Reverend Patricia Gould-Champ: Living The Word

 by Charles McGuigan 08.2021

Gurus and evangelists, swamis and proselytizers, new agers and mystics—they immediately arouse my suspicions and raise my hackles as I prepare for an onslaught of barbed panaceas dipped in slimy snake oil. 

But every now and again I encounter someone who restores my faith in faith itself. These folks are rarer than hen’s teeth, and utterly devoid of hubris. One of them is Reverend Patricia Gould-Champ, a woman who lives The Word every day of her life.

It’s ten in the morning and already a steam bath as I pull onto the broad parking lot that surrounds Faith Community Baptist Church on Cool Lane. It bakes like a frying pan under an unrelenting July sun, and when I step from the car my shoes seem to sink a fraction of an inch into the marshmallow asphalt.  

As I round the corner of this brick church, seeking its entrance, I encounter two women and one young man, all masked, loading food into several plastic containers on wheels. They are sliding trays out of the side door of a truck that bears the legend FeedMore. Among them, supervising the operation, is Reverend Patricia Gould-Champ, a woman affectionately referred to as the Queen Mother, which, in her case, is not a petty, royal appellation. Rather, she is a queen and a mother among women who works to improve lives that are too often overlooked. 

A few minutes later I follow Reverend Pat into the building and a welcome river of cool air greets us as the door opens. Before entering her office we visit the sanctuary which has been converted into a school of sorts. Six small cubicles house groups of children from kindergarten through fifth grade. It’s all part of a summer program called Stay Connected Stay On Point that focuses on reading. The kids are smiling, and one of the teachers is reading out loud as her charges follow her words in their books. Reverend Pat smiles broadly. “This is our sanctuary which becomes a sanctuary when we need it to be sanctuary,” she says. “It can also be a school, a play area. It can be whatever we want it to be.”  (And I’m thinking, it‘s a shame that’s not the case with other churches and cathedrals; imagine the uses St. Peter’s Basilica could be put to.) 

When we settle in her office, Reverend Pat takes us back seventy years to when she was just five years old, shortly after her father moved the family from Danville to Richmond. It was an era of extreme racism in Richmond that would persist for decades and lingers on to this day.

Reverend Pat was raised at 31st and Marshall Streets on Church Hill, attended Chimborazo Elementary School, East End Middle School (now Franklin Military Academy), and Armstrong High School before beginning a long college career. At the time of the Goulds’ arrival, Church Hill was going through a transformation. “The whites were vacating but there were still whites living there,” Reverend Pat says. “It was a bustling place, and it was mixed, and then of course it eventually became all Black.

Many prominent Blacks called Church Hill home. Both Henry Marsh and Doug Wilder lived over on P Street. “And Doug Wilder’s first law office was right there on 31st Street above Ike’s Shrimp House,” says Reverend Pat

In that era, there were two daily newspapers in Richmond, one a morning paper, the other an evening rag, The Times-Dispatch and The New Leader, respectively. They had one thing in common. “One was just as racist as the other,” Reverend Pat tells me. “You got the same thing in both of them with a different slant. The AFRO (The Richmond Afro-American-Planet) was what you read to find out what was happening in the Black community.”

She remembers her father telling her what it was like returning stateside after serving in the Navy after  the Japanese surrendered bringing World War II to an end.  “When they passed through the Panama Canal everyone was celebrating on the deck,” says Reverend Pat. “Everyone except the Black seamen. They were not allowed on deck; they had to stay below. But my father could hear them celebrating on the deck. My father was a brilliant man and was a cook in the Navy, and he worked as a brick mason.”

We talk about the resurgence of racism in this country and how fires were stoked and fanned by a past administration. “It’s really sad,” says Reverend Pat. “A lot of it has to do with deep-seated fear, and you have leaders who are feeding that fear. What he (a former president) did to the mindset of people and the mindset of this country is going to take decades to recover from.” She considers church leaders who said nothing about this politician’s words and actions. “How can you not confront him?” she asks. “I’ve lost all respect for those evangelicals who said nothing.”

