Members fight leadership to keep 164-year-old church open

Caroline Roberts chokes up just talking about what may become of her beloved church.

She wonders what those 17 settlers who set down roots for Tampa's first Methodist congregation in 1846 would think. Or her great-great granddaddy, itinerant minister E. F. Gates, who came in 1872 to shepherd the flock. Worn Bibles in hand, they would gather for praise and worship in a building made of hand-hewn logs and clapboard siding affectionately called "The Little White Church."

Her grandfather preached here; so did her father. Roberts and her husband, Dale, married here. Their two children were baptized and attended Sunday school here.

Roberts, 77, figures she's invested most of her life in downtown Tampa's First United Methodist Church, either in the pews or representing the church as a community volunteer. The congregation is her second family.

Now that family may soon be breaking up.

This week, about 2,000 delegates of the Florida Conference of The United Methodist Church will vote on a recommendation to close the church, along with six others in the state. Their annual gathering is at the Tampa Convention Center this year, about 15 blocks from the church at 1001 N. Florida Ave.

Florida's bishop, Timothy Whitaker, says "discontinuance" recommendations aren't made lightly. TheTampa church's future has been under scrutiny for several years, and the subject of numerous meetings and reviews. But when a church is declining and its congregation deemed unable to effectively continue its ministry, "hard decisions have to be made."

While there's no getting around the sadness of the situation, Whitaker says, it's also an opportunity for a new beginning.

"In the bigger picture, our mission is not to be tied to a particular building, but to make disciples of Christ for the world," he says. "We have to be good stewards of the resources we have. All our congregations are going through a process of transformation because we're living in a new reality these days."

Roberts calls it a betrayal. She blames it on a windfall of money the church got last year – money that members believe was rightfully theirs to revitalize their congregation. But the money is being claimed by the conference's South Central District to invest in a new, as yet undetermined, urban ministry.

"I feel like I'm being excommunicated," Roberts says, her voice breaking. "We've been here 164 years, growing up along with Tampa. If these doors close, a part of me dies with it."

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It used to be a bustling place, the place of worship for the city's most prominent Methodists.

On the Sabbath, they gathered in their Sunday best, first to pray and then for pot-luck lunches in the fellowship hall. Other days of the week, members heeded their denomination's call to serve as Christ's emissaries, from visiting the sick to feeding the hungry. Members were instrumental in launching ministries and providing workers to nonprofits that still thrive today: Meals on Wheels, Metropolitan Ministries, Tampa Children's Home, Cornerstone Family Ministries, the Clothes Closet, Steppin' Stone Farm, Methodist Place.

In 1914, Tony Jannus piloted the first commercial flight from Tampa to St. Pete, using the spire of First United Methodist to navigate his way back to Tampa. Two of its high-profile pastors went on to become Methodist bishops. Several other Methodist congregations were spawned from this venerable mother institution, which helped provide guidance and spiritual support to the fledging churches.

Attorney Terrell Sessums, a former Speaker of the Florida House of Representatives, and his wife, Neva, joined the church nearly a half-century ago. He remembers sitting in the balcony with his children because the ground floor of the 450-seat sanctuary was typically filled to capacity.

"This was a thriving, vital congregation," he says. He volunteered tirelessly; one of his most satisfying accomplishments was serving on the building committee for the current sanctuary, which opened in December 1968. Back then, the future was bright and boundless.

But societal changes slowly choked the anticipated growth. As urban dwellers migrated to the burgeoning suburbs, some downtown churches began to lose attendance and stature. Young families that had populated dropped off to join churches in their own neighborhoods and others began flocking to contemporary, fast-growing evangelical Christian churches.

Though the practice is changing, Methodist ministers used to be routinely reassigned by the local bishop. Sometimes, the matches worked and turned into long-term partnerships.

First United Methodist's history of strong leaders ended "maybe about 20 years ago," Sessums says, as fewer pastors were willing to accept a downtown job with all its challenges: Less staff, an aging congregation, a smaller salary and operating budget.

"We haven't gotten the right matches here," he says. "We have challenges, and you need someone with the vision and energy to lead the efforts. Not everyone is suited for this particular situation."

In recent years, there have been a lot more funerals than baptisms at First United Methodist. Though the membership rolls claim about 150 people, average Sunday attendance at its one Sunday morning service draws about 50, and many of those are elderly. Still, thanks to bequests and steady support from members who can still tithe, the church pays its bills promptly, is free of debt and always contributes its full annual apportionment to the conference, upwards of $40,000. It has more than $100,000 in the bank.

