ACPQ003001QK001.qxd
4/20/06
12:22 PM
C
Page 1
H A P T E R
O
N E
THAT DAY
“Life is a mystery. Faith helps us withstand more than faith helps us
understand. Faith does not give us the answers; faith is the answer.”
—William H. Hinson1
T
hat day” was a Tuesday—May 13, 1986—when I first looked into
Bill Hinson’s dark, striking, and, this day, probing eyes. We were
in his office at First Church. I had seen him at annual conference
at a distance in the past but had limited knowledge about who he was.
The reason I did not know Bill was that I had been in Kansas City in seminary when he was appointed to First Church.
I basically only knew him as the “Georgia guy” who took Dr. Charles
Allen’s place in the pulpit at First Church. I had also heard rumblings of
doubt as to whether or not he would really be able to replace Dr. Allen.
However, already he was three years and counting in the pulpit.
Changing Plans
If Bill and I had ever met prior to that time, it had not made an impression on this young east Texan. My goal right out of seminary in 1984 was
to serve the poor as a pastor in an urban setting. Serving on the staff of the
biggest and one of the most influential churches in United Methodism,
in the largest city in the state of Texas, was not what I had in mind.
In fact, in February of 1986 I had been called by a senior associate pastor at First Church who inquired about my interest in coming on staff.
Declining the offer, I shared my dreams to pursue a social ethics doctorate at the American University and Wesley Theological Seminary in
Washington, D.C. I had been accepted there and I was to begin this
educational endeavor in January of the following year. How plans
can change.
1
© The United Methodist Publishing House. All rights reserved.
ACPQ003001QK001.qxd
4/20/06
12:22 PM
Page 2
Lord, He Went
Diagnosis
The first week of March 1986, I was diagnosed with chronic myeloid
leukemia. Though I was asymptomatic at the time, considering the disease I faced, my prognosis was poor.
The disease featured a genetic mutation called the Philadelphia chromosome that led to an irreversible progression into a more acute state.
The only hope for a cure then was a bone marrow transplant. In the early
1980s there was not much success with nonrelated donor transplants. My
only sibling—my younger sister, Jill—and I were not tissue compatible.
My diagnosis came six weeks after my wife, Tammy, and I welcomed
our firstborn child, Zachary, into the world. Barring a miracle, the devastating reality was that I had three to five years to live, and during that
time I would likely become very ill. It was like a bad dream that would
not go away, and Tammy and I were facing it with our families and the
congregation at First United Methodist Church in Henderson, Texas. We
had been living with the news for two months, and it was with this dark
shadow over me that I met Bill that day.
I had to wonder if Bill knew the extent of my health situation. Why
would he want me to come on his staff in my condition? There were
plenty of young clergy who would love to be at First Church. Perhaps
many would be more excited about the prospect than I could be. On the
other hand, my life had hit an intensive survival mode due to cancer,
which meant that I was driving two hundred miles from east Texas to
Houston for treatment. As a result of that frequent drive to Houston, I
had begun viewing my living in Houston as an attractive option, and my
dream of pursuing a Ph.D. degree in Washington, D.C. was dead.
Mutual Ground of Hurt
Suddenly I found myself talking to Bill Hinson about being one of his
associate pastors. Coming into focus was the full knowledge that both of
us were hurting that day. Complicating matters for me, at least in my
mind, was the devastation that Bill and First Church had just experienced
in the catastrophic murder of a young associate pastor, Eric Anderson. Eric
was shot by a mentally disturbed member of the church. The shooting
took place in the hallway right outside Bill’s office door. The carpet was
still stained where Eric’s life blood left his body just days before.
2
© The United Methodist Publishing House. All rights reserved.
