Three Little Black Girls

This is a true strory from a friend of mine.  He would love to talk to any one of these girls.

“The year was 1978.  I had been a Christian for about 3 years.  I was a member of a fundamental Baptist church in Birmingham, Alabama.  I had a bus route.  I was determined to win the bus captain of the year trophy for 1979.  I did something that no one else was doing.  I started running my bus on Sunday nights.  One Sunday night, three black girls ages 11-13 rode the bus.  We had talked Sunday afternoon to one of them and she brought two of her friends.

They were giddy as you would expect young girls to be.  When we arrived at the church, someone alerted the deacon who alerted the pastor that Bro. Rice was bringing in three black girls.  I was ordered not to let them off the bus.  So, I told them to wait on the bus until I got back.  The pastor and a deacon took me in one of the classrooms of the Christian school across the street from the church.  The pastor told me I could not bring them into the church.  He said it would split the church.  I asked, “Don’t they have souls?”  He replied, “Do you want your son to marry one?”  I said “Well, what should I do? Take them to McDonalds and buy them a hamburger?”  I was being sarcastic, but I was feeling hurt and felt really bad. “That’s not a bad idea,” the preacher replied.  After a long silence, the pastor just said, “Do whatever you want to do.”  Then he walked out.  I sat there trying to think.  Then, I went to the bus and told the girls to follow me to the school.  I took them into a classroom and tried to get them to understand why they couldn’t go in the church.  Then I proceeded to tell them the gospel using the blackboard to illustrate the great chasm that separates sinful man from God.   After explaining the way of salvation to them, I asked them to bow and receive Jesus.  They did and we prayed together.  Then, we talked a bit and we went back to the bus to wait for church to be over.  Then we took every body home.  But that’s not the end of the story.

The next Sunday morning we were picking up kids and when we got in the neighborhood of the black girls I just kept going by.  But to my surprise the little girl whom we had talked to the week before came running after the bus!!  Sherry, one of the bus workers said, “Bro Rice, we’ve got to stop!”  So, I stopped the bus, put it in park and stepped off the bus to meet her.  She was all smiles.  She had on a light blue dress–black shiny shoes and matching socks.  She had her Bible and her purse and she was ready to go and worship God.  I’ll never forget the way she looked that bright Sunday morning.  But, I had to be “loyal” to my pastor.  I had to tell her that I was sorry, but I couldn’t let her ride the bus, because the people at the church didn’t want her because of the color of her skin.  Her smile went away.  She turned and started walking home.  I got back on the bus, and you could cut the tension with a knife.  I felt like the biggest heel there ever was.  That day was the beginning of many more disappointing times I would later experience.

In retrospect, I wish I had welcomed her, or taken her and myself to a different church.  She’s much older now and so am I.  I always wondered how she got along.  Was I the cause of her giving up on church, on God?  Did she grow in Christ in spite of me?  Does she hate me?  I pray that God has truly saved her and that she is happy in Christ. I will never know in this life, but perhaps I can tell her how sorry I am in heaven.”

I am not sure we are completely past this era in America.  The 11 o’clock hour on Sunday morning remains the most segregated hour of the week.