| This is an article I wrote in June 2000 for the newsletter of Westminster Presbyterian Church in Sacramento, the church I grew up in. |
Merrill’s Robe
I was only a few months old when I was baptized at Westminster, and ever since then, you, the members of the congregation, have been making good on the promises the church made that day to raise me in the faith. I know I was no picnic to have in a Sunday school class, but the people who taught me seemed to have the patience of saints. There were always plenty of you there to hear my sister Jill and me sing in musicals or in worship. In junior high and high school, members of the church worked hard to form youth groups where I felt loved and safe while learning about God and about myself. The Presbyterian Women raised money so that I as well as others could go to Triennium, the national Presbyterian youth event and learn about Christians from around the country, and there were always plenty of sponsors for our fundraisers and folks to eat the pancakes we made on Easter morning. The list goes on and on. What more could someone ask from a church? Well I got more.
While I was in high school, Merrill Follansbee, who was working part time at Westminster providing pastoral care, told me that he thought I would be a good pastor and that I should consider the ministry as a vocation. I politely told him that I was going to be an electrical engineer, thank you very much. He didn’t give up. Merrill said it enough times that it stayed with me in the back of my mind. The idea grew over the years, though I tried to fight it (that could be its own article!) and now I’m a second-year student at San Francisco Theological Seminary, preparing for the ministry. I’m not sure whether that would have happened if Merrill hadn’t planted the seed. That made what happened to me in late May extraordinary.
Eleanor and I were at the top of the hill where many of the seminary buildings are, having a graduation celebration under the stars with a number of fellow students when Eleanor and two other women started to feel cold. They went to the seminary clothes closet, which provides clothing for students and their families, to find some sweaters to wear. They were gone quite awhile, but when they came back, Eleanor had more than a sweater. She said that she had found a Geneva robe – the kind that pastors wear – that looked like it would fit me, and that there was a note on it that I should read. I held up the robe and looked at the note. It said that the robe had belonged to Merrill Follansbee, pastor and teacher, and that the one who wears it should honor his memory and his service to Christ. The robe fit perfectly. I don’t think it was an accident that we found Merrill’s robe that night. My parents are keeping it for me, and I do plan to wear it to honor Merrill’s memory, in gratitude for the gifts that he and the congregation of Westminster have given me. Thank you all!
Steve Whitney