NEWS FEATURE: Pentecostal Flock Treasures 106-Year-Old Bishop

c. 2003 Religion News Service CLEVELAND _ At age 106, Bertha Mable Massey has no living descendants. For many elderly people, that would be a problem. Massey, though, is being lovingly cared for in a Cleveland home where she is treated like royalty. The dressy suits she favors for everyday wear have been moved here, […]

c. 2003 Religion News Service

CLEVELAND _ At age 106, Bertha Mable Massey has no living descendants.

For many elderly people, that would be a problem. Massey, though, is being lovingly cared for in a Cleveland home where she is treated like royalty.


The dressy suits she favors for everyday wear have been moved here, along with her collection of exquisite hats and dozens of coordinating shoes. Her Bible is at her fingertips. She has her own phone line so she can take calls from friends.

And when she desires to visit one of the 20 Ohio and New Jersey churches she presides over as a bishop in the House of God denomination, she need only ask. Her volunteer drivers will happily put aside their own needs to deliver her to her destination.

Massey, a South Carolina-born daughter of a slave, has risen to the second-highest rank in the House of God, the Pentecostal church she joined in 1929.

In her church, she also found her place in the world, achieving a national stature not often accorded black women of her generation.

Massey’s hearing is good, her mind sharp, her legs functional. Ask her when she was last sick, and she’ll tell you 1955.

With the help of a cane, she maneuvers herself around her half of the tidy duplex owned by the Cleveland couple who care for her. “I’m in pretty good health _ just old,” she said. “I tell the Lord I thank him that I still know who I am and where I am.”

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She traveled constantly during her career, attending to church business and even visiting the Holy Land at age 90. And she isn’t about to stop now.

She recently had a driver take her to Masury in eastern Ohio, where one of her tiniest churches is located. “Some people like to go where the crowd is. I like to go where I’m needed,” she said.


Massey typically preaches a bit when she visits a church. In Masury she held forth for 10 minutes, her voice growing steadily stronger.

“God didn’t have to let me be here, but he did,” she began. “I am trying my best to let the world see Jesus in my life.”

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Church members regard Massey as their treasure, said Esther Bryant, pastor of the 85-member House of God church in Cleveland. “I encourage most of our congregation, if you have not met Bishop Massey, to come sit at her feet,” she said.

A conversation with the bishop, she said, is always coherent, warm and frank.

“Even though you might think there’s an age gap, she’s able to relate to the young people. I don’t think anything shocks her. Even though I know at her age she’s probably not used to a lot of the modern things the young people go through … she’s ready to listen. She’s very compassionate, very understanding.”

Massey, who is childless, has outlived her husband and her 14 siblings. She was born on a South Carolina plantation on Jan. 21, 1897. “My daddy was 15 years old in slavery time. My mother was born in the second year of freedom,” she said.

She married at age 21, to get out of her parents’ house, she said, but later had the marriage dissolved when she realized she had acted impulsively. She then returned to her family home in West Virginia to help raise her siblings.


For her, 1929 was a life-altering year. That’s when she first heard the Rev. Cordia Thomas preach. Thomas introduced Massey to the House of God, a church founded by a woman, Mother Tate, that allowed women to hold leadership positions.

Also in 1929, Massey accepted another marriage proposal. This time it was the right one. Zachary Massey also attended Thomas’ church, and both agreed to dedicate their lives to Christ.

After being ordained a minister in 1931, Bertha Massey inherited Thomas’ church, then traveled through West Virginia and neighboring states to proclaim the Word. “I call it evangelism. I went to places where there weren’t any churches and established them. I put on a Pentecostal meeting. The people would get saved and come in the church,” Massey said.

Shouting, clapping and speaking in tongues are hallmarks of the Pentecostal church, which has long helped low-income black families survive, said Florida author Sherry Sherrod DuPree, who has written a history of black Pentecostals. Pentecostal churches, she said, have been the centerpiece of their community, providing meals, teaching important skills to children and adults, even pooling resources to help members in need.

The House of God, which has 9,000 members nationally today, remains a closely knit church, and members take care of their own. Which is why members do all they can for Massey.

Marcia McCoy, a Clevelander who has belonged to the House of God since age 13, is one of Massey’s two self-appointed drivers.


Last Sunday, she arrived in Massey’s doorway with a cheerful “How’s my favorite good-looking bishop doing today?” McCoy, 39, tenderly lifted the elderly woman to her feet and helped her don her faux fur coat.

And ever so slowly, she assisted Massey to the waiting, warmed car.

McCoy said she has long watched Massey care for other people. Now, she said, it’s only right that “Bishop,” as she calls her, should reap what she has sown.

Two years ago, when Massey outlived her previous caregiver, Velma Ingram stepped in, bringing Massey into her home.

It was an act of sacrifice. Ingram had to quit her retail job to become the bishop’s caregiver.

But the two have a long history of shared sacrifice. Ingram moved in with Massey at age 9 and remained with her for many more years. She drove Massey on church-related trips and helped her care for elderly members, always feeling as if she had no other choice.

Ingram, now 60, eventually married, moved to Cleveland and became a leader in a Presbyterian church. But the bond with Massey, she found, can’t be severed.


When Ingram and her husband, James, learned that Massey needed help, they didn’t hesitate. They took her in, although they refuse to take any money.

This is the path God intended for her, Ingram has concluded.

“She was as good as she could possibly be to me. She raised me as her own child,” Ingram said. “I couldn’t do anything but be good to her and take care of her.”

Now, the women Massey taught to serve selflessly are serving her.

DEA END BERNSTEIN

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