A Pastor Is Shot and a Congregation Mourns

It was during evening Bible study class last Wednesday at Christian Unity Missionary Baptist Church when Assistant Pastor Charlie Williams stepped outside.

As was his ritual, Williams began his casual walk around the block, praying for saved and unsaved souls.

But before he could get a few feet from the church’s doors, a shot was fired and Williams, 70, was hit in his upper right thigh. He died a few hours later at Harbor-UCLA Medical Center; coroner’s investigators believe the bullet hit an artery.

His death has shaken a working-class Inglewood neighborhood where gang crime has been a persistent problem and where Williams was a reassuring face.

Williams helped build the church more than a decade ago. He was known for buying toys for children, feeding the needy and spreading the word of God. Friends and family described him as a voice of optimism in a neighborhood filled with more than its share of troubles.

“He would pray that the church could win the neighborhood,” said his wife, Lois Moore-Williams, who is the church’s main pastor.

“I just keep pinching myself thinking this is a dream,” said Charlotte Hood-Williams, who added that her stepfather believed living in a tough neighborhood didn’t mean you had to be tough. “Just because you’re in it doesn’t mean you have to be of it.”

The small structure on North Market Street near West Centinela Avenue resembles a nondescript commercial building more than a church. Williams lived some miles away in Los Angeles but spent much time there. The church became his new job after he retired several years ago after working for General Electric and driving a tour bus.

Parishioner Larry Harrington said his life was on the wrong path before he met Williams. He said he regularly drank and smoked, but Williams helped him turn his life around by leading him to church and to God.

Harrington first set foot in the church in 2001 at the urging of his wife and son. He heard Williams speak and the two quickly hit it off after the service.

Now a deacon at the church, Harrington said the community would sorely miss Williams.

“When these young people pick up a gun, they must realize the outcome is death,” Harrington said.

Anita Stephens lives in an apartment next to the church and said she joined the 250-member congregation soon after meeting Williams.

“If my knee was hurting, he would get on his hands and knees and start praying,” Stephens said, her eyes welling with tears. “It’s just devastating.”

Stephens was in her apartment getting ready for work when she heard the shot. She peered out her apartment window and watched as Williams fell to one knee. Seeing a river of blood flow down an alley next to the church, she called police.

“I could see the blood from upstairs,” she said. “He yelled, ‘Help me!’ ”

The mood at the church has been somber since, though many people said they believe Williams is in a better place. Parishioners placed two roses in a vase on the front steps of the church. They also placed a photo of Williams with the message: “We Need Your Help” urging anyone with information to call the Inglewood Police Department.

So far, detectives said they have few clues. Lt. Mike McBride said the department has received some information but declined to say whether officials believe Williams was targeted or was struck by a stray bullet.

His wife, Moore-Williams, said she was in Bible study when she heard the shot.

“We heard [his] voice cry out ‘Man! What are you trying to do?’ ” she said.

The couple constantly prayed that God would allow the church to be a beacon of light for the people in the neighborhood, she said.

“So, I thought it would have meant that they would have seen him in that light also -- evidently not.”

She could not bring herself to perform the service last Sunday. But she plans to return to the pulpit later this month and has already chosen the title of her sermon: “All Is Well.”

“Keep seeking the Lord,” Moore-Williams said in a voice filled with determination. “The devil is yet defeated -- and we win.”

On Monday, Jesson Cooke and Keith Williams sat in the sanctuary that their stepfather helped build and reflected on the difference he tried to make there.

At the other end of the sanctuary was an empty sound booth, where their father controlled the microphones on Sundays. Cooke lowered his head as he reflected on the safety of the community.

“Even church now isn’t a cool place to be from time to time,” he said. “The guy who pulled the trigger, he’s the one who’s got to face the man upstairs.”