When Bishop Walker telephoned me to inform me of Bishop Martin’s death, he said, “This is the end of an era.” And so it is. He was of the old school, in the best sense of that word. That means you could cut your finger on the crease in his pants and see your reflection in his shoes. That means that he was a catholic churchman who took seriously the fact that he was ordained to administer both word and sacrament; and took seriously the fact that the church of Jesus Christ, as Archbishop Temple reminded us, is the only organization that exists primarily for the benefit of those not its members. But he was not the kind of priest who could tell you how many times you should kiss the altar during the mass (seven, for the record) but found it difficult to offer an extemporaneous prayer of condolence or encouragement. When I entered the parish ministry forty years ago, Bishop Martin reminded me of the importance of being a pastor: “You can make the parish machinery hum, double the budget, and build new buildings, but unless you are there when your people need you, everything else you do is for naught.”
Richard Beamon Martin was the oldest living bishop in the Episcopal Church. He witnessed sea changes in the life of the Episcopal Church and lived through the upheavals caused by women’s ordination, Prayer Book revision, the civil rights movement, and, more recently, the debate over human sexuality. He was a deputy to the 1955 General Convention that took place in Honolulu because Tollie Caution and Thurgood Marshall stormed the Presiding Bishop’s office demanding that the Convention not be held in Houston—where the bishop of Texas could not guarantee that housing could be provided for Negro deputies.
So what more can be said about a pastor, priest, and prophet who did so much in recent years, even after his so-called retirement, to keep the church on an even keel as she navigated uncharted waters, providing nurture and guidance, even from his bed of affliction, to his fellow bishops and to yet another generation of clergy?
The simple answer is we can say nothing at all. We who are dwarfed by his spiritual stature, humbled by his holy demeanor, and pauperized by the wealth of his experience and intellect can add not a jot or tittle to the legacy that Bishop Martin has bequeathed to us. What we can do, however, is imagine the words that were exchanged between him and the blessed Apostle Peter on the occasion of Bishop Martin’s interview for admission to the Pearly Gates (one of Peter’s easier jobs). The form of Saint Peter’s question is identical to the question that customs agents ask at the airport:
Richard, bishop of the Church of God, do you have anything to declare? Bishop Martin responded “I declare that, like Jeremiah, the Lord God knew me before he formed me in my mother’s womb, and sanctified me, and made me a prophet unto the nations.”
Richard, bishop of the Church of God, do you have anything to declare? “I declare that I have endeavored, day by day, to be faithful to my vows as a deacon, to be modest and humble, and to have a ready will to observe all spiritual discipline.”
Richard, bishop of the Church of God, do you have anything to declare? “I declare that I have endeavored, day by day, to be faithful to my vows as a priest, that I never cease in my labor until I have done all that lieth in me, to bring all such as are or shall be committed to my charge, unto that agreement in the faith and knowledge of God, and that there be no place left in me, either for error in religion or for viciousness in life.”
Richard, bishop of the Church of God, do you have anything to declare? “I declare that I have endeavored, day by day, to be faithful to my vows as a husband, and did plight my troth to my beloved Annelle, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, till death us do part.”
Richard, bishop of the Church of God, do you have anything to declare? “I declare that I have endeavored, day by day, to be faithful to my vows as a bishop, remembering to “stir up the grace of God, . . . for God hath not given us the spirit of fear, but of power, and love, and soberness.”
Richard, bishop of the Church of God, do you have anything to declare? “I declare that I have endeavored, day by day, to be a source of and a force for reconciliation, bringing together all sorts and conditions of men and women, so that together we can sing:
I’m gonna sit at the welcome table,
I’m gonna sit at the welcome table,
I’m gonna sit at the welcome table,
One of these days.
Richard, bishop of the Church of God, do you have anything to declare? “I declare, in the words of the great priest and hymnwriter Charles Wesley,
A charge to keep I have,
A name to glorify,
A never-dying soul to save,
And fit it for the sky.
To serve the present age,
My calling to fulfill:
O may it all my powers engage
To do my master’s will.
Arm me with jealous care,
As in Thy sight to live;
And O Thy servant, Lord prepare
A strict account to give!
AMEN.
1. Martin, Wings of the Morning, 39.
Ecclesiastical Polity Redux2
RICHARD HOOKER WILMER Jr., Priest (1918–2005)
Preached in Calvary Church, Pittsburgh 9 April 2005
The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me. (Isa 61:1)
Richard Wilmer was larger than life. This was true both literally and figuratively. I learned this thirty-seven years ago when, as a twenty-one-year-old seminarian who had just entered the Berkeley Divinity School, I met Dean Wilmer for the first time. I was young, idealistic, and probably just a tad rebellious, and fully believed that if only I could get a collar around my neck, I could save the world. And if Dick Wilmer was bemused by my youthful enthusiasm, he didn’t let on. These were the Sixties, after all, when everybody wanted to save the world, and he knew, in his avuncular wisdom, that time, prayer, and three years at seminary would smooth out the rough edges. In some people, size, stature, and erudition can be threatening and overwhelming. Not so with Richard Wilmer. Those attributes in him, instead, commanded respect and admiration, and I have respected and admired him from those early years of my priestly formation until these most recent years, when I have had the privilege to be his pastor. The days on which I would bring him holy communion at Canterbury Place were special. After the service, we would sit for an hour or so and talk about the latest developments in the life of the church, and Dick not infrequently expressed his dismay over them. But his remarks were not empty laments; they were the theologically insightful and often analytical comments one would expect from an Oxford-trained historian. Neither of us could know when we met nearly four decades ago that I would one day have the honor to preach his funeral, and it is an honor that I shall always cherish.
To understand Richard Hooker Wilmer Jr., his life and his legacy, we have to go back to the middle of the sixteenth century, to the birth of Richard Hooker. Hooker was a priest and theologian who did more than anyone, before or since, to explain the way Anglicans think, pray, and act—and Lord knows, we could use him today! But Hooker did more than