The Rt Revd Dr John Saxbee writes:
BISHOP Geoffrey Hewlett Thompson died on 13 May, aged 95, survived by his wife, Joy, and their two daughters and two sons.
Another clerical nonagenarian, Canon Lewis Donaldson, was a Christian Socialist early in the 20th century, and, as Hewlett’s maternal grandfather, he argued for him to be named after Hewlett Johnson, the “Red Dean” of Canterbury.
Although his own political views were not conspicuously to the fore in his public ministry, Hewlett Thompson’s commitment to a greater say for the laity in church governance nationally and locally surely owed something to his socially democratic forebears, as did his claim to be essentially a “parish-priest bishop”.
Born into a military household (his father was a Lieutenant Colonel), he was educated at Aldenham School, before being called up for National Service and commissioned in the Queen’s Own Royal West Kent Regiment. From there, he proceeded to read history at Trinity Hall, Cambridge, before ordination training at Cuddesdon Theological College.
Ordained deacon, and then priest, on Trinity Sundays in 1954 and 1955 respectively, he served his title at St Matthew’s, Northampton, before being inducted as Vicar of St Augustine’s, Wisbech, and then St Saviour’s, Folkestone. He reflected on these parochial ministries as fashioning his subsequent episcopal priorities, which focused on encouraging and enabling the parish church and community to fulfil its calling as the people of God in that place at that time.
In 1974, he was consecrated by Archbishop Michael Ramsey to be Suffragan, and then Area Bishop of Willesden. He set himself to the task of pastoral reorganisation at a time when the received pattern was under severe strain. He ensured that the process was not “top down”, but thoroughly collaborative and sustainable.
One senses that after ten years in London he was ready to move on, and his appointment as Bishop of Exeter in 1985 re-energised him for “a new task”. He had a lot to learn about this very different social and cultural environment, but his proven commitment to the parish system and the need to affirm and nurture local leadership stood him in good stead. He instituted the “Thursday Conversations”, which brought together clergy from around the diocese to keep him in touch with local concerns, and to keep them in touch with his strategic thinking and priorities. In retirement, he reflected on these conversations as key to his promotion of mutuality and subsidiarity.
He was not much inclined towards cultivating a national profile, preferring to focus on the local task to which he felt called. But, while at Willesden, he did chair the Community and Race Relations Unit for the British Council of Churches, and was a member of the Hospital Chaplaincy Council in the 1990s. He was introduced into the House of Lords in 1990, where, as on the General Synod and at three Lambeth Conferences, he was an infrequent contributor. He had a leading position in the inauguration of induction courses for new bishops.
Meetings with him could be rather staccato affairs, with frequent pregnant pauses. It was said of him that his decision-making was rather like a duck laying an egg — it took a while, but it was usually a pretty good egg. That said, he was not always alert to the potentially negative impact of his decisions on those affected by them.
None the less, he was at heart a pastoral bishop and positive stories were told of his unobtrusive support for clergy and their families in time of need. He also sought to pursue as measured a course as possible towards a decision when contentious issues threatened to divide the diocese. His usually pro-reform opinions on, for example, the ordination of women, issues in human sexuality, and ecumenical relations became clear only at the final voting stage. Notably, he remained unconvinced by the decision to allow divorced persons with their former spouse still living to be married again in church.
Reflecting on parish life in a diocese of so many small communities, he emphasised key necessities to be the scriptures, water, bread, and wine for celebrating the sacraments, and only then a building as “a convenience to keep the rain off”. He strongly affirmed the importance of local consultation, leadership, and ownership of the Church of England’s three key tasks: worship, pastoral care, and mission. “Collaborative functioning,” he observed, “tends to be put in contradistinction to firm leadership. . . But it actually requires very confident leadership to be able to lead through the collaborative model.”
He was not without idiosyncrasies. He was wedded to pencils and erasers for writing notes and memos; his late-evening trips around the Close, delivering notes to colleagues, distinguished by his signature flat cap and well-worn raincoat could cause a raised eyebrow or two; his reluctance to alert people to his deafness in one ear meant his apparently aloof demeanour in social gatherings could be misinterpreted.
He was a dedicated correspondent, responding patiently and fully to letters, especially those on contentious issues. He admitted to “tremendously enjoying the arrival of the morning post as a sign of freshness”.
He consistently maintained that “you can’t understand me without meeting my wife.” With Joy, a psychotherapist, he devised Western Approaches, a course based on one that they had already pioneered in Willesden, focused on promoting healthy human relationships. She was a constant companion in life and ministry not least after retirement to Cumbria, where, in addition to indulging their love of fell-walking, reading, and gardening — and daily prayer together — they both contributed significantly to their parish, while he also exercised ministry as an honorary bishop in Carlisle diocese. In recent years, he cared for her as her health deteriorated until her admission to a care home shortly before his death. They were married for 70 years.