It’s been a while since I’ve written a “Saint of the Month” post. I guess it’s because of COVID-19 and being away from my office all those months last year that got me out of my hagiological habit. Now, as the church celebrates the Feast of Mary, Mother of Our Lord (August 15), I’ve started to think of those special women whom God has called to be bearers of Christ. I confess, being an old white dude, I so often pick my saints for the pool of old white dudes. This time, however, I want to honor a woman of color—and one who made a marvelous impression on me but, sadly, was called home to her eternal reward earlier this year.
“You don’t have to call me ‘Miss Louisa,’” she said to me when I was assigned as her field education student at Emanuel Lutheran Church at 4th and Carpenter Streets in South Philadelphia back in 1995. I, however, couldn’t think of addressing the seventy-something woman in any other way than with the title of respect used for mature ladies in that mostly African American neighborhood. There was just something about the dignified way she stood, her carriage, her demeanor, that made me feel a sense of reverence for Louisa Groce. I was in my mid-thirties at the time and, in addition to the natural respect youth owes to age, I saw in her wonderful dignity, in the elegant way she dressed, and in the warmth of her smile something which made me feel I was in the presence of everyone’s favorite grandmother.
You couldn’t help but feel comfortable around Louisa. She had a winning smile and a way about her that just put you at ease—even though you could tell she was a lady of accomplishments. I really didn’t know how accomplished she was until I read her obituary this past year. Louisa was an Ivy League graduate. She held an MA in Special Education from Columbia University and had spent over thirty years in the Philadelphia public schools as a teacher, counselor, administrator and program supervisor. During her tenure she created programs which took city youth across the country, to Canada, and even to the People’s Republic of China. It amazes me how one slender, soft-spoken Black lady could’ve touched so many lives.
When I was assigned to work with her at Emanuel she held the august title of “Associate in Ministry.” The old, 19th century German church, with its bell tower dominating the neighborhood around the Southwark Plaza Housing Projects, was in a state of disrepair. The tiny congregation gathered Sundays in the ground floor chapel as many of the elderly members couldn’t make it up the steep flight of stairs which led to the church’s 1,100 seat main sanctuary. Emanuel hadn’t had a called pastor in years, so it was up to Louisa to keep things running, provide for supply pastors, supervise repair work, and visit the sick or homebound. This the former educator did with relish, as it had always been her dream to be full-time in the service of God.
I have wonderful memories of my year at Emanuel—mostly because I was permitted by the Bishop to consecrate my first mass there even before I was ordained, but also because of the wonderful spirit of the congregation and the constant encouragement and approval of Louisa Groce. It was one of the best experiences of my seminary years for this white boy from California to be accepted by a Black congregation in Philly, and I learned a great deal from the folks at Emanuel about what real Christian hospitality should be. My fondest memory might be just watching Louisa worship. She’d been a life-long Lutheran, but when the hymn-singing started there was no question about how much she loved praising the Lord.
Louisa and I shared two things in common: we were both former special ed teachers, and we’d both been brought up in the conservative Lutheran Church Missouri Synod. Louisa’s brother, Harvey Davis, had been so inspired that he had become an ordained LCMS pastor. Louisa, because of the strict gender rules of that denomination, was denied the right to pursue a career as a minister of Word and Sacrament. She therefore joined the more liberal Lutheran Church in America (a predecessor body of today’s ELCA) and began seminary studies at the Lutheran Theological Seminary at Philadelphia (Today the United Lutheran Seminary—Philadelphia).
On September 12, 1999 Louisa was ordained to Word and Sacrament Ministry and installed as pastor of Redeemer Lutheran Church of Jersey City, NJ. She was eighty-one years of age, the oldest person ever to be ordained in the ELCA. She served Redeemer faithfully until her retirement ten years later, but continued to lead Bible studies, volunteer at a local hospice, and serve as a substitute or “supply” pastor when needed. She passed away peacefully last March at the age of 102.
I had not seen Louisa for many years, but I will always remember her. Her insight, piety, and dedication to God’s people remind me that, in the words of the great Yogi Berra, “It ain’t over ‘til it’s over.” God can use us at any age, and our “Third Act” might turn out to be the most meaningful of all.
May God bless and keep Miss Louisa, and
all the faithful women who have meant so much to so many.
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