Jerry Lee Boteler Reflection

Jerry Lee Boteler,      25 June, 2020

The Psalm for this coming Sunday's lectionary: Psalm 13:5 But I put my trust in your mercy; *my heart is joyful because of your saving help. 6 I will sing to the Lord, for he has dealt with me richly; * I will praise the Name of the Lord Most High.

Longtime friends and former parishioners in the church I served in Lynchburg, Virginia for more than a decade, called me last night to tell me of the death of Jerry Boteler. It was a shock, for I was one day older than Jerry. Jerry and I started off being a thorn in each other's side. He was an English teacher who worked hard for his students: He loved teaching, beautiful Liturgy, Poetry and Shakespeare which I also loved. However, he had highly approved of the way my two previous predecessors had handled the services in a High Church formal manner and he missed them. In an aggressively Low Church Diocese, the church stood out and many of the parishioners were proud of that difference. I came with an idea of needing to move the church out beyond Sunday morning into the community and that is where my energy went, and what I would arrogantly dismiss as “Chancel prancing” was way down on my list. My seemingly cavalier attitude toward worship services hurt Jerry and some others who had been drawn to the beauty. I had a tendency to forget the advice of one of my seminary instructors; “Not every idea that occurs to you is a good idea.” I publicly said that it was about broader possibilities---- but, of course, like all insecure clerics, I wanted to make changes-- it is an ego thing to try to make my mark – not too much unlike what my dog does in the morning when I take him for a walk.

I was in middle age, second career, and had been working as a Chaplain with college students and youth groups as a Curate in the first Parish after ordination. Some of the kids would call out to me, “Hey Mister Wilson!”, in a Dennis the Menace style. I felt uncomfortable being called “Father” because I did not want the responsibility of walking into a “Good Father” role for people with Daddy issues. I asked to be just called Tom. Jerry would refuse and always call me Father Wilson – and in his accent it came out with what I heard as a hint of disapproval as FAAAAther Wilson. It was part of his way of holding on to the old relationships he had with the previous two Rectors. Finally I told him: “Jerry, the title “Father” is an honorific, a sign of spiritual relationship which You do not have for me.” His response was: “It is like the Armed Forces where one salutes the uniform and not the man.” He was on the worship committee and mere frosty politeness ruled for about four years as we worked together and disagreed regularly. He was faithful to the church and he and his mother would come and endure.

Then Pat came to town and she broke down his walls and he would laugh with her. She got along famously with him for they shared lots of tastes in art. Jerry decided that if Pat loved me, it would not be that difficult for him to love me as well. I learned to live into being “Father Tom”. I became very fond of Jerry and it was hard to leave him behind for God had dealt with me richly by giving me Jerry.

As a Priest, I recite to Jerry, my brother in Christ:

Depart, O Christian soul, out of this world;
In the Name of God the Father Almighty who created you;
In the Name of Jesus Christ who redeemed you;
In the Name of the Holy Spirit who sanctifies you.
May your rest be this day in peace,
and your dwelling place in the Paradise of God. Amen

As a friend, I echo Horatio who says when Hamlet dies:

Now cracks a noble heart. Good night sweet Prince

And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.