“You too?” Remembering Michael Morgan, 1948–2022
I have always loved old books, and they have played a significant role in my academic life; so when I had an email several years ago from Pat Flannagan to say that a friend of his was bringing a rare score of Handel’s Messiah to King, I found a way to drop by between classes to see it. The owner was a kind man who clearly knew a lot about books, but I had little time then to cultivate the seed that had been planted that day: my friendship with Michael Morgan.
CS Lewis suggests that friendship often begins with a shared interest, with the mutual realization, “What? You too? I thought I was the only one.” Old books, particularly Bibles, were the soil of my friendship with Mike. Before I had any idea of his immense significance as a collector, I had invited him to come present his collection in Bristol, and he had graciously accepted. That first visit astonished me. I expected what many collectors assemble — several facsimiles, a couple of later seventeenth-century King Jameses, and then some older American printings. But no. Mike’s collection was a luxury tour through the history of English Bible translation, hitting all the major stops — a Coverdale Bible, a Great Bible, a Matthew Bible, a Bishops’ Bible, and the jewel in the crown, a 1611 King James or Authorized Version. The copies were beautiful — title pages intact, some gorgeous bindings, several with signatures from past owners. Having spent a great deal of time in rare book rooms with sixteenth-century Bibles, the collection delighted me.
But what was even better was the way Mike presented this collection. He gave an hour-long lecture which was packed with history, peppered with interesting figures and anecdotes, and polished with both humor and reverence. And then he held his own altar call of sorts: he welcomed everyone to come look at the collection. I cannot stress how unusual this is. Mike welcomed young and old, scholars and amateurs, friends and strangers to come touch the books, feel the softness of the rag paper, catch their soft musty scent, take photos. Picture six or seven tables, each holding four or five precious volumes, surrounded by people — and Mike engaging with folks individually, answering their questions, rather than watching in terror as his books were pawed over by the punters. It astonished me more each time I saw it happen, and I think I saw it six times.
Lying behind my astonishment was my knowledge of how hard Mike had worked to assemble the collection, as he liked to point out, “on a church organist’s salary.” He had traded, haggled, searched, and scoured his way to assembling this outstanding library of Bibles. It had taken him a great deal of time and money, and yet he shared them freely. (I can add that he never once wanted an honorarium, though we did insist.) The first and greatest volume, the one that started him down the path, was the King James, a mighty gift from a collector he knew. I think perhaps the fact that this came as a gift shaped Mike’s own sharing; I think he saw himself not so much as a collector as a steward. This was a collection whose beauty was not in its protection but in its presentation. While Mike had constructed a special room in his home for the Bibles, he took more pleasure in packing them into his little station wagon, lugging massive folio volumes in and out of classrooms, setting them up, putting out the labels. He went to a great deal of trouble to share his hard-won collection so generously.
Mike also read his Bibles, and he loved the text of Scripture. He took great delight in finding points of comparison among the translations, such as how they handled the words for John the Baptist — his favorite being “John the Dipper.” But his reading was deep, too, and reverent. As a musician, it is no surprise that he particularly adored the Psalms, and he gave me a copy of his metrical version of all 150 Psalms — lovely verses designed to be sung. His hymnody includes both metrical Psalms and other texts, and it is a great pleasure to me every time I’m singing in church and glance down to see his name at the bottom of the hymnal page.
My friendship with Mike started with books, but it branched far beyond them, too. I got to know him better with each visit, each email, and found that his generosity, wit, and warmth pervaded every aspect of his life. I got to know Richard, and I got to know stories of Mike’s earlier years, particularly with regard to travel. Mike made friends easily and often, everywhere he went. He had made friendships with well-known British poets and actors, with Bible collectors and musicians, with homeless folks and with me. One of his favorite stories, in which that ease of friendship shone through, had to do with a visit to Geneva, Switzerland, in his twenties. Mike had been travelling Europe on a budget, and wanted to see the birthplace of Presbyterianism. He went into St Peter’s Cathedral, where John Calvin had preached, and asked to see the organ. The guide asked Mike if he played, and so Mike gave a brief demonstration — and of course it was brilliant. The next thing he knew, his new Genevan friends were arranging housing and meals so that he could stay to play for the Sunday service!
I’ve read many tributes to Mike since his death on Christmas Day, and they all express what I’m trying to convey here. Mike was just a lovely, lovely man, and a delightful friend. And in his dying he gave us one final presentation, one final hymn — and it’s us. The vast network of people whom Mike loved, and who loved Mike, come from all over the world, with different interests and backgrounds and concerns. But he collected us just like he collected his books. We, Mike’s friends, are a display as compelling as his Bibles of how God speaks love and mercy to draw us to himself. We, Mike’s friends, sing his praises, and find that we in fact raise a hymn as lovely as his compositions to the love and kindness of Jesus Christ.
I will miss Michael Morgan, but I am deeply grateful to have been one of his many, many friends. And I greatly appreciate the way he brought God’s word to life, whether in the books he cherished or the hymns he wrote. And I go on loving the old Bibles which brought us together. “You too?”
