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Her Only Agenda is Love-Georgia Woman Joins AIDS Ministry

Episcopal News Service. May 24, 1990 [90147]

Skip Connett, Religion Editor of the Columbus Ledger-Enquirer

On a certain Sunday three months ago, a gaunt man in a wheelchair was seen sitting near the front pew of Trinity Episcopal Church in Columbus, Georgia. His name was Lamar Wilson, and he was a stranger there to all but three people. So when he turned and saw a familiar face on the other side of the sanctuary, he smiled and waved.

The woman was Frances Morton, a 78-year-old retired teacher whose AIDS ministry recently had been featured in the local newspaper. Now, unexpectedly, in the presence of family and friends, that ministry was being put to its greatest test.

"I thought, truthfully, do I have the guts to get out of my seat and sit with him, or do I sit here like a bump on a log," Morton recalled.

Morton did get up, walked down the aisle, and sat beside Wilson. When communion came and Wilson's attendant chose not to go, she pushed him to the altar, inadvertently yet inextricably marking them -- he as a PWA (person [living] with AIDS), she as an AIDS caregiver.

Two months after that eventful service, Morton talks freely and passionately about her ministry, calling it the most difficult, yet most rewarding challenge of her life. Largely because of Morton and the church's clergy, Trinity is involved in each level of commitment identified by the Diocese of Atlanta's Task Force on AIDS and has become known in the AIDS community as a welcoming place of worship.

Morton's decision to undertake an AIDS ministry did not come easily. "I spent three months talking about it and praying about it, and still I wasn't sure. I said to myself, 'This could be the dumbest thing you've ever done."'

A prominent member of an old established church in a conservative Southern town, Morton had calculated the costs. There would be rejection from friends. There would be misunderstanding from her children. And there would be the anguish of watching young lives deteriorate before her eyes.

Despite years of volunteer work that has taken her to the city's poorhouses and prisons, Morton felt unprepared. She read AIDS literature. She attended a frank and explicit two-day seminar on AIDS ministry sponsored by the city health department. But when the day arrived for her to attend her first AIDS support group meeting, she was so nervous she could hardly breathe.

"Hi, I'm Frances Morton, and I'm here because I'm interested in AIDS," she told the group. The room was silent. Finally, a young man said, "We don't often see someone interested in AIDS." The understatement brought an outburst of nervous laughter.

Instead of rejecting her, the group made her feel welcome, she says, and soon she was experiencing a closeness she had never experienced before in a group.

The heart of Morton's ministry is attending the weekly meetings, offering members her support during their moments of grief, anger, and fear. Since that first meeting less than a year ago, five members of the group have died, including the six-month-old daughter of an infected couple.

Sometimes the strain is too much, she says, and she must pull away for awhile. The group understands this.

"Frances is not a crusader but a person called to love," says the Rev. Rick Williams, Trinity's assistant rector. "Her agenda is to love, and that is the only agenda she has."

Through Morton, Williams met Lamar Wilson when he was hospitalized last year. It was then that Wilson, a hairstylist who had grown up a Southern Baptist, had shared his spiritual struggles and his search for acceptance.

"He was curious about the liturgy of the Anglican Church and had experienced it at times and knew it was an open and nonjudgmental church," Williams said.

Wilson also discussed the implications of coming to worship at Trinity. One of Wilson's concerns was how the congregation would react if he took communion. To erase any fears he decided to take the Lord's Supper by intinction.

"He was like a kid that day," recalled Ken, the young man who brought Wilson to Trinity. "He got a lot out of it, and everyone who spoke to him was friendly. No one treated him differently."

Knowing Morton would be there made the visit easier for Wilson, he said, adding that "to us, Frances is a saint."

Although several members reached out to Wilson after the service, many members greeted his presence with ambivalence. "I was aware that some people would be horrified," said Morton, "but the truth is that the only thing I heard was positive."

What Morton didn't hear from people was what concerned her. One member, she learned, stopped taking communion. Another member consulted her physician for assurance that AIDS was not communicable through the common cup.

The Rev. Duncan Sinclair is an associate rector at Trinity and a pastoral counselor who has worked with PWAs, including Wilson. "I've seen quiet people [living] with AIDS who come to the altar all the time, and no one knew," he said, "but that wasn't the case with Lamar."

Not only did Wilson's health set him apart, but he had been active in AIDS education locally and across the state. Through his leadership, the city's first organization for PWAs was incorporated.

"I was delighted when Lamar came to Trinity," Sinclair said. "I had known of his struggles in his own family and his own church, and to see him as a part of the worshipping community was exciting."

Since Wilson's visit, several PWAs have come to Trinity's early morning Sunday service and its Wednesday healing service, said Williams.

Wilson's first visit to Trinity was to be his last. After that Sunday, his health rapidly deteriorated. Two months ago, his leg was amputated, and he became bedridden. The day he was to be interviewed for this story he died, with his closest friends gathered at his bedside. Morton was among them.

One of the challenges of her AIDS ministry is not only living out her Christian faith but coming to terms with her own mortality. It is a challenge, Morton says, that comes easier with age. "One of the advantages of being older is that I have come to grips with death for myself." She paused and looked out across the quiet courtyard of the church. "I'm not sure where this will lead," she continued, "but I do know that for the first time in my life I felt so strongly that God was calling me to do this and that as a Christian I must accept these people as people of God."

[thumbnail: Retired Teacher Accepts C...]