Old preachers never die, they only fade away.
I know I stole that line. So what! Aren't preachers soldiers in their own
right? I think the phrase has a nice ring to it, with preachers substituting
for soldiers.
I hung two bags full of memories in the closet Sunday.
I carried a part of my life in those bags marked Vestments by Donna.
A lot of you preachers reading this know all about a Vestments by Donna bag. This
company, based in Florida I believe, has become friends to many A.M.E. preachers.
They travel the conference circuit and I swear Frank, has a photographic memory
because he knows most of the preachers in every town he hits. He sells robes.
Vestments by Donna. Some people do not even know his name is Frank. The
Robe Man is identification enough.
The bags I hung in the closet, all were the results of Frank's salesmanship and Rev.
George Baker's devotion and support of his friends. Every year he would patronize
Frank and Vestments by Donna at least once. Some years, if the need arose, there might be
the purchase of a couple new robes.
Like Frank, a lot of people did not know George Baker's name., but they knew and felt his
presence. He was the Video Man. Rev. Baker was a pioneer in videotaping church
events. In his prime, he traveled the length and breadth of the First Episcopal
District, recording annual conferences and anything else that was worth saving for
posterity.
One of the things most worth saving for posterity was George Baker himself.
He was a good solid preacher. He was a good pastor. He never rose to
greatness. The church he retired from had a congregation of less than a hundred.
But his pastoral placement had no bearing on his achievements. He was a study in
humility and servanthood that anyone could learn a lesson from.
I know, he was my teacher. And as time passed, George Baker became more like a second
father to me.
I had just submitted to my call to the ministry when Rev. George Baker was assigned to
pastor my home church, Bethel A.M.E. Church in Bristol Borough, PA.
Rev. Baker was in the sunset of his career when he arrived. The congregation at his
last church thought he was too old, and his situation too tenuous, for him to properly
pastor them.
You see, Rev. Baker suffered from Emphysema. His wife, Alice, was a double amputee.
From the outside these things might have appeared to be a liability. But if
you got to get close to the Bakers, you could see that these just were vehicles through
which God could show his glory.
I did not know Rev. Baker when he came to Bethel, and he certainly did not know me.
But we clicked immediately. It grew from our common love of video.
I had produced television shows for cable as a off-shoot of my secular job.
Rev. Baker with his video skills had done religious cable programming. This
marriage resulted in a long-running cable show for Bethel. It also was the start of
a friendship that I cherish to this day.
Rev. Baker did more than train a young recruit into the service of the Lord, he adopted me
as a second son. He brought me into this family and today, a decade later,
Rev. Baker no longer is with us, but the relationship he forged is as strong as
ever.
There is a lot to tell about this man, but for today, I will not stray from the tale of
the robe.
My ordination was approaching. Rev. Baker was joyful. I started to write he
could not have been happier if it had been his son preparing to be ordained, but by this
time, he considered me his son, and I, I was proud to have another father.
This particular year, the Philadelphia Annual Conference was being held at Mt. Pisgah
A.M.E., a church we locally call the "Amen" church since its facade was used in
the television series of that same name, starring former "Jefferson's" star
Sherman Hensley.
Frank the Robe Man was set up in his natural spot in the vendors area of the church. Rev.
Baker the Video Man was set up in the balcony. Me, the soon to be ordained minister.
I was in such a daze I did not know where I was! Ordination is an awesome
thing. You have so many emotions running through you, it is hard, even long
after the fact, trying to explain what you were feeling.
Rev. Baker was agitated. That was far form his normal personality. He kept
leaving his post at the camera. Going down the stairs, heading for points unknown.
He really should not have been climbing the steps like that. It was not good for
his emphysema. He had to carry oxygen with him to help his breathing in times of
exertion and those steps were exertion if nothing else.
Finally the time arrived. Rev. Baker was back behind his camera and I was kneeling
at the altar at Mt. Pisgah. Bishop Philip R. Cousin was going down the short line of
candidates for that year, laying his hands on each and everyone of us.
That memory is courtesy of video Rev. Baker recorded. My recollections are faint due
to the flood of emotions that were passing through me at that moment. But then the
video shows an interesting scene. It is a few frames of Rev. Baker literally
scampering across the floor of Mt. Pisgah at the conclusion of the ordination
service.
In his arms was a flowing black robe, it was longer than he was tall, so he carried it
doubled across his arm. When he reached the altar, where all the now new reverends
were standing, he rose to his tip toes to drape the robe over the tallest of those
assembled. Then you watched him grab the newly pronounced, and now robed, reverend
in a bear-hug that took all of the breath Rev. Baker could muster and squeezed the breath
out of the hug's recipient....me.
That was more than a Kodak moment. It was one of those memories of my life, that I
always will cherish.
