to Bishop and Mrs. Martin that taking up residence in the see city of his diocese would be problematic.
But let it be said that these and a host of other incidents never caused Bishop Martin’s faith to flag. Racism never consumed him, never embittered him, and never deterred him from his mission and ministry. A clue to the reason for this is found in his book, On the Wings of the Morning: “Suffering,” he wrote, “is distilled love that reveals the true nature of the spiritual stamina and foundation of the soul. Our part is to live with the questions; to live into the questions, to live beyond the questions.” Such a view is part and parcel of his theology of ministry: “The essence of priesthood,” believed Bishop Martin, “is reconciliation. It is by the grace of God that the priest stands as a sign and symbol of the reconciling Lord.”1
Richard Martin was sometimes asked why he and other black people remained in the Episcopal Church. He answered that he believed “the black presence in the Episcopal Church is like yeast permeating the body politic to rise above exclusiveness to an acceptance of the reality that we are all God’s children, one family under God.” He believed, too, that black people offer their ability to joyfully overcome injustice and suffering.
Moreover, Richard Martin could find humor in the most painful experiences. My favorite story, which he always told with a chuckle, was about one of his first parish visitations, shortly after his consecration, in 1967. The church member assigned to meet the bishop’s car and escort him and Mrs. Martin into the church waved frantically as the bishop approached, saying, “This spot is for Bishop Martin.” When the bishop said that he was indeed Bishop Martin, the parishioner responded, “Excuse me, Bishop, but all the bishops of Long Island drive Cadillacs” (the bishop had arrived in an old Chevy). When Bishop Martin told the story to Bishop Sherman the next morning, the fifth bishop of Long Island picked up the telephone, called the Cadillac dealer, and ordered that a Cadillac be delivered to Bishop Martin. Hanging up the receiver, Bishop Sherman announced, “They won’t have that excuse again.”
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.
