Winter Wonderland Introduction

I am a member of the General Board of the Wesleyan Church. This diverse team of leaders from across North America is elected every four years to discern the direction and governance of the denomination. I was invited to join in 2022. During our first meeting, Reverend H.C. Wilson—who had been leading faithfully since 1984—announced his retirement.

He gave a farewell, and I listened intently. Here was a man whose leadership spanned longer than I had been breathing. I wasn’t about to let this moment slip by without gleaning some pearl of wisdom. As Rev. Wilson finished, the General Superintendent asked him to share advice with us as he passed the baton. What he said buried itself deep in my soul, reshaping how I see the Church in North America and our place on the cosmic timeline.

Rev. Wilson reflected on the Church’s summer: a season when faith saturated the culture. Sundays were sacred. No one dared schedule community events or even mow their lawns for fear of disturbing the stillness of Sabbath rest. Wednesdays were reserved for midweek services and Bible study. The rhythms of Christian living were woven into the very fabric of daily life. He didn’t romanticize it as utopia, but he painted a picture of a culture unmistakably influenced by the Church.

Then he spoke of the fall, a season marked by church growth booms from the 1980s to the early 2000s. This was the age of mega-churches and seeker-friendly movements, a harvest brought in by people who, though waning in moral conviction, still sought God. And because of the seeds sown in the Church’s summer, the Church was the place they came to find Him. Congregations ballooned with attendance in the thousands, celebrating a time of bountiful growth.

Then came the words that pierced me. Quietly, yet firmly, he said: “I think you all need to be preparing for winter.” He offered little explanation, but those words reverberated in my soul. I realized we’ve been in a spiritual winter for some time. Like the natural seasons, there’s a transitional phase where traits of both seasons overlap. But now, the chill has fully set in.

Winter gets a bad reputation, but it is hardly the time of death that many of us imagine. It is, instead, a season of preservation and rest. Yes, it’s cold. The days feel long, and the nights press in with an almost suffocating stillness. There is little natural activity beyond what is necessary to maintain life. On the surface, growth appears to have ceased altogether. Yet beneath the frost-covered earth, life is preparing—slowly, steadily—for what’s next. Energy is not lost; it is merely redirected. It turns inward, focused on survival, on staying warm, and on remaining alive.

In a natural winter, the light of the sun still graces the horizon, but the strength of its rays is diminished. It is visible, yet less felt. Similarly, in a spiritual winter, the light of the Son is still present, but His warmth seems distant. The joys of ministry momentum, fresh innovations, and explosive growth are replaced by a quiet perseverance. It is not the season for abundance or new blooms. Instead, it is a season for stillness, for preparation, and for holding on.

During the summer months, creation operates independently, each part doing its work and still producing bountifully. But in the winter, the rules change. Like penguins huddling in a blizzard, we draw closer to one another, not out of convenience or abundance, but out of sheer necessity. Have you noticed the increase in churches seeking collaboration? It is no coincidence. Winter forces us to recognize that we cannot thrive alone. This is not a season of harvest; it is a season to preserve what we have and to deepen our relational connections—for survival now, and for the seasons to come.

Winter has a way of revealing what’s hidden. In the summer and fall, the trees are full and lush, their leaves giving the appearance of size and strength. But as fall gives way to winter, the leaves fall, exposing the true structure of the branches. The decline in church attendance across North America over the last several years has acted much the same way. What once appeared abundant has been stripped back, and now we see the actual health and size of the Church’s branches.

I have to pause here to acknowledge that several social, political, and economic factors have contributed to these realities for the Church. I do not wish to over-spiritualize our world, ignoring the very real forces shaping our culture. But neither will I under-spiritualize it, because to do so would be to miss the truth. When Paul writes in Ephesians 6:12 that we “are not fighting against flesh-and-blood enemies, but against evil rulers and authorities of the unseen world, against mighty powers in this dark world, and against evil spirits in the heavenly places,” he is not simply describing spiritual warfare in abstract terms. He is pointing to a deeper reality: the systems of our natural world are always influenced by and working in concert with spiritual activity. The two realms are not separate but intertwined.

To ignore one in favor of the other is to lose perspective entirely. As spiritual beings with natural sensibilities, we must develop the discipline to see and respond to both. Without this discipline, we find ourselves anxiously fighting the winter wind, searching for a harvest when the season is calling us to something else entirely. Winter is not a time to force growth. It is a time to slow down, conserve energy, and press into the relationships that sustain us. It is a time to deepen our dependence on God and one another, preparing our souls for the spiritual year to come.

This blog series is born out of visions I’ve been experiencing during this winter. But… they aren’t really about winter—they’re preparation for the coming spring. While spring is often associated with warmth and emerging buds of beautiful flowers - the beginning of spring is riddled with conflict. The weather is erratic. The earth is eager to birth buds of tulips but the crisp air abruptly cuts through any progression. The sun is shining in the morning but by mid-day a bomb-cyclone can hold an entire county in a fist grip like a baby frantically clinching a lock of hair. Yes, the end of spring is calm and beautiful and growth is the inevitable result of the earth turning her face to the Son once again. But the beginning of spring is a time of tears. A thawing of creations heart fueled by the chaos of the ending of one age and the beginning of a new one.

Family, we are at the end of an age. I am not pretending to have secret knowledge of Christ’s return. I am simply putting to words what many are feeling in the spirit - this age is ending and a new one is emerging. And the intensity feels like more than just the end of a season for the Church. It feels, somehow, much bigger than that. This blog series will be my reflections during this season of waiting and coming time of conflict. Revelation talks about this conflict as a tribulation and while we often hope to escape this discomfort, it would be unlike Christ to invite His disciples to reign with Him and skip out on the suffering. The visions I have been receiving are images of the cross our generation of disciples have been instructed to carry. Rev. Wilson wasn’t passing a baton—he was lifting the cross he had carried through summer and fall and placing it on the shoulders of those called to carry it through winter and into spring.

May we wait well for the fullness of spring as we traverse this winter wonderland.