And church members had the security of knowing they had one investment that was going to bring them big dividends: Methodist Place, a low-income senior residential housing project with 200 units across the street from the church.

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Nearly 40 years ago, church members formed a nonprofit entity to build the 14-floor complex with money from Housing and Urban Development. The project reflected the Methodist mission of serving the poor and the elderly; by partnering with HUD and setting up its own board of directors, it kept the business operation separate from the church. The church was considered a project sponsor, and members served on the board and provided volunteers, but the church and the nonprofit were not legally connected.

Two years ago, the board got an offer from Sage Partners, a south Tampa development group, to buy Methodist Place. The company is developing the surrounding neighborhood with affordable housing, and was in the process of purchasing the nearby St. Paul African Methodist Church property. As part of the agreement, which included negotiations with six different parties, Methodist Place would be renamed and folded into the urban redevelopment project.

The timing seemed right to sell, says board president and general contractor Jim Ware. Although he grew up in the church, he converted to his wife's Catholic faith and now attends Christ the King in Tampa. His connection is still strong, though; on Sundays, he and his siblings take turns driving their 99-year-old father, longtime member Earl Ware, to services.

"I see how close-knit this congregation is, and how much these people have contributed to our community," Ware says. "They have every right to be proud. They deserve to have a happier ending than what is unfolding now."

The $4.5 million sale was completed in October. The board was required by HUD to redirect about $2.5 million of the proceeds back into affordable housing. It accomplished that by loaning Sage money for capital improvements to the Methodist Place building. After paying off the remaining mortgage, the board voted on where to direct the rest of the proceeds.

It chose First United Methodist Church.

"We know they needed funding to jumpstart their plans to turn things around. With this money and the interest on the loan to Sage, this could have made that financially feasible," Ware says.

Officials at both the conference and district levels, however, didn't see it that way. In the guidelines set forth by the Methodist Book of Discipline, all church assets belong to the denomination, not the people.

After the sale was finalized in October, the money was put in trust by the South Central District. Church members were told they had until the end of December to develop a five-year plan for revitalizing and becoming self-sufficient. They scrambled to put together a proposal, which included hiring a new pastor to replace the departing minister, the Rev. Michael Frazier, a choir director and youth minister, and development of ministries that would serve the anticipated residential base as surrounding housing and mixed-use downtown projects are completed.

The plan was submitted by the deadline. Months passed. In April, the Rev. Sharon Austin, district superintendent, came to a church leadership meeting to tell members that the proposal was found unacceptable and not workable.

Austin told the Tribune that it was a "very difficult decision" to recommend closure, and it was not intended to be personally directed against the members. Though the finances and desire might be there to continue the church, that's not enough.

"Money needs to follow vision and action," she says.

The district is firmly committed to redirecting the money to another downtown ministry, once the best course is determined. The legacy of First United Methodist will live on, she says, and will be a fitting tribute to all the contributions the congregation made in its 164 years. The district will also provide support in helping members find a new Methodist church to ease the transition.

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"Am I upset? I would say angry," says Faye Culp, a former state representative. She and her husband made First United Methodist their home church when they came here 43 years ago. The fellowship and camaraderie they found back then still exists today, and she's not going quietly into the night. "We are very proud of our heritage and want to continue it."

In her opinion, and many others', this was all about the money. If Methodist Place hadn't been sold, "we would have been allowed to go about our business. We don't owe anyone and we pay our bills. Once we got that money, they really had no intention of letting us work on a revitalization plan."

Besides the money, the church's assets include an entire city block, with the sanctuary, an 85-seat chapel, an education building, a fellowship hall, an administration wing, sufficient parking and a south Tampa parsonage. Austin says there are no plans to sell the properties.

On May 4, members voted unanimously to stay open. Their voting representative will make their case at the annual convention, which opens Wednesday. They are asking for two years to aggressively work on a renewal program. They want use of the funds from the Methodist Place sale, including the interest from the loan to Sage, which comes to nearly $200,000 a year.

Sessums isn't too hopeful, but he says it was their only choice.

To voluntarily agree to close would have been "suicide," he says. To go before the voting membership, which usually goes along with recommendations made by the conference cabinet – comprised of district superintendents and the bishop – is like an "execution."

"It's a shame to think that years of effort, tradition and service will just be erased," he says. "I feel somehow that we failed by not carrying the mission of the church forward. It's just a sad situation."

mbearden@tampatrib.com

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