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George and Dot met in England when he was in the Second World War. When they married, they came stateside and started their life together in George’s hometown, Mountville, South Carolina. The big city of Mountville is 15 minutes from Clinton, where Amy and I were raised, and is on the way to Lake Greenwood, so we have passed through there for 50 years, traveling to my parents’ lake house.
When I say big city, I hope you know I’m being facetious. There’s not even a stoplight in Mountville, so we have wondered what Dot was thinking the first time she saw it. With her Bri’ish accent and his southern-ese, they were surely the talk of the town back in those post-war days.
George has been gone too long, more than a decade, but Dot remained faithful to her church. She attended Beverly Doyle’s Sunday Connection Group, and until a few months ago was still active with the Flexercise Group and attending Fun Food Fridays.
Dot’s nephew, an Episcopal priest, conducted Dot’s funeral service, but if Amy and I had been given that honor, I would have needed to tell one story. This fall Amy and I will celebrate 23 years at Park Road, and the story is one of the highlights of those years that I will take to my own grave.
In the summer of 2012, in anticipation of a presidential election that fall, our summer preaching and worship series was based on King David. We spent the summer thinking about leadership, learning from Israel’s greatest king. Early in that summer the Brits celebrated the Diamond Jubilee of Queen Elizabeth II, and as The Monarchy always does, it drew the attention of the world. Because of all the fanfare, I used that episode in the introduction to my sermon. To summarize that page of my manuscript, I basically said, “We don’t get it.” We, who have no monarchy, who have no experience with kings and queens, can’t relate to the enthusiasm the Brits give to such affairs. To quote it verbatim: “The concept of a monarchy is a mystery.”
Well, the next week I received a phone call and learned that I had greatly offended our one British congregant! Oh my. I pulled out my sermon and reread it. (I just reread it again to make sure I am not telling you incorrectly.) I printed the manuscript and went down the street to visit Dot, but I could not convince her. I had offended the crown, and at least one loyal subject, and that would not do.
Despite my best effort to apologize, there was a chill in the air — that remained for seven years. I assumed I had lost any meaningful pastoral relationship with Dot.
This impasse remained until the day of Johnny Doyle‘s funeral in 2019. The sanctuary was being renovated, so we met in the Community Center. At the conclusion of the service, I was standing, greeting folks at the door. I saw Dot coming my way, and braced just a bit, but when she got to me, she smiled her beautiful British smile, and she said, “I owe you an apology. I was wrong. I’m sorry.”
And with that, everything changed. As far as I know, until the day she died, we returned to the relationship we had known for all the years prior to this event.
I’ve never known such forgiveness. Never known anyone to take such daring initiative. It’s hard to apologize — and it’s even harder to follow through, but after that day I never sensed any more distance between us. She had forgiven me, and it was just… over.
Dot Finley is gone. Her remarkable Christian witness will never leave me.
For Dot Finley, thanks be to God. – Russ
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