A Series by Leo Adam Biga

An IntroductioN

Historically, the Black church in America has served all the usual faith-based institutional functions around worship and evangelization.

But in response to disparities African Americans face, it’s taken on perhaps even greater roles as a body for sanctuary, organizing, community activism, and social-career advancement.

Click here to apply for grant funding from the National Trust for Historic Preservation towards the preservation of Black Churches

Blacks who fled the South during the Great Migration formed churches in their new landing spots, including Omaha. Migrants seeking to make new lives in unfamiliar locales could count on welcome, community and support from the church, said Black studies historian Jade Rogers of Omaha. “People migrating north used those connections to maneuver through their new world and new life and new city and surroundings.” Travelers in need of a place to stay or a hot meal knew they could find shelter and food in Black congregations, said Rogers, who recalls elders in her home congregation, Mt. Nebo Missionary Baptist, helping wayfarers deal with the crisis of their car breaking down on a cross-country trip. When church membership and attendance in America was higher, the church was the central unifying force in the lives of Black people and their communities, said Rogers, an adjunct professor at Metropolitan Community College and the University of Nebraska at Omaha. It brought folks from a shared cultural background and experience together in a safe space to commiserate.

At a time when mental health services were lacking, she said, folks in need of solace or empathy leaned on each other in church “because they were with other people who understood what they were going through.” In some families, church is the throughline that knits generations together. Rogers grew up seeing her grandparents and parents take active roles at Mr, Nebo. She followed their example. “For me the church was where family and community merged,” she said. Indeed, the congregation was such a constant in her life that she just assumed members were her blood relatives. “These were people I was very close to growing up and thought I was related to because I was with them all of the time. So church was very much family for me and the lines were always blurred.” Church has been a place where accomplishment is modeled and learned, she said.

“I saw Black people in positions of authority and leadership and that heavily influenced me. It confirmed this was “important work,” including women from the church doing outreach to young mothers in the community. “There were so many things I learned just from watching my parents and grandparents and their dedication to this community of people.”

— Jade Rogers

During the civil rights era, some Black churches took a more activist role than others, following their pastors’ lead to either be out front or behind the scenes in the freedom struggle. But virtually every Black church, then and now, has advocated its members exercise their right to vote, if not explicitly telling them who to vote for. Today, church may not hold the same sway as convener and arbiter as it once did, Rogers said, but it remains a core spiritual reservoir. “The church is always going to be relevant in the lives of people because that is the place where you look for refuge,” said Clair Memorial United Methodist pastor Portia Cavitt. “You look to it not only to be engaged but to receive the spiritual, physical, emotional, economic, social uplift you need. It is the responsibility of the church to meet the needs of the people. We serve a God that created everything we need in the world. We’ve got to learn how to utilize what God has given us to benefit everyone. God has been generous in his giving and likewise we ought to be generous in our giving back that others might receive.”

The church continues, too, being a launching pad for Black leaders, organizations and movements. “The importance of education in the Black church is key,” Rogers said, “because of the basic, transferable skills people attain there. It was the place where I learned how to run a committee, take minutes, run a meeting, manage a classroom, make a formal presentation. All those things I did for the first time at church. It trained me for the things I do in my adult life.” On an even more fundamental level, she said, church Sunday school “isn’t just about learning Bible scriptures or spiritual things, it’s about learning to read and write, critique and analyze.” Then, too, the church is a repository of information and history through the records it keeps and the oral tradition it encourages, noted Cavitt.

For many, the church continues its traditional role as consecrator of marriages and baptisms. It’s where people go to commemorate anniversaries, celebrate lifetimes, welcome newborns and memorialize the departed. Finally, the church nurtures social, cultural, creative and artistic expressions that reflect an entire people’s sorrows, joys and aspirations. The Black church’s soulful praise and worship tradition varies by denomination, but there’s no mistaking a Black choir or preacher for any other. “Music is the soul of the Black church,” said Tommie Wilson, a 53-year veteran of Clair and a lifelong vocalist. The retired music teacher has sung in the Clair choir and has been a guest performer with other choirs. “It’s our feeling of how we express ourselves in happiness or sorrow or whatever it may be. Music, not preaching, has been the essence and biggest influence of our church body.” Rogers recommends the recent PBS docu-series The Black Church from historian Henry Louis Gates adding, “There’s always more out there to learn.”