ACPQ003001QK001.qxd
4/20/06
12:22 PM
Page 3
That Day
Although Bill was not in the office at the time of the shooting, he
could easily have been the victim himself, a place he would have
exchanged with this young husband and father of three little ones. He
and the entire staff were still in shock and disbelief over the horrible incident that seemed still to cast an eerie pall over the otherwise vibrant
downtown congregation. Bill had his best face on that day, though his
heart was broken with grief.
It was amazing to me that I had been in First Church’s sanctuary only
days before for Eric’s funeral. At that time I was not even thinking that I
might soon be interviewing for a staff position. There is not much in my
memory bank about the interview, only that Bill and I started in his office
and then we went to the top of a bank building to eat lunch. The fancy
lunch was meant to impress me, a twenty-seven-year-old rural born and
reared east Texan.
There was a bit of irony in the air. I had driven to Houston in my 1952
fully restored, unair–conditioned, red Ford pickup truck and was looking
over the city in a luxurious setting with one of the great preachers of our
day, who looked so refined. It all probably worked to my advantage that
we were both hurting. However, what really played in my favor was the
mutuality of the rural ground on which we were reared. Being from the
rural community of Chandler, Texas, I resonated with this preacher—
even in his fine suit and shined shoes—who hailed from among the pines
of south Georgia’s turpentine country and the town of Snipesville.
Getting Real
I remember very little about our conversation. Bill asked me in the
meeting if Tammy and I tithed. I think I lied, saying, “Yes,” on the basis
that we had just started to give a percentage of our income. We were still
poor, in school debt, and struggling with how one gives on a nearly negative income. It was Bill and Jean who would lead us by example into the
holy habit of tithing.
Bill also wanted me to tell him about my seminary experience. I was
but two years out of seminary in Kansas City, at Saint Paul School of
Theology, which was at the time one of The United Methodist Church’s
more liberal schools, with a strong social action bent. Saint Paul was my
choice because of my interest in church and society–related issues and my
interest in social ethics. I proudly told Bill that Dr. Tex Sample was my
3
© The United Methodist Publishing House. All rights reserved.
ACPQ003001QK001.qxd
4/20/06
12:22 PM
Page 4
Lord, He Went
mentor/advisor at the school. Later I found out that Bill and Tex didn’t
exactly see eye to eye on a few key issues facing the church, yet he just
nodded his head affirming me and offered some complimentary words
about Tex.
Then that day Bill said, “Tell me about your relationship with Jesus
Christ.” I shared about growing up in the church and coming to faith as
a youth at a revival in a high school football stadium. I also told him that
the preacher at that revival, whom God used to bring out my acceptance
of Jesus Christ as Savior and Lord, was an ex-offender evangelist from
Houston. Continuing our conversation, I told him about my passion in
college to lead youth to Christ and my three years of orchestrating summer youth revivals with a team of college friends. Suddenly I found myself
wanting the position in Bill’s church and opening my heart to Bill regarding my passion for ministry, if not trying to impress him.
He seemed particularly interested in my comment about loving to
preach and seeing the lives of young people turned on to Jesus Christ.
The unspoken word was that in the last few months of my dealing with
my own finitude, my faith was at a place that it had never been before.
The future had faded into a focus on the “one day at a time” and I had
drawn closer to God. My spirituality was at a depth that was sustaining
me emotionally, although I was scared.
There was also a moment of getting real that on my part was sheer stupidity, or at least total honesty. I remember telling this great Wesleyan
evangelical preacher that I would do anything on his staff but be the minister of evangelism. He said simply in savvy counseling technique, “Say
more about that.” I told him that I had heard that he had high expectations for bringing people to Christ and into the membership of the
church and at this point in time I had my own personal challenges that
had to be “job one.”
Cancer Talk
It was upon discussing the subject of “personal challenge” that I
brought up the issue of my health. I said, “You do know I have leukemia,
don’t you?” He said that he had been told that I had a chronic form of the
disease, that it was not affecting me, and I was otherwise young and
healthy. I could tell he was not fully informed.
4
© The United Methodist Publishing House. All rights reserved.
