Between February 2004 and September 2005, I preached for and among the
Whitney Avenue Church of Christ in North Haven, Connecticut. It was my first time in that particular role of solo minister with a small church. I believed in what needed to be said. I had had the academic and pastoral training to handle the pressure. I had the emotional maturity, I thought, to be of some service to my fellow Christians. I might have gone, in part, because of the picturesque profile of the place I was heading. I also believed I was entering a spiritual garden that had been tended regularly and nourished with the finest theological and biblical additives available. For nearly all of its 40 year history, this little hamlet of a restoration movement outpost benefited by its proximity to the prestigious
Yale University and, more specifically, its
Divinity School. Those who came to preach before me had more often than not accepted the call to preach at Whitney Avenue because the work load was light and the theological degree from Yale held great potential for boosting an otherwise lackluster ministerial career. And beginning in the early 70s, what made Yale the hands-down favorite choice of these bright light church of christ men and women was the fact that one
Abraham Malherbe made his home and career there. The best and brightest students from ACU were often guided to New Haven to study under the tutelage of
Dr. Malherbe, a former ACU professor whose career at Yale and contributions to the understanding of the early church and the use of scripture would be unrivaled.
Dr. Malherbe attended Whitney Avenue. Actually, "attended" is too mild. Long-time members of the Yale Divinity School community commonly referred to our church as Abe's church, or Malherbe's church. Abe normally hand-picked the preachers who came and went, taking an active mentoring role during their time at Yale and at Whitney Avenue.
But as his retirement approached, he made plans to spend his golden years around Austin, Texas, in association with the school where many of his academic offspring launched formidable careers, the Austin Graduate School of Theology (formerly known as Institute for Christian Studies). Dr. Malherbe's plan to gradually cut the apron strings included stepping down from the Board of Trustees and letting other, more local, congregants choose the successor minister.
And for whatever reasons, the search committee chose me to come and serve Whitney Avenue during a season of significant transition in which each of the half-dozen Yale Divinity School students/church members would graduate and move on; moves coinciding with Abe's departure from Yale and Connecticut.
For me, it was my first time to preach full-time and the roadmap did not include Abe. But there he was. On the back row every Sunday. Listening, watching, still as a churchmouse. Dignified. Abe was every bit the gentleman as well as scholar and he never made a fuss about me or my preaching. But he was there. He was there! Isn't that enough!!
I sometimes think that I personally helped Abe work through a personal crisis in his life. Leaving Whitney Avenue, I suspect was something he planned to take in stride. As a proud parent sees from afar the eventual parting of a growing child, Abe knew the day would come and he was ready to face it. And if it were the church that was leaving him, I think he could have handled it. Retiring from teaching at Yale, surrounded by accolades and admirers, Dr. Malherbe couldn't have been more in his element. But leaving this little church that could, or thought it could, was the biggest heartwrencher of his life. He wanted to believe they could stand on their own. He knew they could. But if truth be told -- something I am about to do -- he didn't really want to leave them. He loved this little church and the church loved him and his family.
When Abe heard me preach, Abe saw what could happen to his church. I have no doubt that on more than one occasion I said Colossians when I meant to say Ephesians. I'm sure that I received questions during Bible classes about books in the Bible I would have a hard time finding. And I'm quite sure I can't tell a story that holds together with a coherent beginning, middle and end.
If Abe ever regretted the church's selection of me as their preacher, he never said so. But on the other hand, he didn't have to. He stayed. He was never supposed to have stayed. But he did. And there he was. Sunday after Sunday on that back row. I eventually grew to dread Sundays. For it was the one day of the week I was sure I was going to fall short. You see, he was there. He was there!
I really don't regret my 18-month preaching stint. And I did learn to love Abe and Abe's church. But, to be sure, I have no plans to return to that kind of work. It really does require a special gift, a different one than any of those placed in my spiritual backpack.
So, you may be wondering, why now? Why do I bring this up now?
Well, a few weeks back I volunteered to preach. Actually, I volunteered to cover for my preacher, Dan, traveling in Brazil, who normally addresses the auditorium adult class on Wednesday evening.
So, next Wednesday evening, I speak to several hundred fellow Central church members -- many of whom are in their 60s and 70s, lifetime members of the Lord's church. These are people who have not only heard and seen it all, they have heard it from some of the finest preachers and teachers in our fellowship. And next Wednesday, they get to hear me. For an hour.
Lamenting this situation, I cried on my co-workers' shoulder yesterday, the one belonging to Bob Crass. Bob's kinda like me. Loves the day-to-day work of ministry, but tends to freeze up a bit when standing behind the pulpit. Actually, you'd never know Bob has a problem with this -- he's really naturally gifted up in front of people or one-on-one. But he feels inadequate and he thinks it takes him longer to get his sermon together than it should.
So as I share with Bob my dilemma -- wanting Dan to appreciate my covering for him yet wondering what in the world I could say that a) they need or want to hear and b) they'd be capable of following me on for a whole hour.
So Bob says -- with a sheepish grin -- you know who's gonna be in the audience.... (no, it's not Abe, but it may as well be)...No, who? Bill Humble. Dr. Humble? Yes! Apparently, Dr. Humble has recently moved to Amarillo to live in an assisted living center near one of his children who happen to attend Central.
So there he'll be -- Bill Humble will be there. Probably on the back row. Quiet. Still. Dignified. And brilliant. And, more importantly, there. Just my luck!
Bill Humble is to the study of Restoration Church History what Abraham Malherbe is to the study of Paul's Letters to the church at Thessalonica. Oh, my goodness! Oh, my goodness!
Would somebody please tie my hands to my sides when they put out the next call for volunteers?!!
I have just a precious few memories of direct interactions with Mamaw and Papaw, the name we all called my grandparents, but the ones I have are of happy times at their home north of Florence on Chisholm Highway with many cousins, aunts and uncles all busily shucking corn, cooking apples, baking pies, picking strawberries, pitching horseshoes, singing hymns, playing wiffle ball, sharing recipes, giving hugs and teasing each other about accents, pounds and children acquired since the last time everyone was together. 
