to travel to the “back country” unless she could attend a Presbyterian church!
While the town of New Dublin was eventually shortened to just Dublin, life has remained remarkably consistent from those first congregants to the people that I would serve, despite a vastly different world around them. As evidence of this consistency, one church leader has been a member of four different presbyteries over the course of his lifetime, yet he has lived in the same house for eighty years. Farming has remained a way of making a living and, just as importantly, a way of life. This is a place and a people with deep roots.
While I have a strong connection to my heritage as well, I have moved quite often over the course of my young life. In fact, my first visit to Dublin took place less than four months after my most recent move to Charlottesville, Virginia. In August of 2009, my wife and I bought our first house and made plans to settle down. I was a student at the University of Virginia, and she served as a chaplain in the same university’s hospital system. It was a natural progression for a young married couple both recently graduated from Union Presbyterian Seminary in Richmond. As we moved just seventy miles down the interstate, we expected to continue our careers in the academy and the hospital. Charlottesville was the place where we pictured growing our family.
That was our plan.
On January 17, 2010, I accepted the call with Ginny’s blessing to live and work at New Dublin Presbyterian Church.
So, what in the world happened? Why did this call to ministry happen? In fourteen chapters of reflections and sermons, this book reflects my exploration of these questions. Take My Hand is an invitation to see New Dublin Presbyterian Church from my eyes and, as a consequence, understand something about how I view my calling. I am grateful to explore my first year as a pastor with you. But before I lead you along this journey, let me share a little more about myself and this book. I want you to trust your guide.
I am the eldest son of a pastor. I spent most of my childhood and my entire adolescence in the same church. At my dad’s church, Raleigh Moravian, there were plenty of people who felt that the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree. One evening at youth group, when I was being obnoxious in ways seemingly endemic to preacher’s kids, one of the leaders pulled me aside. He told me that I had better behave because I would be leading my own youth group one day. I laughed and ran away—no way was I going to be a pastor!
As I grew up, however, I gradually took steps into the ministry. I was active in my high school youth group; I became a volunteer leader of youth group in college; I was employed as a full-time youth director after college. I attended Union Presbyterian Seminary, where I learned that the famous King James translation of Psalm 23 about the “goodness and mercy” that “shall follow me all of the days of my life” is actually describing a God who actively and intensely pursues humankind. This God does not walk behind us in a leisurely stroll; the Hebrew verb for “follow” describes the force of a bird of prey, swooping down from above (Lam 4:19). Each of my steps into ministry may seem tame, but I believe my life is evidence of the hot pursuit of God. I have never heard a voice from heaven nor seen a light from above nor even dreamed of a commissioning vision. But despite a lack of supernatural phenomena, I do believe my calling to the parish was by divine guidance. More and more with each passing experience in ministry, it seems that a pastor is a vital part of who I am.
At New Dublin Presbyterian Church, there is a sign that points to our church. Underneath the name of the church hangs another sign that identifies me as a “pastor.” The pastor used to be known as the “parson,” which is actually derived from the Old English word for person. I find this etymology significant because I feel that my vocation is truly a part of me. I am a person who is called to this position at this point in my life. Though I’ve run away from such a calling before, God has not given up pursuit. I consider it a great honor that my name is on that church sign today.
The following pages represent what I’ve learned as I continue to grow into my profession and my vocation. As I invite you to take my hand, I have structured this book in the manner of my experience. I begin each chapter with a reflection on a particular aspect of parish life. These insights introduce themes I will explore at the end of each chapter in a sermon. While I have made some changes for general use, I preached a version of each sermon at New Dublin. Therefore the format of this book reflects, not only my thoughts about ministry, but demonstrates an evolving understanding, roughly month-by-month, through the first year of being a pastor. For this reason, I have subtitled my work as a theological memoir. Take My Hand is a look back at a specific time in my life explicitly through the lens of my graduate education and my own faith. In its own small way, I hope this book is able to convey something of the mysterious process of writing a sermon by demonstrating how the preacher’s work on Sunday morning grew out of his or her experience the previous weeks, months, and years.
While some material is explicitly theological, I want to be clear that this book is a memoir. It is about real-life relationships. As such, the following pages include moments that are deeply personal. Some passages may even raise an eyebrow! In brief, I must say that I have received permission from every person either directly named or alluded to in this project. I am grateful beyond words to each individual whose permission enabled me to tell a specific part of the story that we are all writing together. Believe me, the last thing I want to do is compromise the bonds of trust that were formed during my first year of ministry. Furthermore, the people of New Dublin have taught me a great deal, but I do not wish to suggest that I view these relationships as mere object lessons. I want my reader to come away from the book with the clear understanding that I have respect for these parishioners as friends and fellow disciples. As you walk with me, I hope that you, too, will come to appreciate them. Despite the risks of disclosure, this book must be personal because I preach to people I personally know. As the eternal Word became flesh in Jesus Christ, so our faith as his disciples is embodied in our community.
Before we embark on our journey, I want my readers to know that New Dublin is good listening congregation. After I preached for a few weeks, many noticed that a particular phrase often crops up in my sermons: it seems to me. Initially I employed this phrase as an introductory formula, as a way to emphasize the claim that follows. While the phrase began as a mere stylistic flourish, I realized the importance of these words after a few months of preaching. “It seems to me” is like a disclaimer that whatever follows is my opinion. I think such humility is necessary when one deals with the proclamation of ancient texts to a modern audience. I am theologically trained, but that does not mean that I am the judge who renders the final verdict in all matters of interpretation. I like the way Martin Buber put it: “I am no philosopher, prophet, or theologian, but a man who has seen something and who goes to a window and points to what he has seen.” Let me be clear that the opinions expressed throughout this book are my own. As I’ve already warned you about deeply personal material, I also want to state that some of my conclusions are controversial. You are invited to take my hand; you are not asked to like every place I take you or agree with everything I say!
In the Reformed tradition, God’s word is communicated by an act of the Holy Spirit working through the preacher. Like treasures contained in clay jars, God uses the very mortal words of pastors to convey the eternal Word to other humans, “so that it may be made clear that this extraordinary power belongs to God” (2 Cor 4:7). Tom Long notes, “Christ is not present because we preach; we preach because Christ is present.”1 It follows, then, that Christ is present with all of us on Sunday morning, not just the preacher. I hope that “it seems to me” invites listeners and readers to engage in their own process of interpretation. On Sunday morning, I want people to listen deeply to my words for assurance and for challenge. As I wrestle with Scripture, theology, and ethics, I invite you to find meaning for your life and draw your own conclusions.
Karl Barth once said that every person comes to church on Sunday morning with one question in mind: is it true? “Truth” in this sense is deeper than any personal opinion because this “it” is bigger than any one person. I pray that people are convinced of truth each time I preach, not because of the force of my words or the ingenuity of my argument, but by the power of the Holy Spirit. Jesus said, “When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all the truth; for he will not speak on his own, but will speak whatever he hears, and he will declare to you the