Even as a very young child, Reverend Pat was informed about the racial divide in this country. “I went to Fourth Baptist which was known as the Mother Church of the Hill,” she says. “It was also one of the premier churches in the Civil Rights movement here in Richmond.”

The pastor at that time, Dr. Robert L. Taylor, a fairly conservative minister, led the march that boycotted Thalhimers Department Store (now defunct), according to Reverend Pat. She remembers vividly a joke that this staid minister once told from the pulpit. 

“It went like this,” she says. “There was a Black man in an arena, and they dug a deep hole and set him down in it so that his whole body was covered except for his head and his neck. And then they loosed this lion, and of course the lion kept coming over and taking a bite from the Black man’s head, and the crowd went wild and cheered. It looked like the Black man would eventually be killed by the lion,  but the guy, in a last ditch effort, raised himself up on his toes and when the lion came for him he bit the lion on the nose.”

Reverend Pat pauses for a good two seconds and then delivers the zinger. “And the crowd goes, ‘Fight fair, N###ER. Fight fair.”

When she was just eight or nine years old, Reverend Pat would sometimes take the bus into downtown Richmond to pay bills for her parents. 

“I remember I made such a to do because I got dressed up and would always sit on that very first seat on the bus,” she says. “I would spread my little dress out and sit down. I would make it a habit sitting right on that first seat.”

She remembers the brutal murders of Emmett Till and the World War II veteran, Medgar Evers, at the hands of cowardly white supremacists in the Deep South. She remembers the numbness she felt as she sat in a high school Spanish class the day President John F. Kennedy was assassinated, remembers how the teacher “fell out,” bursting into tears and wails of lamentation. 

And she also remembers that horrific moment when Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was slain by yet another cowardly white supremacist. At the time she heard the announcement, she was attending classes at Virginia Union.

“Someone was walking through the halls yelling, ‘They are killing Toms now,’” says Reverend Pat. “Because by that time King was seen as an Uncle Tom because the movement was now with Malcolm X and Stokely Carmichael. And of course my dad came and got me because my mom was so upset because of the riots that were breaking out.”

Virginia Union is where she received her first of many degrees. “At Union I just blossomed and I was a sociology major because I wanted to be a social worker,” Reverend Pat recalls. But a bachelor’s in sociology did not a job guarantee. While visiting her alma mater, a friend from a sorority suggested Reverend Pat check out a program then being offered at Virginia State down in Petersburg. It was a grant that paid tuition along with a yearly stipend, culminating in a master’s of education. It turned out to be the perfect fit for Reverend Pat. 

“I fell in love with education,” she says. Shortly after earning her master’s, she, and nine other young Black women, went to work for Goochland County Public Schools. “They had gotten some pushing from the federal government to hire Black teachers,” says Dr. Pat. “They hired me as a teacher at Goochland Elementary, and I’ll never forget my principal who was called Mr. Rueben. He was just a really decent man, and I got along well with him.”

“The white parents—they were fascinated with me because their kids went home crying because I was so hard on them,” she says. “I was teaching fourth grade.” When some parents complained, Reverend Pat made her case plainly: “They’re not doing the work they’re capable of doing. I’m not going to let them do this kind of sloppy work. They can do better.”

“And then they fell in love with me,” she tells me.

The young teacher sometimes used little vignettes to try and get the students to understand how other students might feel. During one of the sessions, a white student told her that the Bible said Blacks should be enslaved.

Somewhat taken aback, the young Reverend Pat said, “Well, the Bible also said that Africa is going to rule the world.”

“The kid must have gone home and told his parents,” Reverend Pat tells me. “So the next day Mr. Reuben called me into his office because he had gotten a call, and one of the things I always admired about him is that the he was a listener.”

Reverend Pat told him exactly what had happened, and he simply nodded, said, “Okay,” and that was the end of it.

