Two pastors that I have known well have passed away recently.  One of them just last week and I’m kind of reeling from it. His name was Tanner White.  Tanner came out of Tampa, went to Seminary, and through some mishaps that were beyond my understanding, did not have an appointment at the end of his Seminary stint.  Tanner or the District Superintendent, I don’t remember who, approached me about taking him on as another associate.  I found in him an incredibly gregarious young man, an odd mix of incredible drivenness (he was making good money as a medical recruiter even during seminary) and an innocence about the religious life, its complications, politics, demands, etc.  For the time that he was with us, I had three young associates, and our weekly pastoral staff meetings always included intense conversations, deep laughter and sincere prayer.  I had not experienced that ever before, and never will again.  That privilege was not lost on me, but conversely, I did not fully live into all the talent that was in the room for those years.  God is not done with me yet!  Tanner was 36 years old and now he is gone.

The other pastor I got to know over lunch.  I knew who he was but he didn’t know me.  He was well known and I wasn’t.  He was our Bishop, and I was just a pastor in Southwest Florida somewhere.  But one day at Annual Conference, I dared to ask him if he would be open to lunch someday, and to my surprise he said yes.  Now, I had to drive a couple of hours to meet him in his office, but we became friends through those times.  I learned a lot about his life, both professionally and personally, through the ensuing couple of years when I would
sporadically drive all the way to Lakeland for lunch.  He was older and wiser than me.  And substantially smarter too.  He could talk patristics at the drop of a hat.  Actually, at the drop of a hat he could speak authoritatively just about anything.  He was brilliant, and well read, and soft spoken.  And a bishop.  A wonderful mix that suited our Conference well.

He eventually asked me to be the District Superintendent of the Southeast District. That meant that I spent a lot more time with him in the last 3 years he remained the Bishop of Florida before he retired.  We still had lunch together occasionally during those years, which was a personal time with him that I cherished.  Timothy Whitaker had a lot to offer me as the younger pastor in ministry. I learned a lot from him…I appreciated the spirit in which he did everything, with charity and a lot of thought.  Bishop Whitaker was 75 when he passed away in March.

When you lose a retired pastor, you lose history.  You lose a sense of the past.  And you lose insight informed by years of failures and successes.  With Timothy Whitaker specifically, you lost a fountain of information on the distant past – he was known for the depth of his knowledge of the Early Desert Mothers and Fathers, and general church history.  We lost a theologian who brought personal and scholastic history into his sermons, writings and conversations.

When you lose a young pastor, you lose the future.  No matter what uncertainties lie in the future, you know who will confront them when you know younger people.  The church generally, and the United Methodist Church specifically, is headed into unchartered territories, and Tanner was the face of that new church.  As a matter of fact, Tanner was just ordained at the June Annual Conference as a Full Elder.  He literally was the youngest pastor in our midst.  We knew who was going to take on the future.  Or at least we thought we did.

We are diminished by anyone we lose.  Mathematically that is not significant, I know.  But as friends, as colleagues, as people who pour into our lives in different ways, when they are gone, we are diminished.  And I feel that in both bookends of my life right now.  I miss both T.W.’s.  I am better for having known them both.  And grateful to the Lord for the privilege.

Craig

Precious in the sight of the LORD is the death of his faithful servants.  Psalm 116:15