The Wesley Foundation: Prophetic Witness and the Good Pain of Leaving

Until I came to the Wesley Foundation at Louisiana Tech University in 2014, I suppose one could say I was a Christian in name only. I possessed that innate ability that everyone has within them to know exactly what to say to my parents and friends and other imaginary interrogators of my faith in order to convince them and myself that my soul had been redeemed by the blood of Christ Jesus (whatever that meant) and that my name was stamped firmly and clearly in the great Book of Life, wherein are written all the names of those who pray before every meal, put their tithe in the offering plate, and serve regularly on church committees. I knew how to say it, too, and I put this knowledge of mine into practice throughout my early years, high school, and into college. And so, I had myself and most people I knew convinced that I was set up for a life of the kind prosperity known only to good Christians: educated, debt-free, a “good head” on my shoulders, and the Holy Hands of Jesus Christ ready to bless my paycheck.

You might imagine my surprise when I came to the Wesley Foundation and discovered that my well-spoken Christianese didn’t seem to translate with the Christians I met there. They nodded politely when I spoke of obedience to The Lord and His Son, Christ Jesus, and how I intended to follow the guidance of the Holy Spirit by making as much money as I could to support a wife and children that I had yet to meet, which entailed plenty of savings for private school and extracurricular activities and college and, of course, that most sacred liturgical event of the American home: the family vacation. And I would of course support the church with my giving once all else was taken care of. But even as I would speak, these Wesley Foundation Christians did not seem interested. They would let my financial aspirations and grand career prophecies go unpraised and unaffirmed and, instead, ask me questions like, “How is your soul?” and “What are you praying for?” I would then prattle on stupidly as I rummaged through my mind for an answer I knew I did not have. 

Despite this awkwardness, the conversations didn’t miss a beat, and I never found myself wanting to leave them. They almost always ended in the same way; they would ask me if I had time to help out at some gathering or another, to which I would always answer “yes” whether I did or not, then they would tell me, “I love you,” to which I eventually began responding, “I love you, too” for reasons that evaded me. And so, without signing anything or taking any oath, I joined the Christians of the Wesley Foundation at Louisiana Tech, and they received me gladly. I began to worship with them, warily lifting my voice to sing songs that I did not understand but seemed good to me. I began to hear the Gospel proclaimed in ways that made me think my financial plans and familial aspirations might not be as important to God as I had thought, and even that there might be things He wanted for me that were far better. I began to receive the Body and Blood of Christ Jesus, given in bread and wine, twice a week. 

And the Spirit of the Lord began to move in my life and in our life together, and it came to pass that I belonged to the Wesley Foundation and to God, whom we praised.

I learned at the Wesley Foundation that the Bible tells the story of God’s people. I learned that the story of the Bible is not confined to printed words on a page but that the Scriptures are inspired truth that permeate all of reality and imbue each and every one of us with purpose. The story of Scripture is our story. This came alive to me perhaps most vividly in Ezekiel’s vision of the Valley of Dry Bones:

“The hand of the LORD came upon me, and he brought me out by the spirit of the LORD and set me down in the middle of a valley; it was full of bones. He led me all around them; there were very many lying in the valley, and they were very dry. He said to me, "Mortal, can these bones live?" I answered, "O Lord GOD, you know." Then he said to me, "Prophesy to these bones, and say to them: O dry bones, hear the word of the LORD. Thus says the Lord GOD to these bones: I will cause breath to enter you, and you shall live.”

– Ezekiel 37:1-5 NRSV

I recognized myself in that desert of bones. I recognized how brittle and scorched all of my desires for family and wealth and career were and how they were really desires to keep myself safe from a God I did not trust to love me well, to make my own way in this world without needing anyone. But I also recognized how the prophets of the Lord – those Wesley Foundation Christians – had come to me in boldness and kindness, proclaiming unashamedly in both word and deed, “Thus says the Lord God to you, O Bones: I will cause breath to enter you, and you shall live.” And as they prophesied, so it was. My skeletal being knew sinew and muscle and water and the joy of new life in Christ Jesus.

