It Is Well with My Soul. Harold T. Lewis

      Why do I drag a history lesson into this funeral sermon? Because I don’t think it was coincidental that two hundred years after the birth of this great theologian, the great-grandfather of our brother departed was baptized Richard Hooker. His parents obviously had great things in store for him, and they proved to be prophetic. The first Richard Hooker Wilmer became the bishop of Alabama, and one of his most enduring legacies is that, in 1883, when all the bishops of the Southern dioceses met at Sewanee and voted to disenfranchise all black Episcopalians, placing them under the paternalistic control of a white bishop, Richard Hooker Wilmer’s was the sole dissenting vote. That mountaintop in Tennessee was to prove a significant locale for the Wilmers because, exactly seventy years later, when the University of the South refused to open its doors to black students, Richard Wilmer Jr., the University chaplain, joined the faculty of the University’s School of Theology and resigned their positions, and left en masse. Wilmers have obviously believed that unless you stand for something, you will fall for anything. They have not been afraid to stand up, even in the face of prevailing contrary opinion, and uphold a righteous cause. Not all Wilmers have been priests, alas, but in each generation, be they celebrated physicians or renowned attorneys, they have distinguished themselves in their dedication to their fellow human beings. But while the world will remember Dick Wilmer as a renowned historian and even a social activist, his family will remember him as a loving paterfamilias. His five children and ten grandchildren will always hold him as that doting, solicitous man who was devoted to them and who, while in good health, spent his time showing up for all their rites of passage. To Sarah, Dick will forever be the man who, though suffering from Alzheimer’s, always brightened when she came into the room. “Who am I?” she would quiz him. And without fail, the answer would come, “You are my beautiful bride, Sarah.” Some enterprising soul, by the way, should go to Hollywood and make a film about their life. It could be called “Dick and Sarah—the Movie.” The real-life story has drama, intrigue, humor, pathos, and unexpected twists in the plot. The movie would start off, of course, making it abundantly clear to the audience that yes, Sarah married Dick for his money—seventy-five cents, to be exact. Their first encounter was in an airport. Bad weather had caused their Atlanta-bound flight to be diverted, and, in this pre-cell phone age, everyone was queuing up at the pay phones—remember them? Sarah ran out of change and a rude operator was threatening to terminate her call, so she turned in desperation to the handsome gentleman behind her in the line, and asked, “Sir, could you possibly lend me some quarters?” The rest is history.

      Given Dick Wilmer’s life of service, it is no surprise that he chose for the Old Testament lesson today the very verses from Isaiah that Jesus used as the text for his first sermon in the temple at Nazareth: “The Lord has anointed me . . . to bind up the broken-hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives and release to those in prison, to proclaim a year of the Lord’s favor” (Isa 61:1). Whether as professor or priest, husband or grandfather, Dick was selfless. His life showed forth as a combination of noblesse oblige and servant ministry, humility and compassion. But I think Dick chose this lesson, too, for it contains a message for those whom he leaves behind. “Comfort all who mourn, give them garlands instead of ashes, oil of gladness instead of mourners’ tears” (Isa 61:3). Today we do not so much lament his death as we give thanks for his life, a life we can honor by taking a page from his book, by seeing him and holding him up as a shining example of how to lead a godly, righteous, and sober life. AMEN.

2. Dr. Wilmer—and at least three of his ancestors—were named for Richard Hooker (1554–1600), whose writings, especially Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity, argued that Anglicanism can be understood in light of its foundation in Scripture, tradition, and reason (the so-called “three-legged stool”), and that, moreover, its genius is that it is the via media, a “middle way” that bridges catholic and protestant traditions. This spirit is manifest, indeed revived, in his ministry and that of his nineteenth-century forebears. See Hooker, Laws.

      “Wear your life like a loose garment.”

      FRANKLIN DELTON TURNER, Bishop (1933–2013)

      Preached in Philadelphia Episcopal Cathedral 11 January 2014

      Let not your hearts be troubled. (John 14:1)

      I first met Frank Turner forty years ago, at the General Convention in Louisville. I was looking for a job, and Frank was about to have draped over his shoulders Tollie Caution’s venerable mantle as “Deputy for Colored Work,” or, as it had been restyled, Staff Officer for Black Ministries. Frank and I had countless conversations over the years, but two stand out. The first was a talk we had as I was about to succeed him at 815, in which he gave me some advice which, admittedly, I seldom heeded: “Harold,” he said, “you don’t always have to have an opinion.” The second was a conversation we had on one of the occasions that Frank was running for bishop. It took place during the period of limbo between the walkabouts (the dignified name we have given to what used to be known in the trade as the “dog and pony show”) and the election itself. I pummeled Frank with a barrage of questions: How did it go? Were there any surprise questions? What do you think your chances are? Do you think the people in that diocese are ready for a black bishop? As the conversation—more like an inquisition—ensued, it became painfully obvious that I was far more anxious about the election than Frank was. When I finally came up for air and gave Frank an opportunity to respond, he simply said, “Harold, I am wearing the election like a loose garment.”

      My sisters and brothers in Christ, as we gather today in this cathedral church to commend our brother Franklin Delton Turner, bishop in the church of God, to the never-failing care of Jesus, the Bishop and Shepherd of our souls, I would like to suggest to you that in those few words Frank succinctly expressed his philosophy, his theology, his approach to life.

      Frank wore life like a loose garment. He was unflappable, a calm presence. He knew who he was and Whose he was. It was Frank whom Rudyard Kipling had in mind when he wrote the poem, “If”:

      If you can keep your head when all about you

      Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,

      If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

      But make allowance for their doubting too.3

      Frank exuded a self-confidence that was always tinged with humility and not arrogance. He was the sixth of seven children born to a maid and a sharecropper in rural North Carolina during the Great Depression, yet he told me it wasn’t until he was sitting in a freshman sociology class at Livingstone College that he learned that he was poor. This, as he explained to me, was because of the sense of pride and self-worth instilled in him by his family and his teachers. Neither his humble roots nor his race were seen by Frank as detriments to life and ministry; in fact, they were understood to be gifts which could be offered to the broader community. Thus, Frank could say with Saint Paul: “I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want” (Phil 4:12).