Turns out, the reason Rev. Baker had been agitated earlier was someone had taken the robe
he had purchased for me. We never found out whether it was accidental or
intentional, but fortunately shortly before the ceremony, the errant robe returned as
quietly as it disappeared. There must not have been a lot of takers for a 6 foot 4
inch tailored robe that conference.
Rev. Baker lead me through the toddling days of my ministry. Holding my hand when
necessary, but giving me a lot of room to grow and discover myself. As his health
failed, we leaned on one another. I for his wisdom and he for my youth and energy.
We lifted one another up and his ministry flourished.
Finally his health made him make the decision I did not want to hear, Rev. Baker was
retiring.
He retired nearby. He liked the area in which his pastoring came to a conclusion.
He said it was great to live near his "son." And although retired,
he never stopped being my champion and I still would bet, that somewhere along the line,
his calling, asking and praying, was a part of the mixture that resulted in my first
charge.
Rev. Baker never lived to see me in my own pulpit. But he was alive and well enough
to hear about that first Sunday.
By now he was on constant oxygen, he seemed so frail. But his eyes lit up when I
told about what a great time in the Lord we had that first day, in my first church.
Three weeks later, Rev. Baker was dead but not before he consecrated my first communion,
the passing on of tradition from the father to the son. He did it from his
hospital bed. I entered the room anxiously. He was wired up and tubed up.
I regretted coming. I realized when I entered the room, although this
was something we had talked about, it just might be too much for him to do.
He waved me over to the bedside. An oxygen tent covered him. He looked small in its
confines. He reached out to take the elements from my hands. Then he started
praying. With each word of his consecrating prayer, his voice got a little stronger.
When I entered he seemed so weak, that I had doubts he even could open his eyes, but now
he was in the middle of the stream of a prayer that was nothing but power. He pushed
the oxygen away from his face. The prayer mounted in its intensity. Nurses
came scurrying down the hall to see what was going on in the intensive care room.
They stood aghast at the transformation that had come over this frail little man of
God.
He prayed, then he taught, one final lesson.
"Remember son, it is not you. You are not the important thing in this ministry.
It is God and the God that is in you that is important. Go preach the
gospel," he concluded.
He went from shouting, to looking old and frail again. The Holy Ghost had withdrawn
from him. But he was at peace and was breathing comfortably. The nurses were
not sure what they had witnessed, but even they realized something special and unusual had
just happened.
That was the last time I saw Rev. Baker alive.
A few week's prior to this, he told me he was going home. He already had worked out
his funeral and obituary details with me and made me agree to a final pact. "Make
sure you look out for the rest of the family when I am gone," he
said."Make sure Alice is alright."
In the midst of his own storm of sickness, he only was concerned for the safe passage of
his family and his wife in particular.
It was a funeral that probably would have made Rev. Baker smile. He was humble
without a lot of major acclaim in life, but in death, you could see how loved he
was. Bishop Cousin preached his eulogy and a big crowd said farewell to the
Video Man. I said until we meet again to my Dad.
Today, if you ever see me in the pulpit, you might notice a curious medallion around my
neck. It is a anvil with a cross inscribed in it. Rev. Baker never did
anything without having it on. Today, I can claim the same tradition. Rev.
Baker wore that medallion up to the moment the casket was closed. The family then
reclaimed it and passed it on to Rev. Baker's preaching heir.
Rev. Baker probably is smiling somewhere in heaven. His daughter Barbara, his
sister-in-law Frankie and of course, his wife, and my mother, Alice all are active members
of Bensalem A.M.E., the church that I pastor. The family remains tight and Rev.
Baker, although not present, remains the spiritual hub.
This Sunday, his daughter Barbara had the Vestment by Donna bags brought to me. It
was another piece of her Dad's legacy that she was passing on to me, her
brother.
As I looked at the robes, I realized that death can only claim the body, it in no way can
erase the person that you knew and love. Each robe I held and felt, brought back
another moment, another day I had spent with Rev. Baker. I just spent a little time with
the robes, recapturing those times when his video had not been present.
Remembering the driving force that even ill-health could not constrain.
Rev. Baker loved the Lord. Death neither scared nor intimidated him. His only
concern was that his family be looked after. He knew he would be just fine in God's arms.
He wanted to make sure the world would be equally kind to his family and his
beloved Alice.
I could sense Dad's presence as I hung his robes, now my robes, in my closet. I knew
he knew everything was alright with the family and suddenly, I rewrote that old cliche.
Old preachers really do not die, they just fade away. Rev. Baker no longer is before
my eyes, but he is so burned into my heart, he never will disappear. And each and
everyone of us, carry a loved one with us, in that secret hiding spot. They have
life ever lasting in the Lord and a place ever lasting in our hearts. You are still
with us Dad.
