Robert Baynham, Kansas City reverend who practiced the service he preached, dies at 85

Editor’s note: This feature is part of a weekly focus from The Star meant to highlight and remember the lives of Black Kansas Citians who have died.

Though his own parents weren’t regular churchgoers, when Robert Baynham spent time with his grandfather in rural Missouri, he knew he was going to sit right by his side on a pew in the town chapel.

Baynham lived most of the time with his family of seven in Kansas City, which in the 1930s of his youth seemed like a buzzing metropolitan hub compared to St. Joseph, where his grandfather lived. They rode on a horse and buggy to Sunday service, their rattling carriage crossing weather-beaten dirt roads.

The modest chapel was larger than life in Baynham’s eyes. The setting felt both more tranquil than life in the city and more exciting, his daughter, 56-year-old Rachel Keith, said. Baynham’s grandfather — known to him as “papa” — taught him values he carried with him forever, like helping the needy and living with a clear-headed purpose.

Clergy at the Fellowship Baptist Church welcomed him with open arms, and under the guidance of Reverend H.J. Wormley, Jr. he decided with certainty what he was going to do with the rest of his life.

At 19, he became a pastor, a job that would take him and eventually his wife and five daughters across the state of Kansas; he occasionally taught high school English and social studies, too, because his preaching wasn’t lucrative. He spent the last 40 years in his hometown, at the Metropolitan Baptist Church, thoughtfully posing theological and moral questions to parishioners.

Baynham, who used his platform as a reverend not only to teach lessons rooted in religion but to serve hungry people and give them a place to stay, died Jan. 23 after a years-long battle with cancer.

The disease began in his prostate and spread, moving into his lungs, but he continued preaching up until last month. He was 85.

“He just loved to challenge people’s minds,” Keith said. “He’d just drop a seed and let you ponder on that, even enough to go and question the philosophy behind it.”

In what he didn’t know would be his final sermon on Jan. 9, live-streamed on the church Facebook page, Baynham’s voice was slow yet composed as he gingerly touched on topics from lifting up the next generation to the need for the church to feel like a family.

“I don’t want us to be, ‘Ministry leaders this and that,’” he said into the microphone. “I want us to be a family. It takes all of us to operate. If you don’t believe me, go back and read the Bible again. Amen?”

Two weeks later, the church announced his death on the same page, prompting hundreds of tributes to a man who left an impact on generations of people.

For his daughters, three of whom spoke with the Star during a call this week, living under the roof of the town pastor was rewarding but not always easy, especially for a young person with a social life.

It was “like being the president’s daughter,” Keith said.

Baynham was born on May 29, 1936, about five minutes after his twin sister, making him the second oldest child on a technicality. Their mother later divorced their father and raised them with their step-father.

By the time he was learning to become a pastor at Fellowship Church,he was so driven in his work he was hired to preach at the tiny Second Baptist Church in Iola, Kansas. He and his wife, Joanna Baynham, a VA employee whom he met years earlier at Fellowship church, started a new life together guided by service.

There were only about five people in the church at first, and he didn’t get paid. Instead he found himself performing manual labor around the town in exchange for produce, according to his second-eldest daughter, Rebecca Rainey, 60. One week, he would do some cleaning in exchange for eggs and chickens, or a couple cartons of milk; she didn’t find out until she was an adult, since they never seemed to have a shortage of food as kids.

There were often people they didn’t know at the dining room table eating hearty meals, whether it was a student from the local university or a down-and-out town resident. If someone needed a place to stay, they put them up with their next-door neighbor, a close friend who was more than happy to return their many favors.

“The people loved him so much that they made sure it happened,” Rainey said.

A few years into his time in Iola, he got a second job as a pastor at Poplar Grove Baptist Church, and their Sundays consisted of going to one lengthy service, a short 10-mile drive, and then another lengthy service. His stature in southeastern Kansas grew to be much larger than his humble beginnings.