In those times it was almost unheard for female teachers to wear pants, so Reverend Pat decided to change all that. She made an appointment with the principal.  “Mr. Reuben, I want to talk to you about our dress,” she said. “We’re working with kids, we’re on the floor and doing all kinds of things with kids and I would like to see us to be able to wear pants. Women are wearing pant suits and we’re not going to embarrass you, we’re going to do this in a tasteful way.” 

The principal permitted it, and once word got around that female teachers at Goochland Elementary School were wearing pants, other schools in the district followed suit.

After four years teaching in Goochland, Reverend Pat returned to Richmond and taught fourth grade at Highland Park Elementary School. That’s when she began working on a doctorate from Virginia Tech. While working on the degree, she left Richmond again and returned to Goochland, this time as an administrator. “I was principal at Randolph Elementary School named for a black woman,” she says. ”It was a beautiful, small little school and I was the youngest principal in all of Virginia.

Following her stint as a principal in Goochland, Reverend Pat went to work for the Virginia Department of Education where she remained for the next twenty years until the time she received a very important call that would alter the course of her life.

Reverend Pat, with her extensive background in education, received additional training through the Baptist General Convention of Virginia, and began working for the church school and the vacation Bible school at Great Hope Baptist Church. 

“While I was doing that at Great Hope I was called to ministry,” she says. “God was actually calling me to ministry. It’s scary and you eventually have to yield to it. I often describe it as the grief cycle. The first thing is denial. And then you move into the fear and then you move into the anger and then you move into the bargaining, you know, I’ll do anything else except for this, anything else but this. And then you finally move into the acceptance.”

The new pastor at this church wasn’t particularly thrilled with the idea of a woman going into the ministry. “First, he wanted a counsel of deacons to counter examine me,” she says. 

One of the deacons on that panel also didn’t believe that women were meant for ministry. When he began to speak, Reverend Pat tensed up.

“Everybody in this church knows that I’ve always said that I don’t believe in women in ministry,” he said, and as he paused, Reverend Pat shifted in her seat. “But if Pat says God has called her, I’m going to have to go back to God. I’m going to have to go back to God, because I know that she’s not lying.”

Another deacon then stood up. He was an elderly man with a stern face and a rigid demeanor.

“When he got up there to speak,” Reverend Pat remembers. “He just started laughing. And he said, ‘I’ve been waiting for her to acknowledge her call. I’ve known it all along.’ That’s how God moves, Charles.”

 In due course Reverend Pat was to stand before the entire church. “God told me to just be quiet because it’s going to be okay,” Reverend Pat remembers. “God is saying, ‘I’ve called you. These people you’ve been with them, you’ve ministered to them, you’ve got to trust them to have seen what I’ve put in you.’”

The church was packed with people lining the walls. She told her story about her call to the ministry, and then the pastor said, “All of you can ask as many questions as you like. We can be here all night if you want until you all are satisfied.” 

There was silence, and then someone in the back of the room yelled out, “What are we going to ask? She said that God’s called her. I move that we license her to the ministry.” Immediately, the room erupted in cheers and applause. 

She attended Virginia Union’s School of Theology, where she has also taught for the past 27 years, and was ultimately ordained by Mount Olivet and served as a minister of Christian education at 31st Street Baptist Church. “Within a year and half I had been elevated to associate pastor,” says Reverend Pat. “And then I become executive pastor and I wore the same white communion robe with red bars that the pastor wears.”

On Easter Sunday in 1994 she got another call from God. “God gave me the vision for faith that would start the following year,” she says. 

When Reverend Pat travelled across town, instead of using the interstates, she drove through the neighborhoods of the Northside and East End. She noticed something disturbing. Many of the most marginalized people in Richmond were without a faith center. “So when God first gave the vision for faith it was to Fairfield and Whitcomb Court,” she says. “And then of course Creighton.”

One day as she turned off Mechanicsville Turnpike to Cool Lane her eyes fell on the old bowling alley where dance parties were held on the weekends. The bowling lanes had long ago been shut down. 

