Five men shuffle into a dimly lit church gymnasium. Waiting for them are plates of lasagna, a tray stacked with chocolate chip cookies and a tall, skinny pastor younger than the guests arriving for dinner.
As the guys settle into their meals, Josh McClendon makes his way around the room, checking in with each man. It's become a routine since McClendon started opening the gym at his little church on Curtis Street in Rock Hill as a winter shelter for homeless men.
Many around the community remember McClendon's father, the Rev. Tim McClendon, who served as the pastor of Rock Hill's St. John's United Methodist Church for nine years until 2006.
Now, the younger McClendon is embarking on his own career in the ministry, though at 27, he still laughs at the idea of being called “reverend.”
With a beard on his face and flip-flops on his feet, McClendon doesn't exactly look the part. Friends tell him he looks like Eric Clapton or Abraham Lincoln. Occasionally, some will say Jesus.
But McClendon is serious about his desire to work with homeless men and lead his 150-member congregation at Bethel United Methodist Church in taking on the cause. McClendon became pastor of the church after graduating from seminary. He has worked there for the past two years while in school.
“Sincerity in your faith that overflows into action,” is how McClendon describes what he's trying to do. “Sometimes that's missing. That's what we want to happen here. Not just smiles and handshakes. But relationships, for real.”
On this night, McClendon pulls up a seat next to a man named Scott, a regular since the shelter opened four days earlier. Scott, who has been unable to make rent after losing his job at a fast-food restaurant, said he got kicked out of a house he was sharing with friends.
“A lot of folks kind of look down on us,” said Scott, who asked that his full name not be used. “They think we're bums, not trying to work or whatever. It didn't matter to him. He opened his doors right up.”
An unforeseen path
Growing up, McClendon never expected to follow his father into the ministry. The family moved from Cheraw to Rock Hill when Josh was in the 10th grade, and he did his share of partying at Northwestern High School, especially during his senior year.
When he got to Clemson University, McClendon said he became close with a group of buddies who loved to go camping on the weekends. They would look for thrills — climbing up rock faces or jumping off waterfalls — and then rate them according to the degree of danger.
Tim McClendon let his son follow his own path.
“He wanted our faith to be our own,” Josh McClendon recalled. “It was never an ‘I want you to follow in my footsteps' kind of deal.”
Josh McClendon went on scores of mission trips, from living in the Bahamas for six months during a hurricane relief project to visiting the Gulf Coast after Hurricane Katrina. He also spent two summers directing a Methodist camp for underprivileged youth.
When McClendon lost his grandfathers in close succession during his freshman year at Clemson, he started thinking about his spiritual life in a different way, his father said. McClendon earned a degree in civil engineering, but a career in that field didn't seem as meaningful.
Instead, McClendon found his way to Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary in Charlotte, where he graduated in May.
“That taste of mortality let him know not everything in life is permanent,” said Tim McClendon, now a United Methodist Church district superintendent for the Columbia region. “What you can do for somebody's soul is a lot longer lasting. That was a big influence on his desire.”
Pastor at two churches
These days, the younger McClendon doesn't have time for many camping trips. The district gave him what's known as a two-point charge, making him pastor at two churches too small to warrant full-time ministers.
Sunday mornings bring a hectic rush. After preaching during the 9:45 a.m. service at Philadelphia United Methodist, a 150-member church in western York County, McClendon jumps in his car and hurries to Bethel for a service that starts shortly after 11 a.m.
He keeps his pastor's robe on during the trip.
This is the third winter season that Bethel has opened its gymnasium to homeless men but its first in a full-time role. The church offered to step in when the Salvation Army turned its seasonal shelter into a place for women and children.
“It was a big thing for us to bite off,” said Daryl Dornbush, an elder at Bethel. “Once you start this, you've got to keep it up until the end of the season. This is part of Josh's ministry, and we're fully behind Josh.”
Bethel sits on a hill in the shadows of the old Aragon mill, a huge red brick building.
In the 1960s, when the mill was in its heyday, 300 people would cram into the Bethel sanctuary for services, even up in the balcony. Today, McClendon looks out over an audience that's maybe a third that size.
The young pastor is finding a new way to minister, one that might not fill the pews on Sundays but still makes an impact on those who need it most.
Matt Garfield 803-329-4063
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