The phone call rattled my soul.
The Rev. Dr. Felix Haynes, 81, had died.
The articulate “man of the cloth” was a biblical scholar and deliverer of poignant sermons. But Felix was much more than a preacher. He was a friend to thousands.
And I was one of the fortunate ones.
Felix knew my family inside and out. When he accepted the call to our church, my parents embraced him. Their combined chemistries were a potent, servant-minded ministry. Felix once told me that when a need for comfort arose in the congregation—as attentive as he was—he couldn’t beat Big Dink and Margie to the scene.
When my dad was dying in 1998, and when my mother was fading away in 2014, Felix was by our sides. And he carried that compassion into the pulpit, knowing exactly what to say during their funerals. Felix’s style was eloquent in a storytelling way that exuded warmth and easy understanding.
I consider myself a voracious reader, but I am a rookie compared to Felix. We recommended books to each other. He was a serious bookworm and an avid collector of rare books.
One time Felix called, “I have something for you.” That “something” was more than I could tote—boxes and boxes of books. They are treasures in my collection on sagging shelves. And when I read and reread each one, I will hear Felix saying, “You are really going to like this one.”
Go back to 2016 with me.
This episode underscores the depth of his loyalty and our friendship.
Wayne County was in danger of becoming the largest toxic-coal-ash dump in America. I was neck-deep in research and effort to keep that horror from happening. Felix said, “I know someone you need to meet.” When he was studying in Louisville’s seminary, Felix was Wendell Berry’s pastor at Port Royal Baptist Church.
I knew of Wendell Berry’s fame as a celebrated author, the first living member to be inducted into the Kentucky Writers Hall of Fame. He’d written more than 40 books: novels, collections of short stories, essays and poems.
But the gentleman farmer, who drives a well-dented pickup truck, is more than a masterful wordsmith. Wendell Berry, despite his genteel demeanor, is a legendary defender of the environment. In a word, he is fearless. Wendell doesn’t back down from pollution-minded bullies. He is a give-it-his-all steward of God’s natural resources.
Felix was adamant: “Let’s go see him.”
A phone call and 672 miles later, we were sitting around an oak table in Wendell and Tanya Berry’s kitchen. And when we shook hands, I could tell from his grip that this great-grandfather could still split his own firewood.
We talked. He listened. He talked. We listened. He had been following our David-and-Goliath saga. With a chuckle, Wendell said, “When you grab a bear by the tail, you can’t turn loose.”
I still have his follow-up handwritten note: “Remember, David won.”
On the eight-hour ride home, Felix shared a Wendell quotation: “There are no sacred and unsacred places; there are only sacred and desecrated places. My belief is that the world and our life in it are conditional gifts.”
Amen.
Wendell’s words will resonate with me until “I’ll Fly Away” is sung over my ashes.
Without Felix, I doubt that I ever would have had the opportunity to spend an afternoon with Wendell Berry.
But then again, I was one of the fortunate ones.
Felix Haynes was my friend.
dnesmith@cninewspapers.com