“God said to me, ‘Right there, now go inside,” Reverend Pat tells me. “There were no cars in the lot. Nothing. But when I approached the door, it opened and inside a guy was cleaning.” She and her husband ended up renting a small room inside the old bowling alley for fifty dollars a month. The couple would often go to the room and simply pray. This was the birth of Faith Community Baptist Church.

In time, the couple would rent the entire bowling alley and later buy the building, tear it down, and build their church. 

“We came into this building with around sixty people,” says Reverend Pat. “But it’s never been about numbers or money for us; it’s been about ministry.”

She remembers the day they broke ground. “It was raining cats and dogs and we had this little tent out there,” she says. “And all the guys that used to hang out in the alley came over and they were under that tent because they considered it their church.”

While construction was underway, the church rented a little barber shop that served as an office. One of the contractors, who was worried about the copper pipes that were laid out on the construction site, entered the office and approached Reverend Pat. 

“We gonna probably need to build up a fence around that because they will steal the copper,” he said.

Reverend Pat shook her head. “Nobody’s going to steal copper.”

“I know you’re a holy woman and all, but believe me, trust me,” he insisted. “They will steal the copper.” Reverend Pat was persistent. “They’re not going to steal any copper off this property.”

A few weeks later, the contractor, wearing a broad smile, told her this. “Before we get onto the business of the day, I’ve got to tell you, what you said was true. They didn’t steal any copper from the site, but they came over with some copper for the project that they evidently had stolen from somewhere else.”

As the children gather out in the hall for lunch, Reverend Pat leaves her office to visit the kids. When she returns she talks about the vision of Faith Community. 

“One of the parts of the vision was about empowerment—spiritually, economically, educationally and socially,” she says. “We understand that we have to empower people in all of those ways. So that’s why we do the things that we do. It’s not about membership, it’s about meeting the needs. People are looking to be fed, or they’re looking for jobs, or places to live.”

One of the first ministries arose from the dire need of a young woman whose mother was dying of HIV/AIDS. “First we started doing case management and so we worked with families and we’re still doing that work,” Reverend Pat says. “But we found our greatest resource was to do prevention education. And so we’ve been funded by the Virginia Department of Health and so we also do navigation services. It is not just for the people who are infected, but for everyone who is affected. Do you need a job? Do you need bus fare to get to a job? Do you need some kind of drug rehab? We do that kind of navigation here. It’s part of the vision, and that’s what I always keep us focused on.”

And there’s a lot to keep focused on. For instance, the children who are now eating are part of Stay Connected Stay on Point. “We started this July 12 and it ends on August the 20th,’ says Reverend Pat. “Five days a week, k-5. We’re doing reading. We’re using books by Black writers, so they get introduced to a new Black book on their grade level every week, and they get to take that book home.”

Faith Community also nurtures a sort of Eden on the property. “We’ve got the Faith Community Meditative Garden and the community comes over and they get things from the garden,” Reverend Pat says. “We also use the produce in our feeding ministry. And what we want to do is find a way to turn that into a money-making operation for the community. We’re looking at making a specialty salsa.”

It strikes me as we talk, that this woman’s ministry is not unlike the one practiced by the Founder of this faith. These are all corporal works of mercy; they bring comfort without judgement, and bestow on all an unconditional love. Above all else, human dignity is embraced and acknowledged, which is particularly evident in another one of the ministries—All of Our Love Hospitality Ministry, which is different than other food ministries. 

“We give out groceries,” says Reverend Pat. “We started out giving bags, and then one day the Lord said: ‘What would you do if you went to the grocery store with your family and somebody gave you a bag pre-packaged with stuff, and half the stuff your family doesn’t eat?’”

An avid listener, she paid heed. “And so we started to lay all the food out just like in a grocery store and they get the things they like.”

