Pastor Barry Ashbrook - From Cats in the Outhouse to Riding in a Police Car: My Journey in Ministry

Gods Call

To fan the flame of the gospel and the call to preach, came one evening at a camp meeting of the Virginia district of the Wesleyan church. I do not recall the message of that evening, nor the exact words God spoke to my heart, but I knew God was about to make a change in my life.

It was as Shorty and I were traveling home to Hopewell from Blackstone, Virginia, where the camp meeting was being held that I began to tell her what I had felt in the service.

Route 460 East was a dark four-lane road, but the darkness and quietness of the drive seemed to make it so easy to share what I felt. I was not sure of any of the details concerning when or how God would bring things about. I only knew that I wanted to be used by God for his service.

As I recalled, I kept my eyes forward on the road the entire time, wondering what Shorty would think of my announcement. After I told her what I had felt God was telling me, there was a few moments of silence, and then Shorty said, God called me too. My heart felt so relieved that she would be in agreement with my decision, yet we both felt an immediate fear of committing ourselves to ministry.

I turned the car around and went back to the campground, where my pastor, Edsel Burgess, was staying. We just had to tell him about our decision. Brother Burgess seemed unsurprised at our news; in fact, he said to his wife, Donna, I knew it was just a matter of time that this would happen. We left for home the second time that night. That, I believe, was 1977. We were driving a 1975 Chevrolet Impala. Our daughter, Kimberly, was in the back seat. She was two years old, and I was twenty-three.

Some time had gone by, and one day at work, God reminded me of his call. I was sitting in a warehouse office, taking a break and reading out of my little New Testament that I kept in my black plastic lunchbox. The scripture that I was reading was Romans 10:1415, How, then, can they call on the one they have not believed in? And how can they believe in the one of whom they have not heard? And how can they hear without someone preaching to them? And how can they preach unless they are sent? As it is written, How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!

Gods spirit flooded my soul, and again I knew God wanted me to make a move. However, the fear of being called to some little white church in the outermost and fear of my family living in poverty caused me to move very slowly toward the goal of full-time ministry.

Within the next few years, our home church in Hopewell changed over to a new pastor. He was a man who wanted to see people come to the Lord, no matter what their race or nationality. My father-in-law, Jewel Nichols who was the milkman for our city, gave him new names of families that moved into the area so the pastor could go and see them.

As the different races of people began coming to our church and even desired to become members, I discovered that there was an underlying prejudice among some in the church. I remember one time, one of our young people refused to accept the offering plate that was being passed by a young Black man. I later discovered that this was only the outer layer of their prejudice; it was deeply ingrained in them by years of family prejudice.

Shortly thereafter, others began to show their dislike that people of color and other nationalities were attending our all-White church. Our pastor was given an ultimatum by some of the leaders, that he was not to knock on any more doors unless Whites lived there. It was more than our pastor could take, and so he resigned after being there for only eight months.

I was a member of the local board of administration at that time, and I was ashamed of those who were showing such hatred toward fellow Christian brothers and sisters just because their skin was not the same color as theirs. I decided I could no longer be a part of the church, so I resigned from my position on the board and left the church where I had been attending since I was six years old and where I was married and saw my children baptized. Leaving was the hardest thing I had ever done. I became depressed and constantly struggled with where to lead my family to church. We tried several churches in the community but always felt homesick for our home church.

One particular Sunday morning, after getting ready to go to yet another new church, I decided I wasnt going anywhere. I was just tired of the search. This was not like me because I didnt miss church unless I was sick or had to work. Kimberly, who was about six, came over to me and asked, Daddy, isnt Jesus in all churches? You could have knocked me down with a feather.

We began attending a Nazarene church in Richmond called Southside Nazarene, which we enjoyed very much. It was a large church, not at all what we were used to. At one of the morning services, someone sang a song which had these words in it: In our hearts are many kingdoms, kingdoms both great and small, but if he is not Lord of everything, then he is not Lord at all. My heart was cut to the quick, and I knew that I had been dragging my feet about going into ministry. That day I reaffirmed my call and told my dad-in-law that I must go into full-time ministry.

One day, I met with the pastor of Southside to share with him about my call into ministry. His name was Rev. Thompson. He told me that he could get me started right away into the Nazarene ministerial study program. However, he said, Why dont you give the Wesleyans another try? There is a Wesleyan church just down the road, why not go and talk to the pastor there?

This was the first time that I had actually met Rev. Thompson, but I was so impressed that he would give me that advice. After all, there I was a young potential minister that he could have recruited for his denomination and probably received some praise from his higher-ups, but he cared more about my future happiness to remain in my own denomination.

The next Sunday, we attended the Calvary Wesleyan Church in Southside Richmond. It was raining, and there was just a handful of people in the adult Sunday school class, and the worship service was also poorly attended. The next evening the pastor of Calvary called to tell us that he had enjoyed our visit and asked how did we like the church. I told him that the small attendance reminded me of my home church, and I didnt think we would be back. He asked me if we would give them another try, so we did, and we remained there for about five years.

Pastor Wilson was the chairman of the districts board of ministerial standing, which was a group of both laymen and ministers who help young pastors get started into the Wesleyan study program. Pastor Wilson got me started right away. I began my journey to being an ordained minister in the Wesleyan church. That year I took my first class, it was called New Testament Survey. That was 1983, six years after the Blackstone camp meeting. I was twenty-nine years old.

The course of study program was designed especially for men seeking ordination but still were working full-time. One of the ways we could get a course done was to attend one of our church colleges during their fall and spring break. We were to complete a whole semesters course in one week.

My New Testament Survey Course was being offered at our church college in Central South Carolina. We stayed with some friends and drove for about an hour every morning to class. Shorty and the kids were with me, and so she and the kids sat out in the car the whole time I was in class! I told you she was something else! Taking the class was quite a task. We had to read about a hundred pages a night and work on the study guide that covered the reading for that night. I had never been a dedicated reader, so that was difficult for me, but it had to be done because, at the end of the week, we had the exam that would go toward our final grade. I would like to say, I got an A, but our professor, Dr. Ken Foutz, had to give me a C+. But hey, that was better than some of the grades I got in high school.