can serve. May members of this House heed the words of the 8th century prophet Micah when he says that you require us to love justice, do mercy and walk humbly with our God.
Amen, Amen and Amen
Written and presented to the opening session of the US Congress 2019
Reverend Asriel Gamaliel McLain
Youngest son of C. C. and Mildred McLain
Associate Minister
Little Union Baptist Church
Shreveport, Louisiana, 71103
Dr. Clifford Eugene McLain, Pastor
The McLain Preachers
(Clifford, Claude, Asriel)
Camp Philip Payne
Camp Philip Payne, Reverend Payne as he was fondly known, was one of six preachers on my street. He was a quiet man with a unique and distinctive speaking voice. He often sounded hoarse, but when he preached, that sound was soon forgotten. His musical voice, combined with wisdom and knowledge of his message, was unforgettable. C. P. was a serious student of people not too quick to speak and ready to see things from all angles. We talked at long stretches of time in his front yard, living room, and in his study at church.
In the spring of 1951, I was converted and baptized under the preaching of Reverend Payne. I was young and tended to sleep during the preaching. Three churchwomen sat behind Pinky Reynolds and me, making sure we stayed awake. After the preaching and invitation, Pastor C. C. asked Amos Jones to pray. Jones was what was and is known in the black church experience as a “prayer warrior.” He never learned to read or write, and he called God “Big Boss Man.” His ancient but refreshing reference meant more than one would find meaning for. He was born close to legal slavery. I visited Deacon Amos Jones a few weeks before his passing. He was a few years less than one hundred years old.
Reverend Payne was a graduate of the American Baptist College in Nashville, Tennessee. He began an extension of American Baptist College in Ruston, Louisiana. This was my first seminary exposure. Reverend Payne was moderator of the Gum Springs Baptist Association. He gave me the opportunity to speak to the association on more than one occasion. In the early 1970s, he was elected the first president of the Interdenominational Ministerial Alliance. We began planning the first city and area wide revival. Reverend Payne named me chairman, a position I held until I was called in 1977 to pastor in Houston, Texas.
He was a regular attendee of the Lacey Kirk Williams Minister’s Institute of Dallas, Texas; he knew the finest and most skilled preachers were programmed in the annual session held in April. He commissioned, with approval of the Alliance, Larry Lennard and me to listen and observe the preachers that were programmed. We recommended Dr. Frederick G. Sampson of Detroit, Michigan. He was unanimously accepted by the local Alliance. Reverend Payne would often remind his extension students that “what matters in preaching is not simply the content of the sermon but how much of that content is effectively conveyed to the hearer. The improvement of delivery is equally as important as the improvement of the content.”
Reverend Payne did not move much when he delivered his sermons. Often, the words he spoke were hot and heavy. He would step back, look up, lock his eyes, and then exclaimed, “Ooooh, yes!” Reverend Payne also served as a member of the board of directors of the Lincoln Total Community Action Agency of Lincoln Parish, Louisiana. He reminded me, “A lot is riding on your success as the first Black Director of this program. I tell you this, not to frighten you, but the ‘other’ people are watching. You are down town and in charge of an integrated staff. It wouldn’t take much for some crazy white person to throw a bomb in that building.”
I replied, “But half of my staff is white.”
He said, “Yes, I know, and most of your white staff members are young women. That’s all the more reason some insane person would not stop to think before killing everybody.” That led me to issue a written policy about inner office interpersonal relationships and a caution about fraternization after hours. This was during the mid-1960s. Integration had not come to our city or parish. Reverend Payne advised me well in my position as executive director and as a preacher. My second revival ever preached was at the St. Mary Baptist Church, in Ruston, Louisiana. The pastor was my mentor, a neighbor, and a true counselor.
He expired in January 1985. I had just moved to Kansas City, Missouri, and did not attend his homegoing celebration. However, the memories are still a part of my cherished life thoughts. C. P. often visited our high school and sometimes sat with teachers and students in the cafeteria during lunchtimes.
Frederick George Sampson II
I first met Frederick George Sampson II at Bishop College in Dallas, Texas. He was the preacher during the Lacey Kirk Minister’s Institute of 1973. His sermon was entitled, “A Conversation with Mr. Drift Wood.” C. C. introduced me to him; they were classmates at bishop when the college was located in Marshall, Texas. F. G. was a brilliant student with a triple major.
Born in Port Arthur, Texas, F. G. graduated from high school and Bishop College, Howard University of Washington, DC. F. G. studied medicine, sociology, and was ready to quote passages from Shakespeare’s many writings. When I greeted him in Monroe, Louisiana, at the airport to travel to Ruston to begin the 1974 revival, he said to those accompanying me, “You know, when I met this boy, I knew his daddy, so he said, ‘You believe in my father, believe also in me.” After the first hot night, a Sunday, word spread. The faculty members from Grambling College and nearby Louisiana Tech came early to assure themselves a seat. There were people everywhere in the Pilgrim Rest Baptist Church.
F. G. was a master storyteller. He said, “Beautiful letters and pretty pictures” are something. I’ll never forget this story as told by him:
During World War II, an elderly woman lived in a rundown house. The shingles were loose and falling, the paint was undermined by the weather, the lawn was unkept, and the walk up steps revealed cracks in the concrete. The neighbors, concerned and curious about her well-being, called the city health department. A worker came to the house to check on the elderly citizen. Upon entering, she noticed the inside of the home was in the same condition as the outside. The rugs on the floor were worn, wallpaper cracking and falling. The furniture needed repair, and some pieces needed replacing.
The city worker thought to herself, We have to move this poor woman to a home of some kind.
The worker began to talk to the elderly but cheerful resident. “Do you live alone?” she asked.
“Yes,” the elderly woman replied.
“But your attitude doesn’t match your surroundings.”