ACPQ003001QK001.qxd
4/20/06
12:22 PM
Page 5
That Day
I said, “Dr. Hinson, I am young and healthy and getting great medical treatment, but my situation is serious and the doctors tell me it
could be fatal.” He looked a bit caught off guard and then asked, “What
kind of leukemia do you have?” Upon being told that it was called
CML, he replied, “My son is training to be a medical doctor and is
interning now at Methodist Hospital. I will get him to tell me more
about CML.” I remember thinking that if his son is a doctor, he will
soon know what I do not have to tell him about the disease, and I will
probably not get this appointment. I could certainly understand, so the
cancer talk ceased.
My entering into Bill’s life would mean that he could be dealing with
another personal struggle with cancer. Little did I know that Jean had
been recently diagnosed with breast cancer, and though her prognosis was
good, still it involved that dreaded word: cancer. Furthermore, if worse
came to worse, this great congregation could experience the death of two
young associates in a matter of a few years. This would be but another
bead on the tragedy belt in Bill’s short tenure at First Church.
The tragedies started halfway through Bill’s first year as pastor. John
Murphy, a good friend and parishioner, wrote that, following his first
Christmas at First Church, Houston, “on . . . December 27, 1983, a
policeman touring downtown noticed flames leaping out of the Clay
Street windows of the sanctuary. By the time Dr. Hinson arrived on the
scene the flames had engulfed the sanctuary. The damage was extensive,
especially to the magnificent Aeolian-Skinner pipe organ, the beautiful
stained glass windows and the Clay Street balcony. The adjoining education building had extensive smoke and water damage. It was a sickening
disaster.”2
A fire, a murder of a young associate, and Jean’s cancer—one would
think that these events would be defeating. Yet Bill was a man who
believed what he said: “Tough times can shape a person into a cynic or a
saint, into a person who is full of bitterness, or one who is fortified with
the kind of grace that transcends.”3
High-Powered Men
That day was not over until I met a man who was a prominent Houston
lawyer and churchman. Our meeting was in his office atop a downtown
building. Having all potential staff appointees meet this high-powered
5
© The United Methodist Publishing House. All rights reserved.
ACPQ003001QK001.qxd
4/20/06
12:22 PM
Page 6
Lord, He Went
man was a long-standing practice of the church. This man was the
pastor-parish relations committee (PPRC).
It was obvious that this fine churchman highly respected his pastor,
and their relationship was driven by a mutual love for their church. What
I didn’t know at the time was that he was diagnosed with terminal cancer too, and would die in a few months.
He did tell me that he had called our PPRC chairman in Henderson,
Texas, who was an appellate court judge, and who was also smart, tough,
and crusty. Referring to the phone call between the two, this prominent
lawyer laughingly said, “I don’t think ‘The Judge’ was very pleased with
my call about you. He certainly was not at a loss for words.” I wondered
what “The Judge” had said about me.
To this day, I don’t really know what transpired on that telephone call.
It would have been out of character for the judge to have been rude,
unless provoked. It would have been uncharacteristic of the lawyer to
have been anything but a gentleman and appropriate in every way. It was
certainly the judge’s style to be straightforward and absolutely not intimidated. I got the feeling that I was going through the motions, and the
lawyer had gotten all the information about me that he needed to know
from his fellow United Methodist in east Texas.
“That day” I left wondering if I would serve this great church and this
visionary leader, William H. Hinson. It was the next day when I received
a call from Bill offering me the position. All I had to do, he said, was tell
my district superintendent that I wanted to go to First Church as an associate pastor. It was a good day when I received that call, but the day
before was really the day that changed my life.
Though it was not completely apparent at the time, that day was one
of the greatest days of my young life. It was the day that a relationship was
born that became a most powerful, lasting friendship with a man I came
to call “my father in the ministry.”
6
© The United Methodist Publishing House. All rights reserved.