Installment I

The Church on the Hill

Clair Memorial United Methodist church

-108 Years Strong-

by Leo Adam Biga

Clair Memorial United Methodist Church is the metro’s lone predominantly Black United Methodist congregation. It’s only within the last half-century or so the Methodist denomination brought Black members fully into its historically segregated fold.

Clair began in 1913 as Grove Methodist Episcopal Church. It later took the name Clair after a resident bishop. In the Great Depression Clair lost its parsonage but saved the church. Though Clair has longevity and tradition galore after 108 years, its aging congregation and outspoken pastor, Portia Cavitt, must discern, as all churches must these days, where to go from here after the pandemic forced services online and church became a virtual experience, posing an extra hardship on faithful suffering separation from fellow members. Now that worship, like other things, has been reimagined, longtime member Tommie Wilson said, “We need to rethink church. I’m beginning to wonder if the church is really necessary. What this is proving is we don’t even have to go to church to worship because there’s so many other ways. That’s what I mean by rethinking church. Anymore, on Sunday, I can sit at home and be on Facebook with the pastor. I’m very content doing that. I’m able to watch my dinner cooking. So I don’t really need to come to church.”

Moving forward, she said, “We just have to ask the Lord to order our steps to do what is the best, right thing for us to do.” After years in the heart of the inner city, including a quarter century at 2243 Evans Street, Clair moved to its present location, 5544 Ames Ave., in 1983. The move was precipitated by circumstances. For its first 70 years, Clair anchored the traditional hub of Black Omaha. The once thriving area became blighted in the wake of damage done to the North 24th Street business district in late ’60s civil unrest. Disinvestment followed. The rupture of the North Freeway exacerbated the decline. A cycle of poverty led to increased crime.

Clair enjoyed a reputation as home to Omaha’s Black professional set, including public school principal Katherine Fletcher, who co-founded the Omaha Opportunities Industrialization Center (OOIC), Omaha Police Department officials Pitmon Foxall and Monroe Coleman, career educators Jerry and Ramona Bartee, and state health inspector Hazel Metoyer. The late Fair Deal Cafe owner Charles Hall and his family belonged to Clair as did other Black business owners. Archie Godfrey was among several civil rights activists churched there. Godfrey led NAACP Youth Council protests that pressured Peony Park to open its formerly segregated pool. A community activist, neighbor and friend of Clair, Ed Poindexter,was charged and convicted, along with David Riceof making the 1970 boobytrap bomb that killed an Omaha police officer. Poindexter and Rice asserted their innocence. Many feel the pair, both targets of the federal government’s COINTELPRO program, were falsely convicted, even framed, by overzealous officials.

Clair was one of the churches that supported the defense committees for the pair in the ‘70s. Rice died in prison in 2016. Poindexter’s supporters are lobbying for commutation and parole for the 76-year-old. Then-member Rodney Wead epitomized the congregation’s clout as executive director of the Wesley House, a United Methodist mission in North Omaha. Under Wead, Wesley incubated community initiatives, including a credit union for low-income residents, a Black-owned bank, Black-owned KOWH radio and what became the Omaha Economic Development Corporation. “Clair was a part of the haves. We had leaders. We had prominence,” said Wilson. She and her husband Ozzie contributed to that status as career educators. He also served as city human relations director under mayor Gene Leahy and led GOCA (Greater Omaha Community Action). Tommie co-founded the Stay in School program at Wesley. She served as Omaha NAACP president and as a United Way of the Midlands loan executive. She later led a Metropolitan Community College reentry program. ”Everywhere I went I carried a little bit of Clair, teaching love. That’s Clair, that’s me,” she said.

“Everywhere I went I carried a little bit of Clair, teaching love. That’s Clair, that’s me.”

— Tommie Wilson

The Wilsons were transplants from Texas. Just before their Omaha arrival the segregated Central Jurisdiction of the Methodist Church that Clair belonged to dissolved. The Evangelical, United Brethren and Methodist Episcopal Churches merged to create the more diverse United Methodist body. “I came looking for a CME (Christian Methodist Church). In the South we called it the Colored Methodist Church. That’s what we were,” said Tommie. She was directed to Clair by someone who mistook it for a CME, but it didn’t matter after she met then-pastor Emmet Streeter. “I loved what he stood for and that’s why I got ‘stuck’ there.” Her family’s rooted there, too. “Every person in my house is a member.” Four generations worth. “They go because I do. We just all go to Clair – come hell or high water. The pastor’s bold, progressive actions won her and others over. “Streeter was a well-respected community man. Very personable. He was involved and he made sure you were involved in what was going on in the community. He wanted to make sure everybody was inclusive. He worked on interracial relations. His whole thing was building bridges between white and black communities. He brought the white community to Clair. We invited white youth to engage with our Black youth. We reached out. That’s what built us up.”

