Remembering Richard Turnbull: A Friend, Scholar And Servant Of The Church
(ESSAY) I first met Richard Turnbull at a conference in Amsterdam more than 10 years ago, standing across a buffet line. I saw his name tag and very uncharacteristically blurted out, “Are you Richard Turnbull, the famous Oxford historian?” It was such a bizarre question that I am nearly too embarrassed to share the anecdote, except that his response was classic Richard: “Well, I am an Oxford historian.”
At that time, he would have been about three years removed from his time as principal of Wycliffe Hall and serving as the director of the Centre for Enterprise, Markets and Ethics, with which I am proudly affiliated as an associate fellow. But this interaction led to a decade-long affiliation and friendship with Richard, for which I cannot express enough gratitude.
Sadly, Richard died on Nov. 26. He left behind a wonderful wife, Caroline, and four children and many grandchildren. The most acute loss is undoubtedly theirs. He had countless friends, too, all of whom are grieving his loss. He had just retired and assumed the title of director emeritus of CEME and was on the verge of enjoying a well-earned retirement filled with only the things he wanted to do when a surprise cancer diagnosis cut those plans short.
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If ever a man lived who would “loathe our solemn rubbish, frown on our canonizing farce” (like this tribute), it would be Richard. But Richard was a man of far too many virtues in life to ignore in death. I miss him already, less than a week into a world without him.
Richard was a man of unlimited generosity of spirit. He was a scholar of evangelicalism and an expert biographer of the Victorian social reformer, Anthony Ashley-Cooper, the eighth Earl of Shaftesbury. He was also a convener and encourager of orthodox Christians in the Church of England and wider Anglican Communion. He was a controversial administrator who transitioned from his time at Wycliffe Hall after more progressive forces within the church were rankled by his convictions and commitments to biblical and theological orthodoxy.
Contrary to my assumption in our first interaction, Richard was not famous. “Infamous among some,” he might quip. But he always chose the path of faithfulness rather than fame. And in a time when the Church of England lacked conservative theologians and clergy, a smart, credentialed, and wise conservative would have proven to be a very attractive candidate for a token cathedral deanship or a bishop’s mitre. All of this would have been in a backwater, of course, far away from influence. And it would have come at a cost far higher than he was willing to pay: going along to get along to placate the aging and dwindling protestors working against the church’s leftward slide.
Richard was a wonderful teacher. He had an incredible knack for reading every audience, whether in America or in the U.K. It was impossible NOT to hang on every word, and his humor and self-deprecation masterfully concealed remarkable depth.
I also appreciated how encouraging Richard was at every stage of my own work. My work with him spanned positions with three organizations. Most notably for me, he played a leading role in the development of a fellowship for university students named for Lord Shaftesbury.
It was so encouraging to have such an established figure treat me with deference and respect. In every way, I was his junior, but he always treated me like a peer. He joyfully and enthusiastically took part in my work even when it was halting, imperfect, and unsure. I know other younger NGO leaders, academics, and clergy who can say the same thing.
But beyond anyone’s personal gratitude for Richard’s gifts, one thing that will be impossible to replace is his perfect instincts about the way that the church and the world should collide. We are living in notoriously fraught times in which Christians battle Christians over the right way to engage in the public square and to accomplish the temporal mandates of the people of God.
At the risk of oversimplifying the internecine political conflict among and between Christians, Progressives tend to focus on social causes like the environment and the poor as the proper expressions of Christian concern. Conservatives tend to be focused on Bible teaching and evangelism. Richard, however, really knew how to articulate a vision for the church that seamlessly incorporated both.
The inspiration for his deft recognition of how the church should meet the world was, of course, the Bible. But secondarily, it was his study of the life of Lord Shaftesbury. Frankly, Richard believed that it was the church’s duty to care for the poor, the orphaned, the widowed, and the oppressed more than any theological progressive or proponent of the social gospel. But he differed on the grounds of how this should be done.
Mid-Twentieth century Labour Party general secretary Morgan Phillips famously said that the socialism of the party “owes more to Methodism than to Marxism.” I don’t know if Richard would agree with this, but he would certainly argue with the socialist Methodists (and others) that the duty of the church is to care for the downtrodden without the state as a mediator. It is not a vote for a socialist program that fulfills the Christian obligation to care for others, but our own efforts using our own resources rather than tax revenue funding bureaucratic armies.
In the waning days of the Ragged School Union, an organization that oversaw a system of non-governmentally funded schools for Victorian England’s most poor and vulnerable children, Lord Shaftesbury lamented the ascendancy of secular government-funded schools: “Everything for the flesh, and nothing for the soul; everything for time, and nothing for eternity."
If I may be so bold as to say, I think that this notable quote from Shaftesbury informed the most fundamental perspective in Richard’s approach to the worldly obligations of Christians. It is Ebenezer Scrooge who asks, “Are there no prisons? Are there no workhouses?” when asked to support the work of caring for the poor. These are the best we can hope for when an institution is committed to providing for the flesh, but nothing for the soul. But Richard called us all to do more in and through the church and Christian institutions than an unconverted Ebenezer Scrooge. The church is the only institution that can do for time and for eternity.
On another personal note, I have to say that Richard modeled dying well. He cancelled a Zoom call with me in August as he was being diagnosed. He wrote a few days later with the devastating news. “To be clear,” he wrote, “[the diagnosis] is terminal.” And he closed, saying, “The end is not yet! We are safe in the everlasting arms of the Lord!”
All throughout the months following, he faithfully and vulnerably shared about the progress of the disease and the decline of his health, all the way to just a few days before he died. The Saturday before he died, he wrote, “If I am still here I will send an update tomorrow and will continue to look down from glory upon the Lord’s people when I am not here on earth.” That was his last update. When his wife Caroline took over, she told his friends that Richard had been able to write, “Time to go to glory” earlier that day.
Every note from him was full of encouragement and clear concern for the grieving and not for himself. He remained pastoral to the very end, sharing his significant physical struggles, but also appreciation, love, and compassion for those of us left to miss him.
A bidding prayer used in Anglican services ahead of Christmas includes this admonition: “Let us remember before God all those who rejoice with us, but upon another shore, and in a greater light, that multitude which no man can number, whose hope was in the Word made flesh, and with whom in the Lord Jesus we are for ever one.” For this and every future Christmas, this prayer will be especially poignant for Richard’s family and friends.
But as he reminded me, “The end is not yet!” He has gone to glory, but left behind an incredible legacy of love, friendship, and a powerful example of guiding God’s people to understand how to commit our lives to serve the flesh and the soul, to serve the Lord in time and eternity. What a remarkable man who is gone far too soon for our preferences, but in God’s perfect timing.
Trey Dimsdale is the president of the Ayaan Hirsi Ali Foundation.