fence.  They both graduated from college there.

The day we moved into the parsonage was a very eventful day.  Beth Ann and her first cousin, Nancy Olivia Brown were traveling back to Tuscaloosa to take care of some business when they were run off of the west bound lane of I-59/20 into the median by an eighteen wheeler tractor trailer rig. Their car flipped.  They were deeply shaken up but escaped with only minor injuries.

A similar shakeup took place in my life that day, one that would determine the guiding focus of my ministry in the years to come.  My ministry focus at the St. Luke United Methodist Church in Tuscaloosa had been church growth.  Our motto was, “Double or More in 84.”  I brought that passion with me to McCoy.  Around noon on that move in day we discovered that we needed some food supplies to complete our lunch preparations.  So I dashed out to the College Hills Grocery located across the street from the McCoy Church.  Out the front door, down the steps, I proceeded to j walk across 8^th Avenue.  It was when I reached the turn lane in 8^th Avenue West that I saw a moving van backed up to the Blackstone Apartments located next to the College Hills Grocery.  My church growth training kicked into gear.   One of the principles of church growth was to look for moving vans to discover people moving into the neighborhood.  People in transition, moving into the neighborhood, would make good candidates for church membership.  That training helped me to hear with precise clarity God saying to me, “Lawton invite those people to church!” I responded, intending to make a quick visit to my new neighbors, inviting them to church.  I changed my direction in the turn lane of 8^th Avenue West to head to the Blackstone Apartments. It was then that I caught sight of the family moving in.  They were black.  I became paralyzed in the middle of the turn lane of 8^th Avenue West, cars whizzing by in both lanes.  I was unable to invite a black person to church.  I was 44 years old, I had invited thousands of white folks to church, but never a black person.  I don’t know how long I stood paralyzed in that turn lane.  It felt like an eternity.  I thought I had dealt with my racism in seminary when I discovered which side of the Civil Rights Movement God was on as I read Dr. King’s “Letter from the Birmingham City Jail.”  But racism is a deep, tenacious, sinful, cancerous, demonic addiction of the soul, as difficult to cast out as addiction to crack cocaine or heroin.  Finally, God said to me, “Lawton if you can’t invite these beautiful black people to church I can’t use you in this city.  I want you to go back across the street and pack your bags and leave!”  I was to ashamed to go back across the street and pack up and leave Birmingham, so I reluctantly forced my feet over to the Blackstone Apartments and invited the family to church.  I am sure that they could sense my reluctance in the invitation I made to come to church with me and they never came.  I went on to the College Hills Grocery, picked up the things we needed for lunch and continued to unpack and settle in at McCoy.  That day with the help of the Lord I became a recovering racists.  After sleeping on the encounter with God the day before and my reluctant invitation to black people to come to the church I was appointed to serve, I began to feel a new excitement about the possibilities that were open to me for ministry at McCoy and in Birmingham.