Reflecting on Bishop John E. Hines
Oct 01, 2009
Personal Reflections of Bishop John E. Hines
A presentation on John Hines Day at Seminary of the Southwest on October 1, 2009, by the Reverend Charles James Cook, Professor Emeritus of Pastoral Theology and member of Seminary of the Southwest Class of 1974
My first encounter with Bishop Hines occurred long before I ever met him in person. In late 1969, I was in the office of Bishop George Quarterman in Amarillo, when he received a call from a rather concerned Episcopalian in Midland. It seems that this distressed communicant had been told of the Special General Convention that had been held in South Bend, in which the Episcopal Church had taken some major steps in the process of engaging issues of racial equality and social justice in America. We were now a church that was very much involved in the struggle, and Bishop Hines had made it clear that we would be willing to risk a good deal-even division-in order to pursue this cause.
I had already heard about Bishop Hines' prophetic voice, but it would only be later in coming across a statement from Peter Berger that the cost of such a stance would become clear: "Don't ever consider yourself a prophet if everyone agrees with you." That was true for the ancient prophets and remains true for contemporary prophetic voices as well. There are abundant opportunities in speaking the difficult truth; there are also costs that go along with such a practice. Bishop Hines believed that the opportunities far outweigh the costs, even when the latter remains great.
The Louisville General Convention held in 1973, provided my first personal encounter with Bishop Hines. It was his last convention as Presiding Bishop since a decade in office, most years spent in the turbulent sixties, had taken their toll. As custom dictated, there was a great celebration one evening in his honor and there were thousands in attendance and, for a moment in time, differences were placed aside. Both allies and opponents cheered this man of deep purpose and conviction.
When it came time for the good bishop to speak, he talked mostly about those who had walked with him on the way, through thick and thin, not praising his own work, but praising others who had the courage to put themselves on the line. His voice broke when he thanked his wife, Helen, and all that she had endured over the years. It was the first time that I witnessed a community having to deal with the loss of not just a leader, but a Servant Leader - one whose leadership emerged out of a willingness to serve others, especially those on the margins.
Not long after the convention in Louisville, Bishop Hines came to the seminary campus in Austin to deliver the distinguished Blandy Lectures, named for the first seminary dean. His topic was simply "Preaching" and for those who had ever heard him preach, there could be little doubt about his command of the subject.
In a memorable moment, he drew upon a story told by Dick Gregory, the African American humorist, social critic and activist. As the story goes, Gregory had once been invited to be the keynote speaker at a rally in Mississippi for voter registration workers. He was to provide inspiration to those who put their own lives at risk by doing this work. These workers were not welcome in many parts of the South.
The rally was held in a school gymnasium, and when Gregory arrived and took his place on the stage, he was somewhat disturbed to discover that several other persons were to speak before he did. He didn't recognize any of the names listed in the program. After biding his time, and listening to a few speeches, one final speaker came to the podium and Gregory would then be next.
The speaker turned out to be a local citizen, an older man who had been active in the registration drive. He was clearly a laborer, not well educated, at least in the formal sense; his words were not sophisticated and his delivery unpolished.
Just when Gregory was about to tune him out, the speech took a turn. The man began to talk about the cost of participating in the registration efforts. He acknowledged the risks for everyone, and then he spoke personally. "Last night the authorities came and arrested me. They took me away to jail, where I spent the rest of the night. When I got home the next morning, I discovered that my wife, who has been my companion for more than forty years, died. We've never been apart and now she's gone." Dick Gregory said that speech destroyed him - it made him realize that there were indeed others risking and sacrificing even more than those with a public voice and forum.
Bishop Hines was illustrating that there are others, besides the preacher living deeply into the Gospel. There are also others who have gone before us, laying the foundation, on which our work has some chance of succeeding. There was Rosa Parks before Martin Luther King; there was Anglican Bishop Trevor Huddleston before Desmond Tutu. [Huddleston removed his hat in honor of Tutu's mother one day and it inspired the young Desmond to consider a vocation in the church.] Even more importantly, Bishop Hines was emphasizing how important it is for the preacher to be willing to act in accord with the rhetoric.