His unifying efforts found support and resources from the Nebraska Conference of the United Methodist Church. “We never felt we were lacking anything,” said Wilson, who often represented Clair at the annual conference. At one time, Streeter served as Omaha NAACP president. A successor pastor at Clair, Rev. Everett Reynolds, also led the local NAACP. Wilson admired Streeter’s “fatherly” guidance. “He was like a mentor to Ozzie” and others. Wilson said Clair served as a community center for the neighborhood with its daycare program and outdoor basketball court.

A New Era, a Move and Pastor P’s Arrival

Clair’s long catered to an older membership and those members began feeling unsafe in “The Hood.” After Streeter left in the early ‘70s, Wilson said, “We went through a transition” of several ministers who had short stays there, adding, “It was like an open door with pastors coming in and out.” Rev. Alan Black brought some stability. He led his flock to its new home three miles west and thus closer to where the majority of the membership lived by then. Over the years, the iron grip of redlining and restrictive housing covenants loosened to allow middle-class Blacks to become homeowners and renters outside the boundaries once imposed on them.

The church left the historic base of the Black community to go where it’s upwardly mobile members lived. “That was a dynamic move,” Wilson said. “I don’t think we had a problem with wanting to move, though we did not want to leave that place [on Evans] because it was our foundation. We moved because things in that area had begun to deteriorate. The building needed repairs. We didn’t feel comfortable there anymore. Clair has always been an older congregation, so to move uptown gave us a more comfortable feeling.” The new facility, which Clair purchased from a previous church, offered more space and modern amenities. Stained glass windows and other artifacts from the old building were removed and installed at the new site. Ever since relocating to its perch overlooking Ames Avenue 28 years ago, Clair has beckoned visitors with this invitation on its outdoor marquee: “Come get your hillside experience.” Wilson notes Clair has always ministered to more than just spiritual needs through efforts like the Agape program that provided vouchers for food and other goods.

People still clamber up the hill to get their fill, whether for Sunday worship services, fish frys or food pantries. The numbers who gather to worship, even pre-pandemic, are less than generations before. Shrinking congregations plague many churches, Black or white. “But the church will not go away,” declares “Pastor P,” Clair pastor Portia Cavitt, “because this is where people come to commune and be whole. It’s like this is the filling station where we come to fill up to get our source of what we need in order to go back out, serve and make the most of the society in which we live.” Cavitt came to preside in a challenging time, 2008, amid the Great Recession. She’s shepherded Clair through major milestones and social currents: Barack Obama’s election as America’s first Black president; Clair’s 2013 centennial celebration (marked by a tree of life display); the birth of Black Lives Matter; Donald Trump’s 2016 election; and the protests that followed the 2020 George Floyd and James Scurlock killings. She’s now seen it through the worst of the pandemic’s food-economic insecurity, social isolation, illness and death. Coming as she did from the African Methodist Episcopal Church to lead an established Protestant congregation in the midst of a national crisis, meant an adjustment for her and Clair. “She came from another congregation, so she’s had to learn and feel her way into what’s been going on at Clair,” said Wilson.

Being a young, Black female pastor in an older, male-dominated field meant that her age and gender posed issues for some. “It’s been difficult, but I’ve learned over the long haul that you have to pick your battles and that's not one of the battles.” The pandemic’s exposed Black disparities in poverty, education, employment, housing, healthcare. She has Clair “standing in the gap” with food pantry giveaways, community garden harvests and partnerships with NOAH (North Omaha Area Health) Free Clinic, where she volunteers, and area schools. Cavitt has a heart for youth. She and Clair supported Wilson’s reentry efforts focused on young adult ex-offenders. Until recently Cavitt led a summer leadership academy that provided children enrichment experiences. Last summer she mentored young people from the city’s Step Up program by putting them to work in the church’s community garden. She also supervises students from partner schools who help with the church’s food drives. “I came in young and kept that young-at-heart mindset as to how do we educate and lead our young people, address the situations they’re confronted with, and help families navigate the educational or justice systems. Clair’s community engagement mirrors that of other churches.

