Jerry Moye Remembered

Dr. Jerry Moye

There’s no other place I would rather be today then with you all—the beloved community. But previous commitments I could not change have kept Gayle and me away. But I told Ruth since I can’t come—would you like me to send you the remarks I would have made and have someone with a very deep bass voice(like me, of course) to read what I send. She said yes.

And so here goes. One reason I would like to be there with the family and with you is because Jerry Moye wrote a poem about me when I turned sixty. And nobody else has ever written a poem about me. A friend calligraphed the piece and it hangs on my wall by my desk. And then just a year ago Ruth and Jerry visited us in Clemson and I moaned about being 82. He said: “I’ll write another poem for you and one for Gayle too.” So when he got back to Hong Kong he sent me these two poems. And nobody else has done this.I don’t know why some of you out there did not write poems about your then-Pastor but that is another topic.

We come to celebrate the splendid life of Jerry Moye. And I don’t know a better way to frame what I want to say than those beautiful words of Mary Oliver. She said: “When death comes I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.”

And if we were to write an epitaph to this man who loved literature and fine words—I don’t know a better tribute. “I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.”

Jerry Moye did not visit us—he moved in and he stayed. He was no visitor. Born in Illinois—went to school there. And went to Southern Illinois University in Carbondale and stayed there, finishing this undergraduate degree and then not one but two Master’s. You see he really did move in.

I don’t know when his heart was strangely warmed but it took him to Louisville Seminary where he stayed until he finished his Doctorate at that then-fine school. He was there seven years. 

He married dear Ruth. And from that marriage there came Laura and Nathan and much later twin grandchildren.

I don’t know when his heart was strangely warmed a second time but he and Ruth felt the call to missions. And they plowed twenty years of their life in Hong Kong. I would not say they were just visitors there. And you and I know that not all missionaries would ever be more than visitors. He loved his work there. And maybe it was in a foreign country that he began to see a larger world. A world not only of theology which he loved but art and music and a vision which encompassed a large church so large no one could number all those in the circle. All denominations. Maybe all cultures. 

Somewhere he discovered the medieval saints and they taught him contemplation and reflection and holiness. Saints like Lady Julian of Norwich and Saint Francis and a whole lot of others stretched him until his heart was larger and his vision far-reaching. No visitor could duo such a thing.

He wrote one book called Praying With the  Saints. And he taught us about the contemplative life and paying attention. Which is one of the commandments that most of us have neglected. Prayer became for Jerry not just something you do—but something you live and something that kept him going. Moving to a strange culture must have been hard—and there must have been hard days when he and Ruth looked back to the home they had left and longed to see children and family and friends. Like most missionaries. But he was no visitor in Hong Kong. He taughtstudents and he preached and thought and prayed. He knew deep in his heart that this Lord Jesus whom he followed really did have the whole world in his scarred hands. 

He and Ruth came back to  America after those 20 years in China. But that was a hard time as most missionaries know. Not quite fitting in. Not quite finding their place—he and Ruth. But they did teach for a while at Miles College knowing that this gospel even in a white culture included black folks in Alabama. 

So after six years Jerry and Ruth packed up their bags and moved back to Hong Kong. Not visitors—the people there would tell you. He preached and loved and taught and wrote. And he was stretched yet again to a largeness and a wonder that he found all around him.

After 77 years his heart just gave out. And in the hospital surrounded with Ruth and Laura and Nathan and Chinese folks that just came and stayed he just slipped away. And Jerry left us for yet another move. To a clean well-lighted place where there would be reconciliation not only with family members but maybe Lady Julian and Saint Francis and who knows who else. A land where he would find the old Baptists were right after all—a land fairer than day.

Dear Jerry you really were a wonder. Never, ever just visiting but moving in and moving and moving in. Touching so many and gently making a difference in the lives of a great many of us. 

I look up from this writing and I see his kind words. He ended his poem to me like this: “Dear friend who takes God’s harness as his own, We see you shaped by Him you call the Christ.” Those words always embarrassed me—but Jerry, they fit you to a tee.

He used the word Selah a lot in his little book. We are not sure exactly what that term means but it seems to mean a pause in music and writing. And sometimes in the musical score Selah means the conductor slows down the even flow of the music and the cymbals bring their mighty clash. 

Jerry we don’t have cymbals here today. But we do rejoice that once upon a time Dr. Jerry Moye lived among us. He didn’t just visit this place but he moved in and stayed faithfully to the very end. 

He loved the Catholic traditions. And so I end with those words that come from the Roman Catholic Prayer for the Dead.

“Into paradise may the angels lead dear Jerry; at his coming may the martyrs take him up into eternal rest, and may the chorus of angels lead him to that holy city, and the place of perpetual light.”

Selah

(Ruth wanted me to speak ar Jerry's Memorial Service. But I had another commitment July 7th I could not break. So I sent these words for someone to read at the Memorial Service. It was held at the church Jerry and Ruth dearly loved. The Baptist Church of the Covenant, Birmingham, Alabama.)

--Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com