Passing of the Matriarch

Thelma Wright, the oldest and dearest woman of my previous church, died last week. I had the privilege of serving as her and her husband's pastor for almost five years. I shall never forget the smell of the giant wood burning stove in their kitchen. Nor shall I ever forget their gentle, Christian character. The following is a letter I wrote in the wake of Thelma's passing. The letter was read at Thelma's funeral Saturday.

As someone who had the privilege of being your parents' pastor I want to express my deepest condolences to you, to the rest of the Wright family, and to the whole United Church of Colchester. This woman's passing is a great loss and I wish I could be present to grieve with you all in person. Without that opportunity, I am praying this letter might help me in my grief and perhaps you also.

After receving Seth's phone message about yall's mom I hung up and turned to my aunt who was over at the house watching the kids. "Well," I said, "the matriarch of my Colchester church just passed." My aunt looked up at me from the table and said, "You mean the little lady standing at the door?"

And there you have it. Thelma Wright, the little lady, whose quiet, unassuming way, always made a bigger impression than one might guess. For instance, I remember visiting her and Doug one day and asking about the Vermont-Harlem project, a program which brought hundreds of black kids from Harlem to Vermont in an "intentional experiment in race relations" during the 40s, 50s and 60s. I asked them if they knew if anybody from the United Church of Colchester ever hosted any of these children. Thelma looked at Doug and then at me, "Well, we did," she said so matter-of-factly.

That was them. That was them and that whole generation which I had the privilege to know and pastor - Bud and Harley, and Pete and Marion Shangraw. Theirs was what they called a "secret faith" - meaning they never let their right hand know what their left was doing. And yet, it was their simple, steadfast faith which truly made them the salt of the earth.

Doug and Thelma had a special marriage. I remember when Doug died ya'll had to teach your mom to pump gas. Becky Munson joked with me that if Thelma had passed first they would have had to teach Doug to make a sandwich! It is unimaginable for today's generation to conceive of a woman not knowing how to pump her own gas, but for their generation it was a division of labor that worked. Thelma was Doug's helpmate - not in a dominated, burdened sense - but rather in a sense of true complimentarian beauty. And Doug was the spiritual leader of the home - not in a dominating, abusive sense, but in a sense which truly reflected Christ's love for the church. Two had become one flesh in Doug and Thelma Wright. They were partners.

When Doug went on to glory Thelma missed her partner so. The house was never the same. And she looked forward to the day they would be joined again together in the house of the LORD.

I used to drive by and sometimes pick her up to get her out of the house. I remember we were driving down Main St. and as we passed by the cemetery where Doug was buried there on the North - oldtimers called it the Methodist cemetery - she looked over at it and surprised me by raising her arm, waving, and saying, "Hi Douglas."

At first I thought maybe that wasn't good, but the more I thought about it the more I realized it was her faith speaking. She knew she could still say "hi" because above all things she knew Doug, her partner, is still alive with Christ.

And so, today, we can know the same about Thelma.

On the Sunday of Doug's funeral - either at that morning's service or later at the service itself - we sang "Faith of our Fathers". I didn't grow up singing that song here in Texas and just recently learned why. It was written by a Vermonter who fought for the North in the Civil War. So go figure. Along with taking our dignity, the war of Northern aggression robbed us Southerners of some great hymnody as well. But the lyrics from that immortal song have now become a great prayer for me. And I attribute that to the quiet, unassuming, yet giant faith of saints like your mom and dad.

Faith of our fathers, holy faith!
We will be true to thee till death

And now we go on - me and you and the rest of the kids and all the grandkids and the whole congregation in Colchester - and we look forward to that day when we shall be met again by the little lady at the door.

God be with you all.