“Yes, in the civil rights movement activists met in church and that’s where they rallied the people together. But then all we had was each other. Now, we’re more branched out where we can engage in different groups, even online.”

— Rev. Portia Cavitt

“Yes, in the civil rights movement activists met in church and that’s where they rallied the people together.” noted Cavitt, “But then all we had was each other. Now, we’re more branched out where we can engage in different groups, even online. The fact is we’re all coming together to bring about change. It doesn’t matter who starts it or leads it. The fact the work’s taking place and we still need social justice reform is an indictment against the United States. The church isn’t the only place leadership or the struggle can come out of.” Today’s grassroots movement, she said, is led by young people who aren’t so much in church. Wilson endorses a pastor who says it like it is. “Black people realize Black lives matter,” she said, “so we’re going to be visible and vocal as much as we need to be.” As for Clair’s part in the fight for equality and equity, Wilson said, “We’ve got a big role to play. We always have. Our Methodist leadership has.”

Then and Now

If the Black church is not at the forefront of the cause as before, Cavitt said, it’s because “not everyone is church-oriented now. Church was where Black people gathered because that was the social base then, but that’s not the case 50 years later. We’re living in different times.” Can the church regain its place? “You can only hope,” she said, “but that does not mean people are not connected or entwined with their spirituality. They just get it in different ways.” Still, the reality is families and young adults aren’t part of church life the way they were across generations. Once “lost,” souls are hard to win back. “We have not yet been able to really capture that 20-something crowd back into the church,” Cavitt said.

“We know where they are. We are in communication with them. But actively involved in the church, no.” Wilson’s unsure what it will take to reel families in. “People have to have that desire, they have to be encouraged to come. We’ve done our part. Our marquee outside says ‘Come get your hillside experience,’ and that’s what Clair provides. We are in an ideal spot for people to see what we are doing. Anytime anything is going on, it’s visible.” But where church used to be an absolute must in people’s lives, Wilson said “What wound up happening is extracurricular activities took over” in families’ increasingly busy schedules. Clair member Lynell Leeper misses the multigenerational flavor, but is unsure how to regain it. “I don’t know how to explain it,” she said. “Families are just not as active in church as they should be or used to be.” COVID 19’s added another reason to keep people away, as the virus disproportionately affects Black people.

In the past, Cavitt said, Sunday meant dedicated family time centered around church and home. “You went to Sunday school, you went to church, then everyone came to your house or to grandma’s house for dinner, and so it was family time together, whereas now you have the various activities – practices, rehearsals or whatever – that interrupt people’s Sundays.” As folks consume once in-person experiences remotely, even church, through streaming, Cavitt said it’s important to “meet people where they’re at.” That means figuring out how to stay connected with members via text, Twitter and Facebook, as well as with those who don’t have devices. “It’s almost as if I’m the pastor, I’m the priest, I’m the prophet, but then I’m also the parent that’s gotta make sure everyone’s got what they need in order to be connected.” Added to those issues, there’s the matter of the United Methodist Church’s division over same-sex marriage and LGBTQ acceptance. The nation’s largest mainline Protestant denomination seems headed for a split over inclusion.

“We don’t even know where we’re going,” Wilson said. “We’re torn up as Methodists trying to accept these communities. We’re having that big controversy. There’s a divisiveness going on. That’s a big problem for the church. When you start splitting your church, we all lose. Some of our devout members have left because of that.” Despite the discord, neither Wilson nor Leeper plan on going anywhere. Leeper was baptized at Clair. She followed the church to Ames before drifting away as a young adult, a common refrain for people busy with lives and careers. “I came back a few years ago,” she said, “because I lost my way and I felt pulled to return. This is all I know. It’s like going to family. It may not be Pastor or Miss Wilson, but there’s always somebody I know I can go and talk to when I have an issue or a problem. There’s stability in having that relationship. I like the camaraderie we have around here. Family, friends and the pastor is why I’m here doing what I do.”

*Pictures from gallery below courtesy of Clair Memorial United Methodist Church’s August 2013 Centennial Anniversary Book.