So it was that I was given the Christian vocation. I knew my call was to join with my fellow Wesley Foundation Christians and speak the Gospel to the dry bones. I joined student leadership for my last two years of college, and after graduating served one year as a full-time Wesley Foundation missionary intern. And we preached and prayed and sang and prophesied, and the Lord added to our number day by day those who were being saved. I knew I wanted to do this work for the rest of my life, and so, with the guidance of the community, I entered candidacy for ordination as an Elder in the United Methodist Church and applied to seminary. I received my acceptance letter from Duke Divinity School and, upon completing my internship, packed my bags and a U-Haul for North Carolina. 

That was in the summer of 2018. In the nearly two years since then, I have learned that seminary is, among many other things, depressing. I wrestled with the question “Why?” for most of my first year before coming to this simple conclusion: seminary is depressing because it is not the Wesley Foundation at Louisiana Tech. Contrary to my expectations of seminary, I found myself surrounded once again by Christians-in-name-only, except that these Christians-in-name-only spoke a dialect of Christianese that used fancier words and longer, more complicated sentences. I despaired. Where was the honesty? The vulnerability? The shared commitment to a life spent worshipping Christ together with one mind? Where were the Christians I could share all of myself with and expect to be received with love and companionship? All of these questions and more crystallized into the subconscious fear I had suppressed since I came to the Wesley Foundation: what if I never find this again?

I found no comfort in this depression save for a few other Wesley alumni having similar problems finding a church community to belong to, confirming at least that my loneliness had nothing to do with my own character. I had flashbacks to the countless times alumni would come visit the ministry again and proclaim to us all, “Enjoy it while you can! This place is one-of-a-kind.” Now, I found myself wanting to warn my friends still in college about what awaited them on the other side. I mourned with my fellow alumni and began contemplating what it might mean to accept that I would never again live the kind of shared Christian life I had been blessed to live at the Wesley Foundation.

It is true that leaving the Wesley Foundation is a hard thing. I and other alumni often express the feeling that we are the Wesley Foundation Diaspora, exiled from our home and forced to make a life wherever and among whomever we find ourselves. But, while the pain of that is real and, in ways, good, I find it necessary to remind myself and all of us connected to the Wesley Foundation about the nature of God’s work among us. 

The landscape of the American Church has become a valley of dry bones. We are experts in speaking Christianese to ourselves and each other even as we lay scattered about in the arid heat. The call to preach life to these dry bones is upon each and every one of us, whether you are currently a Wesley student, alumnus, donor, or anyone who claims the name “Christian.” It is true that the Wesley Foundation is a special place, but it is also true that God desires to do what He is doing there in every Christian community. And it is true that He is already doing that work among many communities. The life of discipleship is God’s desire for all of His people. So, with all due respect to my fellow alumni and the hardship of moving on, it is simply not the case that the movement of the Spirit in and through the Wesley Foundation at Louisiana Tech is an isolated expression of God’s mission to revive His people.

The ministry of the Wesley Foundation at Louisiana Tech University is not to be seen as an anomaly of Christianity but as a prophetic witness to the work God desires to do right now in and through the communities of the American Church.

Our time at the Wesley Foundation should be cherished and mourned when it is over, but we must also recognize that the story of God’s salvific work in the world is continued through His call upon our lives to persevere in prophesying and preaching life in Christ Jesus to whomever we are sent. When we go from the Wesley Foundation and come to the valleys of dry bones and hear the Lord’s question within ourselves, “Mortal, can these bones live?", we can remember and know that the Lord has given us the Wesley Foundation as His answer.

Leaving the Wesley Foundation is a hard thing. But it is also an undeniably hopeful affirmation that God’s work in the world is far from done. As students leave every year, we may take joy in knowing that the breath of God floods the dry valleys of the world with life.

Trevor Blair is an alumnus of the Wesley Foundation. He served as an intern before moving to Durham, North Carolina to attend Duke Divinity School. Trevor is currently the pastor at Roseland United Methodist Church in Aberdeen, NC. He and his wife, Emily, live in Sanford, NC with their two dog children, Simon and Addie.