The Waldensian Presbyterian Church in Valdese, North Carolina, has at last installed its new co-pastors. In the article below, Matt Matthews, one of the two new co-pastors, describes the installation service.
Rachel and I were officially installed as co-pastors of Waldensian Presbyterian Church in Valdese, NC, Sunday afternoon March 2. We had waited almost five-months thanks to the unwelcome visitation of Hurricane Helene whose wind and flood left much destruction in her wake, besides our best laid plans to be installed last October. In some ways, of course, we had waited our whole lives for this day.
Byron Wade, General Presbyter of the Presbytery of Western North Carolina, welcomed us for the 3 o’clock service of worship. Among the number in attendance were our three grown sons, significant others, dear cousins, local colleagues, some of our oldest friends, and church members and guests—a real communion of saints.
Byron got tongue-tied pronouncing my name. He called me Rat instead of Matt. The shoe fits. This was a perfect beginning and triggered the first of many ripples of laughter. Every worship service needs the oxygen of laughter. Humor is holy, or I’m a heretic.
A string quartet dove energetically into Bach’s Bist du bei mir, then the twelve robed ministers and elders of the installation commission bedecked with bright, red stoles processed with me and Rachel into the sanctuary robustly signing Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee to Beethoven’s fourth movement of his Ninth Symphony. This is as close to pageantry as most Presbyterians get.
In the moments it took Barrie Kirby to carefully climb the pulpit steps, open her folder, and pull out the pages of her sermon manuscript, I wondered how she’d pull this off. She looked nervous. Sermons for such stuffy occasions are often staid and woodenly delivered. After a further pause and transfigured by her bright smile, she pronounced, “We’re finally here!”
Another flutter of relieved laughter vibrated through the congregation. In those opening lines, she artfully raised a slack, homiletical sail up a tall mast that immediately caught a gust of wind. Our boat, as it were, grabbed that unseen power and surged into deep water.
Barrie coaxed us to the edge of our seats. She got us thinking about all the travel songs we knew. She asked us to call them out. The invigorated congregation, who I thought would be slumping into afternoon naps, threw out names. She’ll be Coming ‘Round the Mountain, somebody shouted. Precious Lord, Take My Hand, somebody yelled. On the Road Again. Row, Row, Row Your Boat. Take Me Home, Country Roads. And so forth.
Ancient pilgrims sang Psalm 121 as they journeyed to religious festivals up the mountain to Jerusalem; they are hence called Psalms of Assent. This travel-psalm, Barrie reminded us, assures us not only do we moderns travel together, God travels with us.
I felt challenged and comforted.
Rachel and I found ourselves holding hands when Bob Tuttle, an old friend and mentor from Montreat, and his wife charged us to seize the adventure ministry excites. If the wind slackens, I felt emboldened to grab a paddle.
Field and Laura Russell, in what resembled ecclesiastical stand-up, encouraged the congregation never to allow the perfect to be the enemy of the good. Enjoy this next chapter, they urged. More laughter ensued. We sang more hymns. As that music rose, I seemed verily to rise with it. Rebecca Heilman-Campbell, a child of our church and now a mother, wife, and Presbyterian minister in Charlotte, led us into the tenderest prayer for our church, the wider community in which she grew up, and the whole world. An offering was received to be divided between local and international partnerships. As is the case with new beginnings, vows were made.
A service of installation like this marks both an ending and a beginning. A page is turned. During the three and a half-year interim since our predecessor pastor had honorably retired, the church completed mission studies, welcomed two interim pastors, and undertook a grueling search. And now, by what we reasonably hope but wouldn’t dare presume to be the grace of God, Rachel and I have finally and officially arrived. Like a wall-to-wall carpet, we have been as securely installed as human hands can accomplish. We’ve not been anchored with tacks but with promises, which are stronger when it comes to matters of the heart.
Singing the closing hymn, the commission recessed out of the sanctuary in a solemn line. I can’t walk and read at the same time, so I hummed the familiar tune. Plus, something was in my eye. I felt lighter and relieved. By way of blurred, peripheral vision, I could see smiles abounded. The congregation seemed happy. We had agreed we would seek to do the work of the church in the world with energy, intelligence, imagination, and love. We promised we’d work for the reconciliation of the world. Naïve? Sure. But we need to dare to be naïve sometimes. The world needs bold promises made by people with a history of getting things done. I felt hopeful. 
Who knows what sacrifice might be required of us in these troubled times? That duty feels awesome, but so does this. We agreed we were in it together.
And Rachel and I were not leaving that sanctuary alone.
The new two co-pastors, pictured, are married to each other.
If you’d like to see the service, you can see it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-4EhsVcphiM
