“Call him John Ed,” his wife tells me. “Everybody does.” And by everybody, she means everybody. All of Montgomery and half of Alabama is on a first-name basis with John Ed. After 30 years as senior minister at Frazer Memorial United Methodist Church, John Ed has become the city’s pastor.
“One elderly man came up to us just last night and started referring to John Ed as ‘my pastor.’ He’d never been to Frazer, but watched every week on television,” said Lynn Mathison, his wife of four years.
Lynn is a southern belle in sandals. With her presence and easy grace, she might have been Miss Montgomery. She is John Ed’s second wife. His first, Joan, died of cancer in 1995. Lynn and John Ed host a daily devotional program on TV.
But despite the notoriety, John Ed seems unaffected by it all. Most everybody who enters the church’s new athletic complex he calls by name, and most of them come over to shake hands or hug him. In this setting, John Ed seems much like a small church pastor in a small town. You wouldn’t think he pastored what was for many years the fastest growing United Methodist church in the nation, still the church with the highest Sunday school attendance in the denomination, and the gold standard for Methodists in the South. It’s a megachurch not many outside the region have heard of. The church has grown steadily and quietly over three decades. John Ed’s method is one of timing and time—”a long obedience in the same direction,” as Eugene Peterson puts it.
To look at this couple, hugging babies at the snack bar and gabbing with senior adults on the walking track, you wouldn’t think retirement is the next major event on their calendar. But John Ed is 65, and the denomination requires retirement from full-time ministry at 70. Touring the new courts fresh with the smell of varnish, listening to John Ed’s stories about the 86 youth basketball teams the church hosts each week, I have to wonder how he did it—and still does.
I never planned to leave
Getting John Ed to analyze his 30-year ministry in one location is not easy. He lives in the present. Most of his stories begin: “Let me tell you about something that happened just last wee—” until we talk about his father.
“My father is a Methodist minister. He is 92 now, and still preaches every Sunday—stays booked six months in advance.”
Cy Mathison has served as a model for both his sons. The elder Reverend Mathison pastored churches in Alabama and northwest Florida. Two of his pastorates lasted 12 years each.”Dad told me, ‘If you’re going to live in a house, you’ll build it better.’ So when I came to the church, I told the congregation that I wanted to stay as long as they would have me.”
John Ed’s brother, George, has pastored First United Methodist Church of Auburn for ten years. “When we were kids, he was always positive about the church,” John Ed says. “I never heard him say anything negative about the people.
“I followed Dad’s example, I guess. Most of the church trauma God is going to work out, so I don’t take the problems home. Not much, anyway. I’ve had something else that was more interesting waiting at home—my family, or sports. I don’t want to sound flippant here: I love church, I’m more excited about the church today than ever, I can’t wait until Sunday, but I don’t take church too seriously. Now tennis, that’s serious.”
John Ed is serious about sports. A standout on his college basketball team, he toured with Venture for Victory (which later became Athletes in Action) in 1960, touring Asia, playing various Olympic teams, and sharing the gospel with the crowds that came to watch them.
“People in Montgomery didn’t know I was a preacher in my early years. They knew me from basketball or tennis.” The church named the new athletic center for Mathison, who is also a perenniel state tennis champion.
When John Ed had hip replacement surgery three years ago, doctors told him he wouldn’t play tennis again, much less win the championship for his age bracket. Last year he won both state tournaments—again.
John Ed doesn’t give up. Like son, like father.
“When my dad reached 70 and retired from full-time ministry, the bishop asked him to go to a church that was near death and do its funeral. Close it down. Dad had nothing else to do, so he went. He found people around there and started inviting them. Instead of closing the church, he resurrected it and stayed 15 years. It became the leading church in the area, averaging 350 in attendance. They had to build another sanctuary and education building. Then he told them, ‘Y’all need more than a part-time preacher,’ and he retired again at 85.”
The elder Mathison retired a second time, then he helped build a retirement center in Panama City, Florida, which was named for him, complete with tennis courts.
“So, you can see, I’m not thinking about retirement in the usual sense. Why retire from something that God’s blessing and you’re enjoying?
Where longevity is the norm
In this land of double names, another man is almost as well known as John Ed. He’s Joe Pat.
Joe Pat Cox celebrated his fiftieth anniversary with the church in June. He told the staff-parish committee he would stay on as long as John Ed did, if they wanted him to. They do.
“He recommended me for this appointment. I told Joe Pat I would accept if he would continue to direct the music. I knew we could work together; we thought alike. I told him I wanted to stay long time and do what God wants us to do. We’ve been here together ever since.”
In 1972 the church was small and a bit shell-shocked. Construction of the interstate highway had wiped out their old neighborhood in a central part of the city. The church relocated to a barren cotton patch outside of town. The area was undeveloped and it looked unpromising at the time. Frazer was a small, blue-collar congregation, and their nearest neighbors were the local college campuses.
Mathison says the move was providential. He encouraged nervous members to look on the bright side. With the river and a swamp bounding the town on the other sides, theirs was the only direction the population could grow. John Ed preached three themes in particular: concensus, lay leadership, and a welcoming attitude toward new members.
“In my first church as senior minister, I learned the importance of concensus. The military base near us closed, and 60 percent of our membership moved away. There weren’t many left, and we couldn’t afford to be mad at each other or keep people out.”
People from the university campuses began attending Frazer, and the church’s growth has been steady, and in the long term, phenomenal. Today Frazer has 4,700 attenders every weekend.