When Rainey graduated from high school, he was the commencement speaker, delivering a speech that equated life to a spinning merry-go-round. The carts keep going around, he explained to the graduates, but a person can step away any time they want to reassess and regroup, and then they can hop back on.

He only rarely took a step away in his own life, however, even as he was diagnosed in March 2020 with a life-threatening illness, at the outset of a raging worldwide pandemic. He insisted on going to Western Bible College, his alma mater, to teach classes with a face covering whenever he could. His daughters couldn’t convince him to instead hold a Zoom meeting from his room.

He discussed his cancer diagnosis sparsely during sermons, sometimes mentioning his radiation treatments, keeping the focus on the word of God. In private, he expressed he couldn’t control his fate.

“Whatever the word was, he was going to accept it; whatever healing God had for him, he was going to accept it,” Keith said. “He just told people, ‘You just have to praise God regardless of what it is.’”

Pam Mucker, his oldest daughter, savors a particular memory from childhood: Baynham left her home alone on week in order to go teach Ottawa University. He promised he would spend the whole next weekend with her, and he did. She said she was going to take care of him someday.

For the past year and a half, she said, she has kept up her word — moving into his Kansas City, Kansas home, chauffeuring him to appointments, to church services, to J.C. Penny’s.

He talked with her in depth about his wishes for his funeral to be first and foremost a church service, with the details of his life secondary. That information, he said, people can read in the obituary.

She promised that’s what she would do.One more time, she carried through.“All his life was to serve God,” Mucker said. “He wanted the end of his life to be the same.”

Other remembrances

Myra Clemons

Myra Clemons, an elementary school teacher, activist and dedicated churchgoer who impacted the lives of countless Kansas Citians with her caring spirit, died January 29, according to an obituary on the Thatcher’s Funeral Home website. She was 96.

She was born on September 15, 1925, in Omaha Nebraska, where she was raised and went through elementary and secondary schools in Omaha. She went on to attend the University of Nebraska at Omaha before getting her master’s degree in education from the University of Missouri-Kansas City.

She was an elementary school teacher in the Kansas City, Kansas, school district. In her free time, she was a part of various causes she believed in, becoming a member of organizations like Jack and Jill Inc. and the NAACP.

She also was a regular at First Baptist Church, never liking to miss her service.

At a funeral, streamed by Thatcher’s over Facebook, loved ones described Clemons as a loving mother, friendly church presence and good cook who had no trouble putting a smile on others’ faces.

She leaves behind her one son, William Clemons, and many other relatives, according to the obituary.

Robbie Smith

Robbie Smith, a nurse with a reputation as a natural leader with the ability to lift up the people around her, died February 1, according to an obituary on the Watkins Heritage Chapel website. She was 68.

Born on November 24, 1953, in Kansas City, Missouri, she was strong and determined from the time she was an infant, the obituary said. She wanted to be in charge of anything, gravitating toward leadership roles.

She later got her nursing degree and was a private duty nurse for 20 years serving the Hall family that owns Hallmark Cards, the obituary said.

She was described by loved ones as a friend to all who could make everyone feel like family, leaving a piece of herself with everyone she met.

Bobby Williams

Bobby Williams, an employee for a moulding company known as a hard worker and a loving family man, died February 5, according to an obituary on the Serenity Funeral Home website. He was 55.

Born on December 2, 1966, in Kansas City, Missouri, he went through the city school district. He became a protector within his family, the obituary said, and took the role seriously. He had one son.

When he left a family gathering, he would make sure they had all their doors locked. He would often say his trademark catchphrase — “one luv.”

He worked for the past several years at Metrie, an interior moulding company. He was additionally a member of Greater Works Church, where he served as an armor bearer.

He’s survived by his mother, Lynn Williams; his sisters, Lenora Williams, Monique Williams, Kim Brooks, Amanda Thomas, Shaneika Brantley and Pamela Williams; his brothers, Gary Williams, Lawrence Williams, Anthony Brooks and John Brooks; and several nieces and nephews.

Correction: This story has been updated to correct the spelling of Robert Baynham.

This story was originally published February 13, 2022 at 5:00 AM.