Sky McCracken, senior pastor at First Methodist Church – Downtown Jackson, comments on Rev. Dr. Paul Clayton, who served as senior pastor at First Methodist Church from 1994-2005.

Paul Clayton passed away, September 25.

I had just returned from a short study leave when I learned that Paul Clayton had died. At first it was a gut punch: there was a hole in my heart, there was the feeling that someone had been stolen from us, and I was angry that his body didn’t let him recover from his illness and surgery. That was Saturday. Sunday, I had to face the congregation he called home in his retirement and that he had once pastored, and I openly shared my grief with them, and they with me. I used to call him the “senior senior pastor,” mainly to poke fun at him, but later I realized that it was true. Paul was our congregation’s senior senior pastor. He was also Jackson’s pastor.

I grew into adulthood seeing Paul as a pillar among United Methodist pastors in our area. Known for his integrity and success as a church pastor, I was in awe of him. When I became older we became colleagues and sometimes even found ourselves at odds with each other. I never imagined that one day, thirty-five years from the time I first met him, that I would be his pastor. It was an honor and privilege to be such.

One of the things I learned about being Paul’s pastor was his ability to reflect upon his life – and life in general – and see where he had regrets, where mistakes were made, to lament over opportunities lost, and his deep desire that others could learn from his experiences and musings. He thought of himself as a work in progress, and that he needed to be useful as long as he drew breath. That takes a lot of deep introspection, self-awareness, and humility.

I also learned that once freed from the realities of supervising staff, being the administrator of a large church, and the daily grind of pastoral duties, Paul was a deep theologian and a lover of people. Contrary to what some in the world might say, Paul saw both roles as part-and-parcel to each other. To be deep in study about the nature of God, faithful practices, and religious beliefs IS to become deep in the love of humankind. To be deep in the love of humankind IS to become deep in study about the nature of God. As a result, his relationships with others crossed all the barriers of age, race, creed, and class.

No one would claim that Paul was affectionate, jovial, or bubbly. But when Paul engaged you in conversation, he was fully present. He listened intently, and listened much more than he spoke. He stored information from your conversation and months later might ask, “I’ve been thinking about your brother, how is he?” or “So how is the new granddaughter doing?” He had coffee, lunch, and drop in visits with tens, perhaps hundreds of people long after he retired. Such was sacred to him. Whether he was behind a pulpit, in a receiving line at a funeral home or wedding, sitting in a pew, or out for a walk – Paul gave of himself and his time to those he met. While some at Paul’s age eschewed technology, Paul was quite adept at sending emails and text messages, giving a kind word or inquiry about how you were doing, what could he pray for, or (in my case) offering “Thanks for a good word today,” after a Sunday worship service.

There is a saying so old that it is difficult to trace down its origin, but the earliest recording of it comes from John of Salisbury, 12th century, in his work Metalogicon. Translated from the Latin, it reads: “We are like dwarfs sitting on the shoulders of giants. We see more, and things that are more distant, than they did, not because our sight is superior or because we are taller than they, but because they raise us up, and by their great stature add to ours.”

Paul was a diminutive man in stature, and took teasing about it very well. But where his legacy is concerned, he is one of the giants upon whose shoulders we stand.

That’s the Paul Clayton that I knew.

Memorial services for Rev. Dr. Paul W. Clayton will be held at First Methodist Church, 200 S. Church St., at 11 a.m., Saturday, Oct. 1.