We lost Jimmy Carter yesterday, the most recent death of a long list of prominent Americans who died this past year. The well-deserved tributes are flooding in from all the media platforms, and the gratitude being expressed his extraordinary service to humanity, particularly in the 44 years since he left the Presidency, is deep and authentic.
Each of us has lost key people in our lives this past year whose obituaries may not have made it onto public platforms, but are nonetheless prominent in our memories because they played such an important role in shaping us into who we are. We miss them. Two stand out for me. The first is Kenneth Thomas, who died in early September at the age of 97. In 1976 Kenneth welcomed me into the ordination process. We became friends. He delivered the sermon at my ordination, officiated at my wedding, and preached at my daughter’s baptism. He was a by-the-book Episcopal priest; he had a style and method that came right out of Jane Austen novel. He loved me to my core, a love that guided and supported me in all the twists and turns of my vocation.
For decades Kenneth kept his gay identity in the closet, at considerable cost to himself. In his latter years, it was suggtested that he attend the Metropolitan Community Church, which had a unique ministry to gay and lesbian people. He went somewhat reluctnatly, because his worship life rarely extended beyond the Episcopal Church. He reported to me afterward, in his rather Victorian style, that the liturgy was not to his liking. But the community — oh, the community — was transforming for him. The congregation became his chosen family. He called the men, all of whom were a generation younger, his children. The love and care given to him by his growing number of children over the years, and the grace and gratitude with whic he received it became my image of the beloved community.
The second is Ed Rodman, who died on April 2 (Easter Tuesday) at the age of 81. A lifelong activist for racial justi8ce, Ed’s accomplishments did not make it onto many public platforms because he often said — with great pride mixed with considerable humility — that he never left any fingerprints or footprints on the many actions he took or the causes he championed. He led the first civil rights demonstration at a high school in Portsmouth Virginia in 1960. The Congress of Racial Equality (CORE) recognized his talent, and he was brought to New York to be trained in public relations by Bayard Rustin. Malcolm X introduced him as the keynote speaker at a Harlem civil rights rally. As a leader of the Student Non-Violent Coordinating Committee (SNCC) he helped write John Lewis’ speech at the 1963 March on Washington.
An Episcopal priest, he was one of the founders of the Union of Black Episcopalians (UBE). He was the primary author of the anti-racism dialogue curriculum for the Episcopal Church. A part-time prison chaplain, he helped ward off a race riot at Walpole State Prison that was headed to be a copycat tragedy of the Attica Prison riot in New York a year or so earlier. While serving a church in New Haven, Connecticut, he got wind of some plans to shut down — or even burn down — Yale University. Through his many connections, he helped arrange for Cyrus Vance, then the US Secretary of State and a member of the Yale Corporation, to come to campus to negotiate a settlement before vioilence broke out. (A video of Ed’s story can be found here ).MASTER DOWNLOAD
What I remember and treasure about Ed is that through immense emotiional and spiritual discipline he was able to keep his focus on injustice, and not get caught up in the hostility and hate that created and supported it. He knew that people could be mean and cruel. He saw it. He experienced it. He had every reason to respond with hot anger. His genius was that he could account for the ugliness of humanity, and then brilliantly strategize how to address the systemic dynamics that created the injustice. He trusted that if systems could be made more equitable, hearts would follow. That didn’t always happen, but he held on to that hope. I continue to learn from his example.
Jimmy Carter, Kenneth Thomas, and Ed Rodman were men of deep faith. The manifestations of their respective faiths were very different. Jimmy Carter was a Southern Baptist; Ed Rodman emerged from the more Protestant end of the Episcopal tradition, and Kenneth Thomas was framed by the more Catholic end. The way they used language was different. As were their backgrounds. Their respective reach couldn’t have been more different. Yet what was remarkably similar to each of these men was that their faith was foundational to their life journey — guiding them through many internal and external storms, adapting when necessary, but never forsaking their core commitment. And — this is perhaps most important — resisting the temptation to insist that others embrace faith the same way.
And none of them sought personal glory. Well done, good and faithful servants.
