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A good character is the best tombstone. Those who loved you and were helped by you will remember you when forget-me-nots have withered. Carve your name on hearts, not on marble. – Charles Spurgeon
In the autumn of 1859, an African-American Presbyterian minister, William Thomas Catto (1809-1869), addressed the crowd which had assembled at the dedication of a monument located at Columbian Harmony Cemetery in Washington, D.C. The monument was erected in memory of another African-American Presbyterian minister, John Francis Cook, Sr. (1810-1855). Catto’s address was published in the Weekly Anglo-African (November 5, 1859). It is a powerful tribute to a man whose legacy, while not widely known today, nevertheless endures.
Columbian Harmony Cemetery in Washington, D.C.
Cook was the founder of what is now the Fifteenth Street Presbyterian Church in Washington, D.C. This is the same church which was later served by Henry Highland Garnet and Francis James Grimké. He was the first African-American Presbyterian to minister in the capital city of the United States. Born as a slave in 1810, his freedom was purchased by his aunt when he was 16 years old. He began to earn a living as a shoemaker, and as a messenger for the office of the U.S. Land Commissioner. He taught himself to read and write, but then (it is believed) later studied at the Smothers School in D.C. Later, he became headmaster of the same school, which he renamed Union Seminary. Cook associated himself with the Presbyterian Church, and with the support of John C. Smith, he was licensed to preach by the Presbytery of the District of Columbia in 1841, and helped to found the First Colored Presbyterian Church of Washington, D.C. that same year. Elected as pastor then, he was required to engage in further theological study, but in 1843 he was ordained and installed as pastor, and served that congregation until his death in 1855.
Catto, author of the first written history of the First African Presbyterian Church of Philadelphia, was present in Washington, D.C., in 1859 to deliver the address when a monument was raised in Cook’s honor. His speech, which evidences great classical learning, is a memorable encomium in itself.
Through the personal efforts of Mrs. Rachel Kiger, at a cost of $160, this monument has been procured. Filled with an holy zeal she went forth in her ardent Christian love, determined to wrest from the treachery of memory and the possibility of oblivion the life and labors of him she valued in life, and mourned in death. Unaided and alone, like the good Samaritan, or like a Florence Nightingale, went forth on her mission of love, and finding a ready response from kindred hearts, we behold to-day the consummation of her labor, and may we not say in view of her success, “well done.” In the language of Scripture it may truthfully be said to the citizens of Washington, with no disparagement whatever, “that this man was born there,” and of Zion, “this man was born in her.” Here John [F.] Cook was born, here he lived, and here he died. Loved when living, regretted when dead, and his memory cherished though in his grave, for his usefulness and virtue.
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This superstructure we this day raise we raise to the memory of a good man. May this monument remind us all to act well our parts in life, that when dead there may be left behind us such evidences as we see this day that in life we did something for God, something for humanity, and something for the world. May no hand dare deface it. Sacreligious would be the hand that would do it. And when any approach this spot, may they remember that around it clusters sacred and tender associations; and could I speak to that marble as its spire points heavenward, I would say to it, as you, my audience, now hear me, Thou marble monument, thou memorial of friendship, around thee stand friends of the departed; to-day, as ever, fond and friendly hearts around this spot in sympathy beat. We love this spot where friendship’s hand has placed thee Henceforth thou art the guide to show the stranger that here lies the body of John F. Cook. Here stand, thou sentinel, firm to thy post by night and day; and when the bleak, cold winds of winter blow and moan among these cypresses — when iceicles, like crystals, hang from sprig and branch, and nature is clad with its mantle of ice; or when the starry snow-flakes, beautifully pure and white, shall fall around this spot, driven by furious winds, sheeting the earth around in its drapery of white, and piling it in drifts around and around thy base, thy head from out the drifts yet lift, looking heavenward, and still proclaiming, “This is hallowed ground. It is here they have laid him; come see the place.” When winter’s winds, its frosts and snows, have passed away, and when sweet spring returns; when Nature’s God shall have dressed the earth in her garments of green; when from amid the foliage of these cypresses and oaks the feathered songsters of this grove are sweetly singing; when beautiful flowers, in their rich variety, planted by friendship’s hands over the graves of departed loved ones, are unfolding their beauties and blushing in the sunlight; when gentle zephyrs sigh softly through these trees, and all nature is alive and happy, stand thou here, and from thy place proclaim that he who slumbers here inhabits a fairer land than this. And when the playful, merry boy comes bounding along, or the little innocent, laughing girl, whose bright eye shows how lithe and happy is her life; or the maiden and youth leisurely sauntering here conversing of matters to come; or when the strong, sturdy man, or the grey-headed sire, or the aged and infirm, resort to this place— whilst all move along, each wending his way to some favorite spot — some spot cherished and dear —stand thou in thy place, thy head still towering heavenward, and proclaim to each passer, “This earth is not thy home; here you have no continuing city. Work out your salvation in fearing and in trembling, for the day of life waneth, and the night of death draweth nigh.”We this day plant thee here on this consecrated spot, where lies the mortal remains of John F. Cook. Henceforth who that looks upon thee will remember him who, when living, was beloved by all who knew him best as a man—loved by God, whom he made his trust, and respected and loved by men, for whose best interests he labored.
We plant thee here to show the living that this life, when well spent, is not without its reward; that though, when living, we may be called to endure its ills, if faithful to the end, the good, the virtuous and the just will never consent to let the energies of a good man die, and recollections of them slumber with him in the grave. Stand thou here in summer and in winter, by night and day, in sunshine and in storm, as a memorial in honor of a good man, whose life was spent in honoring and glorifying his God and blessing his fellow men. And may the doings of this occasion so impress the living that each may strive to live the life of the righteous, that our last end may be like his.
With these powerful words echoing through time, it is sad to note that the cemetery where Cook’s mortal remains were laid to rest, where the monument was raised in his honor, and where his famous son, John F. Cook, Jr., was also buried, was relocated to Landover, Maryland in 1960. All those buried were moved without their tombstones, however; many of which were discovered by hikers along the Potomac River in Virginia in 2009, where they had apparently been unceremoniously dumped half a century before.
Truly, it may be said, that the life of man is better etched in hearts than in marble. And in the case of John F. Cook, Sr., and so many others, this is proven to be true. We remember him today simply because he was a faithful servant of Christ who, after growing up in slavery, became a minister of the gospel, and labored to advance the kingdom of Christ in the nation’s capital. Francis J. Grimké described him in 1916 as “a man of God thoroughly consecrated to the work of preaching the Gospel and to the general uplift of his people” (“Anniversary Address on the Occasion of the Seventy Fifth Anniversary of the Fifteenth Street Presbyterian Church, Washington, D.C.” in The Works of Francis J. Grimké, Vol. 1, p. 539), and this is how we remember him too.
