Reflections on Bishop Thomas Lanier Hoyt, Jr.

Over a year ago in kettlebell class, we were doing pushups to planks to pushups.  The mat was sweaty, I zoned out, lost focus and slipped, damaging my left shoulder.  Don't know if it was a dislocation or a muscle tear, but it was pretty severe; over a year later I still don’t have full range of motion.  At the time, the pain was so intense I thought I would throw up right there on the mat.  The emotional pain I've felt these last few days is comparably intense; despite my best efforts, it remains. Last night I tried to follow his example, be a trooper, and just focus on the work of grading papers, but even that evoked memories -- in his last Annual Conference Bishop nailed it with a comment about reading papers and how sometimes people write so poorly it makes the task nearly insurmountable.  So I tried to divert myself and opened up a box of chocolate granola that had been around forever.  I opened up some almond milk (because IMHO, nothing says depression like milk and cold cereal) and was reminded of a lively almond versus soy debate between Bishop, Mrs. Hoyt, Elder Jones, and me.   "OK, Drama Queen.  Everything in life can't remind you of Bishop Hoyt."  But it feels like the environment has shifted.  I know they’re just feelings, but I’m usually in much better control of them.  Now I find myself tearing up at the strangest things.

This morning's NYC Marathon created a traffic nightmare which evoked unusually intense emotions (which is saying a lot; I could moonlight as an NYC cabbie).  It turned out to  be quite good, providing some needed emotional release.  The buildup started slowly, last week.  Every morning, as I crossed over the Madison Avenue Bridge, my eyes filled with tears.  The first time I told myself it was because I was in a hurry and they were raising the drawbridge (really, DRAWBRIDGES with unscheduled openings in New York City?  Really!?!) , but one day, as Richard Smallwood’s “Healing” played, I finally realized that despite my best efforts at stuffing it,  my grief was bubbling up.

Our beloved Bishop Thomas Lanier Hoyt, Jr. has laid his body down, has gone to live with Jesus, and his membership has been transferred from the Church Militant to the Church Triumphant. It's been a week now, and I think that perhaps only once have I spoken the phrase “Bishop Hoyt is dead.”  The thought is oxymoronic. Bishop Thomas Lanier Hoyt, Jr, or rather, Rev. Hoyt, the young man who taught me so much about the communion of saints – Reverend Hoyt who showed me Christian living through his example, Reverend Hoyt who entertained the questions of a child, Reverend Hoyt who embodies and epitomizes the Christian walk – how could he be dead?  It’s not conceivable.  The concept of death is inconsistent with who I know him to be.  Saints like this don’t die, they enter into another communion.  As someone noted, you can Google him to find more about him –  in addition to all he meant to me personally, he was the Senior Bishop of the CME Church, he was the Presiding Bishop over the Seventh Episcopal District, he was a fellow Duke alum, he founded the Certificate Program in Black Studies at Hartford Seminary, he once was head of the World Council of Churches, he blessed the Pope, he was an esteemed New Testament Professor and Scholar (at a time when there were only a couple dozen African American NT Ph.Ds in the country) – and that’s just what I remember off the top of my head.  The list of his accomplishments and accolades goes on and on.

And while he was indeed all that, those accomplishments were not what were most significant to me.  What was most significant to me was the man I first met at age 9 or 10.  I am eternally grateful to God that, on March 26, 2010, on the occasion  of his Quadrennial celebration and the celebration  of his Fifty Years in Ministry, I had the great privilege of sharing what he's meant to me. He later told me the speech brought tears to his eyes, and I still have on display the thank you note I got from them after the event.  I am SO grateful to have had the opportunity to publicly say these things to him.  

Here's the text of what I said:

Bishop And Mrs. Hoyt –

Growing up in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, I was labeled a “gifted” child.  I didn’t realize that “gifted” simply meant I didn’t have sense enough to know when to stop asking questions.  I was a unique child – the product of the Baldwin and Farrington bloodlines, I was also a Perry.  In my genes, the blood of the saints and the scoundrels was mingled.

 

From my bloodline, through my birth, and throughout my life, I have always been exposed to two very different realities, and have always tried to make sense of them.  Thanks be to God, when I was a child trying to make things make sense, I had a pastor who took time with me. 

I remember being about ten, and my brain was busy buzzing with ideas.  “Well,” I said one day, "If the first will be last and the last will be first, then why wouldn’t you just wait until you were dying and then accept Jesus?  That way you could do anything you want, and as long as you confess the Lord before you die, you wouldn’t go to Hell.”  This Pastor gently sat me down and explained that it didn’t work like that, that it was the LIVING with Jesus that mattered.  So I took that and digested it for a while, and then I said to him, “OK, But why do we have to go to church?   If we live a good life with Jesus, then why do we have to get dressed up every Sunday and go to church with all those other people?”  The Pastor responded to me without missing a beat, “Because a coal away from the fire will lose its warmth and the ember will soon die.”  I didn’t understand it all at the time, but I was inclined to trust this Pastor.