Maybe Bishop Hines was thinking of the phrase associated with St. Francis, "Go and proclaim the Gospel, and if necessary, use words." In this respect, preaching involves being "doers of the word and not hearers only." [Epistle of James] Preaching, by its very nature, demands a response.
Our paths crossed again in 1977, when Bishop Hines came to Chapel Hill, North Carolina, to preach at a service of choral evensong in the old historic chapel of the Chapel of the Cross on the UNC campus. I was serving on the staff and had hoped that we would be able to invite him to preach since he had recently retired to the western mountains of that state. He, of course, delivered a magnificent sermon, but it was the closing challenge of his message that remains with me to this day: "Why would those of us who claim to be followers of Jesus Christ and strive to walk in his footsteps, think for a minute that what happened to him will not happen to us?"
That statement should haunt all of us - especially those who lead in Christ's name. I remember those words as an existential moment for him and for all of us who heard it at the time. I think of his message whenever I look at the cross on the grounds of our seminary campus.
After the service and the sermon, we went for coffee and dessert at a local eatery. Bishop Hines talked of the difficulty of leading and leaving a place, a position, an office. He talked about the loneliness associated with watching some things previously built and developed during one's own time, and now seeing it dismantled or radically altered, or abolished altogether. It is what I think Dorothy Day meant by Christian ministry being "a long loneliness" - that, in the final analysis there is a remarkable joy and solitude associated with following Christ.
All leadership is unfinished. Peter Gomes drives this point home in a sermon in which he calls leadership "The View From Mount Pisgah." Moses had to watch his own followers enter the Promised Land (from Mount Pisgah) without him. Bishop Hines had to wonder when the time for racial equality and social justice would be fulfilled in the Episcopal Church.
I loved Bishop Hines' sermon in Christ Chapel in 1986, on the occasion of the 20th anniversary of that structure, when he used as an illustration the conflict between the late Homer P. Rainey, one time president of the University of Texas and the Board of Regents. The Regents were unhappy with academic freedom and wanted to control the curriculum, and mostly the faculty. Homer Rainey stood up to the Regents, defended the faculty and academic freedom. It eventually cost him his position, but he still prevailed - you can try and silence a person but never that person's spirit.
His point was clear. The church needs persons who are willing to stand up to the principalities and powers when necessary. The engagement of Christ and culture does not always mean that Christ can be overwhelmed by cultural desires and expectations.
The last time most of us heard Bishop Hines was his seminary commencement address in 1994. The issue of having the courage to "speak up for others" was still very much on his mind. He told a story about someone who had witnessed an oppressive force coming to destroy and silence one different group after another, and how this person had not had the courage to speak up on each occasion...then, the story ends with this statement - "Finally they came for me, and there was no one left to speak up." We all had to ask ourselves, "Who will speak up for those who have no voice, no position, no place at the table?" Bishop Hines did and he asks us to the do the same. He got the concept from Jesus of Nazareth.
When I think of a major theologian of the 20th Century who exemplified what Bishop John Hines represented - in person and in speech - I think of the great Reinhold Niebuhr. Niebuhr was not taken with any group or person who believed that they had a corner on the market of life; what we might call the answer. He believed that we had the ability to rise as high as the angels and also to fall into the deepest depths, as human beings. That's where God comes in the picture. I think of John Hines when I read these words of Reinhold Niebuhr:
Nothing worth doing is completed in our lifetime; therefore we are saved by hope.
Nothing true or beautiful or good makes complete sense in any immediate context of history; therefore we are saved by faith.
Nothing we do, however virtuous, can be accomplished alone; therefore we are saved by love.
No virtuous act is quite as virtuous from the standpoint of friend or foe as from our own; therefore we are saved from the final form of love, which is forgiveness.
Quotations are from memory and thus a paraphrase of the original citation.
