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One service wasn’t enough to celebrate the life of a beloved community leader, civil rights trailblazer, founding Pastor Emeritus of the church and “Houston’s Pastor” Rev. William Alexander “Bill” Lawson, who died on May 14. He was 95 years old.

Thousands of people who’ve been impacted by Lawson — congregants, friends, family, fraternity brothers, prominent community leaders, elected officials, esteemed local and national clergy leaders of various faiths, among several others — cleared their schedules and traveled near and far to make it to Wheeler Avenue Baptist Church on Thursday and Friday to bid farewell to someone who Dr. Marcus D. Cosby, the senior pastor of WABC, revered Thursday evening as a “multifaceted man.” Cosby officiated Friday’s service. 

The earliest attendee lined up as early as 7 a.m. Thursday morning to attend the viewing, two hours before the ceremony began, according to a WABC spokesperson, and the parking lot was nearly full an hour before each service began. Bishop James W.E. Dixon II, who also serves as the NAACP Houston president and is a pastor of  Community of Faith church, officiated Thursday’s ceremony.

“You have to pay appropriate homage and respect for a man that’s done so much for this community,” said James “Jimmy” Walker, one of Lawson’s fellow Alpha Phi Alpha fraternity brothers and longtime friends after an omega service the fraternity held Thursday evening. 

Lawson was initiated into the Beta Omicron Chapter of Alpha Phi Alpha, the first intercollegiate Greek-letter fraternity established for Black men, on Nov. 22, 1947. 

“If you had an issue, and it was legitimate, Bill Lawson was there to serve and help,” Walker said. “He (was) the appropriate person.”

In the four hour-long tribute, many spoke of his legacy as a visionary theologian, a man of service, a problem-solver and a justice-seeker. Many described him as a beacon of hope, love, and unity. 

“Reverend Lawson had multidimensional greatness. He was great on a lot of levels,” said attorney Gene Locke in his tribute to Lawson as a civil rights activist.

“He had the ability to impact politics, economics, religion and people at their highest point and people at their lowest point. Few people can do that,” he said.

A civil rights leader

Lawson originally came to Houston in 1955 to serve as director of the Baptist Student Union at Texas Southern University. He founded Wheeler Avenue Baptist Church in 1962, and served as pastor for 42 years until he retired in 2004.

Beyond the church, he joined the national Civil Rights Movement as a leader in desegregating Houston and set up a local office of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference. As a close friend of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., he bravely hosted the civil rights activist at his church when many others refused to do so — a decision that could have resulted in death. He also supported the TSU students during the sit-ins and managed to help them get out of jail. 

As a member of the “Three Amigos,” a trio of religious leaders including the late Rabbi Samuel Karff and the late Archbishop Joseph Fiorenza, he worked to tackle some of Houston’s signature issues, including “homelessness, racism and inequality, even the creation of a public defender’s office,” according to a memo the church sent to members announcing his death. 

Successors and descendants of the other two “Amigos” Karff and Fiorenza called Lawson’s death the “end of an era,” but many agreed he left a legacy that endures forever. 

A can-do attitude

More tributes followed at Friday’s congregational service of celebration from some of his surviving family members, more clergy leaders, academic and civic leaders, elected officials, and more. They described him as a soft-spoken man of humility with a sense of humor, but someone who wasn’t afraid to make sacrifices, even if it meant time away from his family. Many also described him as a devoted husband to the late Audrey Hoffman Lawson, especially in his care of her when she became sick.

“So many Houstonians don’t know how much they’ve benefited from his leadership,” said Mayor John Whitmire, as he walked into the cathedral ahead of Friday’s service of celebration. “Tall man, spoke so quiet and kindly, and he got things done. He had a can-do attitude.”

Whitmire said he attended not just to represent the city of Houston, but also on a personal level. Whitmire first met Lawson in 1973 at age 23 when he first got elected. He said Lawson mentored him and other state representatives to be effective leaders and fight for social justice in Austin. 

“We were winning some battles, losing some, and he just taught us how to regroup and go forward,” Whitmire said. 

One of those battles, he said, was getting Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s birthday recognized as a state holiday in 1976.

“He not only mentored us, he held us accountable. You didn’t want to disappoint Rev. Lawson,” Whitmire said. “He made you better. I’m a better mayor. I’m a better state legislator because of his mentorship.”

Although Lawson was soft-spoken, his words were loud and influential from the pulpit to the greater community and even in courtrooms. Everyone knew to listen. 

“You do not tell Rev. Lawson no,” said DeLoyd Parker, co-founder and executive director of SHAPE Community Center. “You would feel so guilty because he spoke so softly.”

Clergy leaders spoke about how he was a role model they aspired to emulate, and credited their pastoral success to his mentorship. 

Rudy Rasmus, a retired pastor of St. John United Methodist Church and the childhood pastor of Houston-native singer Beyoncé, recalled a time at 23 when he was not a believer of Christ. He said he first heard about a preacher in Third Ward who was radical and “actually walked the talk.” 

“My daddy raised me to never trust preachers and church people,” Rasmus said to a laughing congregation. “But I heard there was one.”

He spoke about how he would occasionally sneak in to check out Lawson’s sermons and was amazed at his mild-mannered demeanor. Once Rasmus became a believer and later, a preacher, he modeled his career after Lawson, leveraging his relationship currency with his congregants and his political capital. 

“Ain’t nothing wrong with being a copycat as long as you copy the right cat. And the one he copied was Jesus,” Rasmus said after challenging the congregation to copy Lawson’s legacy. 

An embodiment of grace

On Friday morning ahead of his congregational service, many longtime church members shared how they’ll always remember their pastor who captivated them with his thought-provoking and eloquently spoken sermons, and as a father figure who was always approachable, always ready to serve others, and always there for his church members when they needed him.

“His messages always made you think and always made you want to be a better person,” said Karen McGowan, a longtime member of Wheeler Avenue Baptist Church since 1982. Rev. Lawson married her and her husband, Erwin, in 1997. 

Deacon Matthew Coward, another longtime church member, said Lawson was his father away from home who mentored him, and connected him to people.  

“He just embodied grace,” he said. “But he also embodied what he was preaching. It was clear that he wasn’t just preaching, he was a living testament.”

Coward also spoke to Lawson’s devotion as a husband, especially when his late wife, Audrey Hoffman Lawson, became sick. As for his legacy, Coward says he thinks it’s still somewhat unknown. 

“His impact is that far-reaching,” he said. “I think he comes from a generation, I say, that saved this country. This country has to hold a major debt to this generation. So his legacy is far beyond what we comprehend. We’ll know it one day.”

While many reflected on his legacy in a myriad of different ways, Lawson had a different take on it before his death.

“I don’t see myself as a civil rights leader. If I could give myself any kind of a label at all, it would probably be bridge builder,” he said in a video tribute played at Friday’s service. “If it’s possible for me to get people to talk to each other, then I think that that has been the primary thing that I’ve done.”

In the clip, he elaborated on his life’s mission and the purpose of his William A. Lawson Institute for Peace and Prosperity, which he said was created to “bring the problems of the powerless to the powerful.”

“So if I could be called a bridge builder,” he said, “I think that means a lot more than simply if I could be called a hero out there marching in front of someone.”

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