Rehearse your history with me, Elaine.
So whispered the Father to my spirit in the early morning hours of August 13, 2022. It’s an oft-repeated phrase I use when challenging others to remember the faithfulness of God in their lives—to retrace their steps with God over the years in order to hold the collective and certain witness of his activity therein. God doesn’t want us to forget his past faithfulness; he wants us to bank on it as our futures unfold.
And so it was for me on August 13th … counting and collecting the memories of God’s faithfulness in my life, in particular, as it pertained to the past twenty-five years of ministry life that Billy and I have shared together.
The Trenton-Maple Grove UMC years – those two, early years of shaping a family within the framework of a two-point, pastoral charge set against the backdrop of a hurricane named Floyd. It was here where we began to navigate both streams side by side—family life and ministry life. Trenton was the truest measure of my “leaving and cleaving”—leaving behind the family I grew up with in order to cleave to the family that would grow up with me.
The Washington UMC years—four years within a community often designated as “Little” but a season in our lives that was anything but. We grew a family along the edge of a pond named Pamlico. Two branches were added to our family tree. A season of rich, deep and abiding friendships. A season of igniting my soul with a flame that had never been lit so brightly. I fell in love with Jesus all over again in Little Washington. Our departure from there was nothing short of what was witnessed in Acts 20:36-38. We were well-loved in that place.
The Pine Forest UMC years—six years of fruitfulness, both in ministry life and in our home. In that place and in that space, we all grew up, experienced many of life’s “firsts and lasts.” Bible studies were led; souls were fed. A book was written. Hearts were given … fully. We invested deeply into the soil of that community, broke bread and shared the table of grace with dearly beloved friends. Such feasting can still be tasted in my memories.
The Christ UMC years—three years of walking through the shadowed valley. A broken church; a broken flesh. Both needing to be salvaged, our church and my flesh. I would live to tell the story, to stand on the other side of survival. The church? Well, the people live on to tell the story; the building does not. And while Christ UMC Fayetteville no longer has a physical address, I fully believe that God is alive and active in the faithful saints that once filled the pews on Raeford Rd. Those specially selected souls carried my family through a very difficult season. Equally and tenderly, I carry them closely in my heart and thank God for their willingness to walk through the shadows with us.
The Saint Luke UMC years—six years of planting a flag in the ground and calling it home. The neighborhood years. A season where everyone knew our names and, generally speaking, smiled when they spoke them. Our nest grew smaller; Nick and Colton flew away. I busied myself by re-baptizing myself with the waters of teaching. Another hurricane named Florence blew through, this time baptizing us all with the waters of “letting go and trusting God.” We did, and He did … miraculous things. He spared the life of our son, and he brought a community alongside to witness the height and depth, width and breadth, of such a generous gift.
The Benson UMC years—the now years. The not-yet-seen years. Three years and counting. The reason behind my early morning moments with God on August 13th.
It was at this moment in my deliberations with the Father when I paused my historical rehearsing. Instead, I was silenced by the scene that the Holy Spirit dropped simultaneously into my mind’s eye. Lying there in the dark, I clearly saw the framed print that our daughter-in-law, Rachel, had commissioned for us and given to us at Christmas 2018—an artistic rendering of the churches we had served to date: Trenton UMC, First UMC Washington, Pine Forest UMC, Christ UMC, and Saint Luke UMC.
While the rest of my family lay sleeping, I crept out to the dining room to behold the picture. Pointedly missing from the scene? Benson UMC—our current church home. There have been times in the past three+ years of ministry when we’ve lamented the fact that Benson UMC isn’t included in this artistic rendering. When it was originally commissioned five years ago, there was no way of knowing where we’d be today.
And where we are today?
Well, today we’re in between. A week ago, on September 25, 2022, the Benson United Methodist Church made the decision to disaffiliate from the United Methodist denomination and to affiliate with the newly formed Global Methodist denomination on January 1, 2023. As a United Methodist clergy for the past 25 years, my husband has decided that we will travel to this new frontier with our church body. It has been a brutal process for our family and our church. To linger with the “what ifs” and “maybes” over these past several months has been a difficult cross to carry at times. I don’t imagine we’ve lived the fullness of what that will mean to us in the upcoming season. But on that night back in August, before any final decisions had been made, God slipped a single, encouraging thought into my spirit about the season ahead … that there was a shift coming. That the very good, beginning three years of ministry at Benson UMC would continue under a new entity. That this current church would, one day, find its history amongst the other parishes we’ve served but would stand alone under a new banner – a new name. That name has yet to be determined. It doesn’t much matter to me what the name will be. What does matter to me, is that I get to walk on this sacred soil—a fresh work of grace authored by the Grace-Giver.
Time will write the witness of what has been done in this hour. We’re living in a season of messy imperfection. New frontiers are fraught with unseen complications. The mud is thick in places. Many repairs will have to be made along the way. But despite all of the unknowns and the growing pains that inevitably come with growing a new thing, there is a bold hope securely fastened to this new frontier—God is in it. Not “instead of” an already established denomination but, rather, “alongside of” a new one. He stands in both places knowing that faithful souls are anchored to each landscape. I will not underestimate or try to manage the work he longs to accomplish on each frontier. God is too big and too gracious to limit our horizons. How thankful I am for a history that rehearses accordingly!
And so, in this new hour and for those who have yet to be convinced of this trajectory, I offer you the wisdom that Gamaliel offered to the Sanhedrin two thousand years ago when the Apostles were brought before them and accused of spreading a false Gospel:
“… Let them go! For if their purpose or activity is of human origin, it will fail. But if it is from God, you will not be able to stop these men; you will only find yourselves fighting against God.” (Acts 5:38-39)
Yes, friends. Keep rehearsing your history with God, and then go in the strength of that witness. Let the grace-filled portraits of your past serve as the backdrop for the portrait yet to be painted. God will not fail you; God will not abandon you. God will go with you. And as my daddy (a life-long Methodist preacher and teacher) would tell you …
The best is yet to be. With Christ in your story and the Holy Spirit as your guide, your best days are always ahead of you; never behind.
Lean into that frontier today. I’ll meet you on the road, and as always…
Peace for the journey,