After all, here was a man who piled a group of young people into the back of his car and drove us all night from Chapel Hill, NC to Birmingham, AL, to the National Youth Conference. By then I was 12 years old and having fun.  I had no idea what a difficult task this young Pastor had undertaken.  But he was the same Pastor who came visiting every Saturday, the same Pastor who, when he saw my uncle intoxicated and incapacitated in the street, did not lecture him, did not demean the family, but got down and helped to lift him up, put the drunken man’s arms around his own neck, and carried him into the house.  He didn’t make anyone feel embarrassed or less-than, he simply helped where he could.

This tall, handsome, brilliant young pastor – a man we all looked up to:  -- we literally had to crane our heads back and look up to him because he was so tall – this young pastor, in his teaching, and his actions, planted seeds in me that were to last a lifetime.  He taught me – and all the young people of St. Joseph – about the Lord Jesus Christ, but more importantly, his actions matched his words.  When you’re a young person, no matter how bright you are, you’re not going to understand everything adults say.  But children know.  They know when you’re sincere.  They know when you’re for real, and they know when you’re full of it.  This young pastor was for real, he was tapped into something very real, and even if we didn’t understand everything, my cousin Sharon and I knew that giving our lives to Christ was the right thing to do, because even though we didn’t understand all the particulars of everything they did in church, we did understand Jesus, and we understood that this young Pastor was somehow connected to Jesus, and this young pastor would help us get connected, too.

And so he did.  Years later, I would fall away from the church, but I never forgot about the preacher who talked about the coal losing its warmth and the ember dying.  When I wasn’t able to understand that my life was not right, I was able to realize that a spark that used to be there was gone, and that maybe, just maybe,  the ember had died.

Over the last 50 years, I’ve met many people who, like me, received a good Christian upbringing, but who had questions.  Unfortunately, for many of them, those questions were not answered, and so they turned to alcohol or drugs or Islam or Buddhism or whatever could help them to make sense of the world they lived in.  I’m so grateful today that the person  we now know as Bishop Thomas L. Hoyt, Jr. was there to hear my questions.  I’m grateful that he was there to give me some answers, and to tell me if he didn’t have the answers.  I’m grateful that he encouraged me to ask the questions.  He planted in me the idea that my intellect was a divine gift from an almighty God, and no, it’s NOT a sin to ask questions – the sin comes in NOT learning to love the Lord with all your heart, all your soul, all your mind, and all of your strength. 

A couple of years ago, I took a group of young people from Williams to the National Youth and Young Adult convention.  Now, I don’t have a child in this world, but I agreed to go with the young people, and I continue to work with the young people at Williams because I know what was done for me when I was a young person, and how one preacher literally saved my life by planting the seeds of God’s love in me at an early age. 

I have to say that working with youngsters has given me a whole new appreciation for Bishop Hoyt, so when Alan, who’s now 13, comes up to me and tells me that the year is not 2010, but is 2043, I can’t help but smile.  And then I explain to him about different systems of accounting for time. And when he asks me if I believe that God created the world in seven days if I also believe in the big bang theory, I sit him down and chat with him.  I may not be able to answer all his questions, but I let him know that there is a very full and stimulating life at the intersection of theology and particle physics.  I explain what I can, remembering the young preacher who changed my life, and I encourage him to keep asking those questions. 

Bishop Hoyt, and Mrs. Hoyt, thank you so much for all your love, support, and nurturing throughout the years.  Both of you have always supported me personally and in my ministerial efforts.  I want you to know that your words and your actions had a profound impact on an impressionable young child.  I want you to know that, in some of my darkest days, even when I was no longer in Chapel Hill, I still got word that Rev. Hoyt had come to town, hadn’t seen me, and had been looking for me.  You’ll never know how important that was to me.  Most importantly, though, I want you to know that your legacy lives on, as I attempt to share with others all the love, the care, the nurturing and the wisdom, knowledge, and understanding that you so freely shared with me.  

Congratulations on this your Quadrennial celebration, and on your 50 years in ministry.  May God continue to bless you and to keep you always.

Rest in Peace, Bishop Hoyt.  You and Bishop Helton and Pastor Jones and Mrs. Oliver, and all the many saints who've crossed the river -- what a time, what a time!!!  We who remain love you so much, but God loves you best. Even in your infirmity, you called your church to prayer, and I believe your legacy will continue to transform this Zion.  I love you, and I pray God allows us to meet around the Throne.