Mathison preaches the importance of volunteer leadership at the ministry conferences the church holds each year. Frazer’s annual stewardship campaign, “In His Steps,” secures pledges for the budget and workers for the ministries; 90 percent of Frazer members are engaged in ministry.
Most of Mathison’s staff began as volunteers or part-timers, and some have have served twenty years. “We ask for a commitment of at least five years. That’s essential to church growth and spiritual growth,” he says. “Again, if you’re going to live in the house, build it well; if not, you can throw up any old thing.”
“After a couple of years, you begin to build up trust with a congregation. If pastors don’t stay long, then the people are afraid to step out of the boat. And eventually, the community begins to trust you and accept your leadership, too.”
Like they time they fought the lottery.
Partners, not competitors
Alabama’s current governor, Don Siegelman, was elected on the promise of a state lottery. Polls showed the people would vote for it. When he began rallying for its passage, pastors in Montgomery, the capital, banded together—across denominational and racial lines—to oppose it. Mathison preached against it on television. The lottery was soundly defeated. “That was a miracle nobody expected,” John Ed summarizes.
“Governor Siegelman called me. He was shocked. Everybody was shocked. He said, ‘You probably want to thank me for being the one person who could bring all y’all preachers together.'” Mathison chuckles. “And he did.”
But the churches in Montgomery have rallied for other causes: racial reconciliation, pro-life campaigns, medical missions. Frazer Church was a leading organizer among 112 churches in the Convoy of Hope in April, a health and job fair and food distribution that drew 7,000 needy people.
And the church recently teamed with First Baptist Church to solicit participants for the national bone marrow registry. Two thousand people registered, at a cost of $40 each.
The local newspaper interviewed Jay Wolf, First Baptist’s pastor of ten years. They asked him, “How does it feel to do something with your biggest competitor?” Jay’s comment was “John Ed isn’t my competitor; he’s my partner.”
The pastor needed friends
John Ed and his first wife, Joan, had served the church more than 20 years when she was diagnosed with cancer. “She told the people, ‘I’ve shown you how to live, and now I’m going to show you how to die.’ And she did.”
During her illness, a group of men who had surrounded John Ed as friends and confidantes, became even closer. “That reminds me of a funny thing that happened—” John Ed says, starting a story about a trip his friends made to visit him and Joan while she was hospitalized. The turn is typical; John Ed lives on the sunny side. Even recollections of hard times lead to amusing anecdoctes.
In the years after Joan’s death, he needed that circle of friends. They encouraged him in grief and protected him when he became Montgomery’s most public (if not most eligible) bachelor. “I’m sure people in my previous church would have supported me, but after 15 or 20 years here together, there’s a deeper quality to our friendship. They didn’t try to mother me, but they always let me know they were available.”
Some pastors are warned not to grow too close to people in their congregation. John Ed disagrees. “Lynn and I are in a supper club. When we’re asked to see people socially, we do. If the danger is that we might grow closer to some people than others, well, we will. That’s natural, but that doesn’t mean I can’t minister to them all just the same.”
Both Mathison’s son and daughter married people they met at Frazer. And Lynn’s family is in the church, too.
Eugene Peterson would add: that’s the beauty of the longer pastorate, loving a group of people—even hurting, sinful people like ourselves—over a long time, and letting them love us back.
Tell me when to go
When we asked some of our editorial advisers about the longer pastorate, we thought we would hear bucolic stories about the pastoral life and the shepherds who tend the same flock for the whole of their ministry.
Instead, they stunned us.
“One man I know is dismanteling 40 years of ministry, because he didn’t know when to leave,” an adviser told us. The pastors at our table feared staying too long more than leaving too soon.
Peterson, from the perspective of 29 years at a single church, warns: “Now it can happen that a long pastorate just puts you to sleep. That’s not good for either the pastor or the congregation. Hopefully, in those circumstances, a bishop or some church leader will step in and say, ‘Get out of here fast!'”*
Mathison shares the concern. “I don’t want to stay when it’s time to go. And I trust the people around me will tell me, if I don’t recognize it first. I’ve told my wife, ‘Don’t pamper me along.’ And I’ve told my friends and the church leaders to be honest with me. They have all agreed to covenant with me: when I’ve lost my edge, they’ll tell me. Then, I’m gone.”
All the pastoral staff over age 55 have met with the personnel committee to discuss their retirement plans, including John Ed. The pastor who raises the issue risks making himself a lame duck, but John Ed is willing to take the risk.
Last year, he brought his leadership together with the bishop of their conference to discuss the issue of succession. It was an unusual move in a United Methodist church, but a necessary one. Following a long pastorate is never easy, but the task is made more complex in the megachurch. A few pastors recently have passed the baton well, but the landscape is dotted with the shells of large churches that foundered after their dynamic, long-term pastors retired without a plan of succession.
Mathison doesn’t seem worried about his legacy so much as the future of his flock. “I feel a sense of responsibility. This is a strong church, but I want it to be stronger after I’m gone.”
In the meantime, he continues urging the congregation to look to ahead. A contemporary worship service, at which an associate pastor is the main preacher, is a growth hub now. And in March the church elected a long-range planning committee that will begin plotting the best use of the church’s 30 acres over the next 20 years.
“A couple of guys came up to me this week and said, ‘I’m glad you’re doing the planning. It’s an indication that you’re not going to sit down and coast.’ It made me think, if I didn’t want to plan for the future, then I ought to retire.”
Eric Reed is managing editor of Leadership.
*Eugene Peterson was interviewed by Christian Century (3/13/02).
Copyright © 2002 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.