Ministering Inside and Outside Church Walls

Members tend to follow ministers. For Wilson, it was Emmet Streeter that sold her on Clair. None of his successors have quite measured up in her mind except for perhaps Pastor P. “Each of them had their unique thing. We’ve had many personalities that really changed the efforts of people in Clair. You either liked ‘em or you didn’t like ‘em. And that’s with every church. A pastor just has to come in, do the work, and feel their worthiness because people are going to do what they want to do,” said Wilson, who admires Cavitt’s grit in tackling issues. “I like her enthusiasm in not wanting to be just in the church but to reach outside of the church. I’m more involved with this pastor and what she’s trying to do. I’ve tried to show encouragement for her.” Cavitt’s community outreach focus also spoke to Leeper. “Pastor had the drive to do it and I felt like I wanted to help,” said Leeper. “I like helping people. When she came in and started doing all these things, it made me want to get involved and make myself a better person, so that’s why I’m more involved now than I ever have been.” An empowered Leeper and a fellow member came to her with the idea for the pantry, which the minister embraced. Leeper now helps run it.

Pastor P said, “We’re very community-oriented. We have a lot of partnerships.” Clair maintains adopt-a-school relationships with neighborhood schools Mount View Elementary, Wakonda Elementary and Nathan Hale Middle School. Parishioners have served as tutors and readers. “We also partner with various social organizations within the community,” said Cavitt. Clair’s strategic partnerships include the North Omaha Community Care Council and NOAH. Community organizations, Cavitt said, “realize the church has the pulse of the people. I know the city and others reach out to the Black church when they want something because they know we deal with people. In order to carry out their missions, organizations realize they need to look to the church and its members.” She also believes the church is an afterthought when it comes to services and facilities it can provide, especially to youth and elders. As the first woman to head the metro’s Interdenominational Ministerial Alliance, she’s far from a demure leader who defers to others. “First and foremost I am my own person. I am a child and servant of God. And I happen to pastor Clair Memorial United Methodist Church. So, yes, I represent Clair, but I also represent myself.

In the midst of the work we do, Clair is always present or at least I hope that is lifted up so that when people see me they might think of Clair.” As an elder and veteran community leader with a strong presence of her own, Wilson has tussled with Pastor P. But they’ve found common ground. “Even though we have agreed to disagree,” Wilson said, “we still have the same commonality. We respect each other. I think we’re on the same page. People think there’s a divisiveness between us, but we’re of one accord. When she doesn’t like what I say, she calls me on it, and when I question what she says, I tell her. That’s healthy.” Cavitt invites dialogue and discussion. “Even though I might be the leader,” Cavitt said, “that does not mean I have the best answer to a solution. We have to listen to one another and work out differences. Yes, I’ll take it to the Lord and see what way God wants us to go, because that’s the position I hold as the pastor, but I do allow some things to roll off my back or shoulder.”

Pastor P’s tenure is nearing a church record. “Sister Tommie reminds me Rev. Streeter was at Clair 19 years. I told her I’m going to be here for the duration of my ministry. We’ll see if that goes, but I’m now the second longest serving pastor of Clair (after Streeter). This has been my longest appointment, having served now almost 13 years. It would be hard for me (to leave). Hopefully, as the ministry continues to go forth there is a need for my type of leadership.” However long she stays, she won’t go silently. “Anything from 52nd to 60th and Ames, Pastor P is on top of it,” she said of herself. “When our business partners do wrong, especially the alcohol establishments, I’m the first one to raise my voice. We have four of them from 56th to 60th and when they sell to a minor and get a little slap on the wrist from the liquor commission, I’m there protesting and rallying the neighborhood to speak against that. Yes, I know some people want to drink, but let’s make sure we’re not overselling in this area.”

Another issue she’s vocal about is the cycle of lowered North O property values luring speculators to flip houses, which in turn spikes property values and taxes, thus creating a burden on existing and aspiring homeowners. “There are different places where I’ve had to step up as the prophet of the time to say, ‘Hey, look at how this is affecting us.,” Cavitt said. She describes her style as “old-school” blunt rather than PC soft-sell. “The longer I’m in Omaha, the more connections I have. I feel like I’ve matured some. I’ve seen some things, so experience has taught me some things, even though you see some of the same old stuff.”