Sometime next spring, Faith Community will embark on yet another mission, this one a partnership with Virginia Supportive Housing (VSH). There are plans to build a two-story building—not unlike Clay House—directly across Cool Lane from the church. Reverend Pat is working on the project with Allison Bogdanovic, executive director of VSH.

“I had never met Allison before and she took me all around to see other facilities they have,” Reverend Pat says. “I always like to start with conversation because you can find out where people’s hearts are. We talked for hours and I walked away knowing that I wanted to be a part of this.”

Reverend Pat held sessions with neighbors explaining the project, and she received a nod of approval. This project will include 86 one-bedroom apartments, along with offices and a resource center that will be open to the community at large. 

Reverend Pat also lobbied for a separate wing in the building that would provide housing for pregnant women. “I negotiated five apartments for pregnant women,” she says. “And they will be allowed to have children up to two years old.”

Even before this project gets underway, Reverend Pat is chomping at the bit to create another ministry that will provide housing for some of the most vulnerable, and often discarded, members of society. 

“It will be called Care Center and it is a three-story dormitory for aging-out foster care children,” she says. Initially, she thought it might be a good idea for each apartment to house two or three children. Then, God intervened. 

“He said, ‘These kids have had to share stuff all their lives, and so they have to have their own apartment with a kitchen and living space,’” Reverend Pat says. “So everybody has their own kitchen and they have their bathroom and one bedroom. And there are two apartments on each floor that have two bedrooms for siblings aging-out.“

When I ask her if she ever plans to retire, Reverend Pat lets out a generous laugh, shaking her head. “There’s no such animal for me,” she says. “I’m just sliding over, but I’m going on to the next thing. I asked God, I want to do something I want to do and he gave it to me. I do what I love. People are not a stress for me, and it hurts my heart whenever I meet ministers where ministry is a burden for them, and the people are burdensome, and they’re always complaining about the people.”

Years ago at Great Hope shortly before the Sunday service started, a woman with disheveled hair and dressed in a formless housecoat and slippers, asked her if she could get some food from the pantry. 

“I take her to the pantry and I’m on my knees, all dressed up, and I’m asking her what she wants me to put in the bag for her,” says Reverend Pat. “I’m smiling and I’m pleasant in my mind, but evidently she’s picking up the fact that I’m trying to get into worship.”

That’s when the woman said this: “I used to stop traffic.” 

Reverend Pat saw her for the first time, really saw her, and could see how she could have stopped traffic. 

“I saw the beautiful hair that was standing everywhere, I saw the beautiful skin,” Reverend Pat says. “I really saw her.”

She mentions her husband, James Champ, III who passed away almost four years ago. The couple had been married for 31 years.

“My husband was the most important thing in my life,” she says. “When he was real sick there were some days I was on my way to prayer service and he didn’t say anything, but I could see it in his face, and I said, I’m not going.’ And he said, ‘You’re not going?’ I said, ‘No we’re just gonna hang out tonight.’ Sometimes this has to be the priority.”

She remembers another time when Bow Wow was performing at Landmark Theatre. “I bought a ticket for me and my daughter,” Reverend Pat says. “And it was prayer service night, but I was with my daughter and all these eleven- and thirteen-year-olds who were ecstatic. Those are things you cannot do again. Prayer services will be there again next weekend.”

I ask if she ever feels overwhelmed by the demands of her profession and she slowly shakes her head, then tells me about an encounter she had years ago at the State Fair of Virginia, when it really felt like a state fair, when it was still on Laburnum Avenue.

She watched in fascination as a juggler seemed to keep two, three, four balls aloft at the same time. When he finished his routine she asked him this: “How do you keep it all up there?”

And the juggler said, “I don’t try to watch all the balls. I watch one ball until it gets to a certain point and then I go back, and my eye picks up the next ball. Because if you try to watch all of them, they’ll all fall.”

Dr. Reverend Patricia Gould-Champ tells me one last thing, and they’re words worth living by. 

“Everything has its place and its priority and its rotation,” she says.