Mourning the Loss of the Last Pulpit Prince

On Monday, I attended the funeral of Rev. Dr. Gardner C. Taylor, arguably one of the greatest preachers of the 20th century. I arrived a few hours early at Concord Baptist Church of Christ in Brooklyn. Dr. Taylor was a legend in so many circles, especially in Brooklyn, so I wanted to get inside before it got too crowded. Of course the service would be here. He was pastor at Concord for 42 years (1948-1990).

Concord was already one of the most prestigious Black Baptist churches in the country when Taylor came in 1948. To come to Concord, he had to leave behind a thriving church in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. He was only 30 years old at the time. Before coming to New York, he told those gathered at the state conference of the National Baptist Convention of Louisiana: “God has called me to preach at the crossroads of the world. I must go.”

After arriving, Taylor quickly became a leader of leaders. Like his predecessors, he kept Concord immersed in justice work and social activism. As only the second African American to serve on the Board of Education for the City of New York, he advocated for integration, redistribution of wealth across districts, and improved opportunities for children. Concord also became a strategic partner in ongoing civil rights struggles in the South, offering direct support to Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

At Concord’s zenith in the 1960s, the church had about 14,000 members. When I exited the subway car at the Nostrand Avenue stop in Brooklyn, I looked above my head and saw a faded white sign hanging from the ceiling, presumably a vestige from that bygone golden era. It directed subway riders to the church’s address eight blocks away: “Concord Baptist Church. South: Marcy and Putnam Aves.”

During his tenure, Taylor helped establish the Concord Elementary School where his wife, Mrs. Laura Scott Taylor, served as principal for 32 years. He oversaw the construction of a 121-bed nursing home, a seniors’ residence, a credit union, and he spearheaded a million-dollar “Christ fund Endowment” to facilitate community uplift in Brooklyn. By the time most contemporary books on holistic ministry hit the shelves, Taylor had been doing it for decades.

As significant as these accomplishments were, it was Taylor’s preaching that set him apart. God had called him to preach at the “crossroads of the world.” Before starting in Brooklyn, he had already established himself as a national preacher at Baptist conventions and as an international preacher at Baptist Congresses. At Concord, his preaching ministry rose to new heights. One of his former congregants, Anna Belle, recalled her first impression: “When he came that first Sunday morning,” she said, “he electrified the congregation with his mastery of the English language . . . He had us on our feet.”

Primarily through his preaching, Taylor became a mentor to Martin Luther King Jr. and to scores of other young African American preachers, Taylor was considered the gold standard for pulpit eloquence. Some of the best-known white preachers of the mid-20th century (George Buttrick, Paul Scherer, Ralph W. Sockman, and others) held Taylor in high regard and were eager to invite him to preach in their pulpits. He preached to families across the nation through NBC’s National Radio Pulpit during a time when 85 percent of Americans were white, and he traveled various preaching circuits with top African American and white American preachers of his day.

It wasn’t long before pastors, homileticians, and others started taking note. In 1979, Time gave him the title, “Dean of the nation’s black preachers.” In 1993, Ebony listed him as first among the 15 greatest black preachers in America. In 1996, Baylor University named him as one of the 12 most effective preachers in the English-speaking world. Other titles also surfaced: “Poet Laureate of the American pulpit,” “Prince of the American Pulpit,” and, most recently in an obituary written by H. Beecher Hicks Jr. in The Huffington Post, “The Prophet of Jordan’s Mists.”

At a key moment in the funeral, one of the eulogists, Rev. Edward L. Taylor, alluding to the title in Time magazine, exclaimed: “I dare say on this day that the office of the Dean of American preaching is now vacant, and search committees may try, but they will not be able to find a replacement.” Taylor’s impact was widely felt and, as a result, sorely missed by those gathered at Concord this past Monday.

I first met Dr. Taylor in February 2010 at a book dedication in his honor at Duke Divinity School. By then, he was almost 92 years old. He was wheeled into the room in a metal wheelchair. However, when the time came for him to make a few remarks, he found the strength to rise up and take his place at the rostrum. To this gathering of preachers, homiletics professors, and PhD candidates (all of whom felt like lieutenants in the presence of a general) assembled in a wood-paneled room, he told a story.

A young Charles Spurgeon was scheduled to preach at Kelveden, a town close to where he grew up, but his train was delayed. His grandfather, who was also a preacher, substituted in the pulpit until he could get there. When he arrived at the little church and walked down the center aisle, his grandfather, still preaching at the time, stopped and told those gathered, “Charles is a better preacher than I, but he has not a better gospel to preach.” Here was Dr. Taylor, a man who once described himself in an interview as “lapping in the waters of the Jordan River waiting to cross over.” Perhaps the next generation of preachers could claim to be “better preachers” than he was, but they could never claim to have a better gospel.

I spent more time with Dr. Taylor in March 2012. By then, he was living in a convalescent home because he needed ‘round-the-clock care from nurses and other staff. He let me ask him any question I wanted about preaching. On that particular day, he was craving fast food. Here we were, a small group of us sitting in the lounge down the hall from the hospital room that housed the Dean of American preaching, talking about sermons over bacon cheeseburgers and fries. I’ll never forget it! The truth is, Taylor made himself available to dozens of preachers in his final years. Those precious hours, some over the phone and some in person, are a benediction to me in too many ways to count.

This past Monday morning, thousands of us filled the sanctuary. I sat with the 200-300 ministers who poured in from all over the country. I felt like a private first class surrounded by generals and commandants. In many ways, the gathering was a symbolic demonstration of the broadness of Taylor’s reach: pastors and laypeople from different denominations, different theological orientations, and different generations. I’m not sure an eclectic gathering like this one will ever be repeated.

The funeral was deeply moving. Dr. Taylor’s daughter Martha sang, “My Jesus, I Love Thee,” one of her father’s favorite hymns. Taylor’s second wife, Phillis, received a standing ovation. She took such good care of him, especially in those final years. We laughed and we cried when the eulogists shared their stories. Concord’s pastor, Rev. Gary Simpson, preached a powerful sermon from Revelation 22. Together we mourned, rejoiced, and worshipped Jesus Christ.

The office of the deanship of American preaching is currently vacant, which I’m sure it will be for some time. But, take courage: he was a better preacher than us, but he did not have a better gospel.

His advice to young preachers (like myself) was straightforward: “Do not strive to be a great preacher. Do strive for people to feel, after you have tried to preach, what a great gospel it is.”

Thank you, Dr. Taylor, for showing us what a great gospel it is! Your light has gone out, but the light of the gospel shines brighter because you were with us.

Jared E. Alcántara is assistant professor of homiletics at Trinity Evangelical Divinity School. His book Crossover Preaching (IVP Academic, forthcoming October 2015) is a homiletical conversation with the preaching of Gardner C. Taylor. Connect with him on Twitter @jaredealcantara.