Her straight-talk was just what was called for at Nathan Hale in 2017 when behavioral problems got out of hand after an entirely new grade of younger students got added to the existing seventh and eighth grade classes. “It was not the children’s fault. It was the district’s. They did not prepare the children for that change. The older kids began to rule or think they were running the building. There was a little bit of tug of war going on, and so I went in just to bring that community presence and diversity lacking there. I received the name grandma from the kids because I went in as a disciplinarian.” The problems resolved with the help of her stern yet loving hand. To foster greater racial sensitivity among white faculty and staff at its adopt-a-school partners, Clair and sister church First Unitarian are making available copies of the book, Don’t Look Away: Embracing Anti-Bias Classrooms. She’s also partnering with several United Methodist preachers in a book study examining that work.

Tending the Soil and the Flock

A pastor’s work is never done. Her long hours increase come spring-summer because of the community garden she started at Clair. It’s her pet project. She’s there planting, weeding and watering early in the morning and repeating the process at night. Between garden stints are meetings, phone calls, paperwork, preparing sermons, visiting the sick and dying, et cetera. Cavitt, who is single and childless, rejects the label workaholic. “Some people tell me I need to go home because I’m always up here.

But when you serve out of your passion, it’s not work. This is like my second home, so it’s not like it’s work for me. Yes, I might work 80 hours a week between the garden and the church, but everyone reaps the benefits of those blessings. We grow our food, we share our food, we multiply our food, and everyone receives.” Despite the pandemic’s uncertainty, she said Clair’s received an abundance of “financial blessings” to do its work. When its large freezer went out in February, donations soon covered a new unit so that no food spoiled. COVID-19 has presented opportunities to address disparities exposed by the pandemic such as food insecurity and access to healthcare. Clair responded by ramping up its food distributions. The Clair Cares Food Pantry operates the third Saturday of each month. Clair also gives away USDA produce boxes every Friday. These efforts serve hundreds of families. “We don’t turn anyone away,” said Cavitt. Lynell Leeper knows firsthand how vital those pantries are, saying, “I used to frequent pantries as a single parent. You have to do whatever you gotta do to make your dollar stretch or make your food stretch for the month.”

Harvests from the 32-plot community garden also feed many families. Both Leeper and Tommie Wilson say they are eating fresher and more healthy thanks to the produce they get from Clair. Pastor P cans garden bounty as homemade chow chow and stewed tomatoes. She uses its sweet potatoes to make pies for the holidays. She’s made health and wellness a ministry, leading walks and touting diets. “The focus on health and wellness is critical,” she said, “not just for our members but for residents of this part of North Omaha.” Her advocacy extends to making sure members and residents have access to needed healthcare. “With COVID, we see disproportionality in how the vaccines are being made accessible to African Americans in North Omaha,” said Cavitt, who took to the media to criticize state-county government delay in getting the vaccines to her community. Her advocacy was answered when Clair was made a one-day vaccination site in March. More North O sites have been added.

“We grow our food, we share our food, we multiply our food, and everyone receives.”

— Rev. Portia Cavitt

Pandemic by Another Name

Pandemic protocols limiting in-person gatherings have not only put a pause on in-church worship and fellowship, but curtailed how people could celebrate the lives of the departed. “People are still finding ways to uplift families who suffer a loss despite not being physically in the midst of families,” said Cavitt, who streams funeral services as needed. Mention the pandemic to Tommie Wilson and she reminds you that as an 83-year-old Black woman from the South she lived through the degradation of Jim Crow only to find a subtler but no less hurtful racism here.

If anything, she said, this crisis has “brought a vision to us so that we can see what is actually going on in this world with systemic racism, poverty and other disparities. Those are pandemics for us. We’ve been in a pandemic all our lives. Our whole lives have been a damn pandemic.” Racism is now identified as a public health issue, Cavitt said, for the toll it takes and opportunities it denies. She is committed to keeping Clair true to the Black church’s traditional mission of being a respite from the storms and trials of society and a gateway to a higher life.

“The Black church has been an integral part of our lives and a safe haven we could come to, and it will continue to be,” she vows. “I believe the church will never grow old or obsolete because people will see it as a place to receive their blessings or their basic needs. And so I try to make sure Clair is always equipped to meet the needs of the people, whatever it might be.” Wilson isn’t one to boast, except when it comes to her legacy house of worship. “When I say Clair Methodist-Clair United, I expect everybody to know the church I’m talking about. You know, the church on the hill at 56th and Ames. We stand out. Even when we were down on Evans the name Clair was always spoken with pride. There is a lot of pride, and a long, rich history, too.”

Additional resources:

Click here to learn more about Clair Memorial United Methodist Church.

Click here to view the PBS special on The Black Church.