“This Is to Certify…”

Robbie Colson Ramsey, Contributing Writer

When a bishop stands behind that sacred desk and proclaims the Great Commission hymn and his or her melodic voices rise from the pulpit—“Go, preach My gospel,” saith the Lord. “Bid the whole earth My grace receives”—my heart skips a beat. 

It is not just the beauty of the hymn or the power of the moment. It is the uncertainty. In the African Methodist Episcopal Church, conference season brings the possibility of transition. Will we return to our last appointment? Will we be assigned somewhere new? Will they welcome us—or merely tolerate us? 

These are questions not only for our husbands, the preacher—but for spouses, too. 

We are not the one standing in the pulpit. We are one seated in the pews, second or third row. Quietly praying and quietly bracing and quietly believing that this year, fresh manna will fall. 

I am the spouse of an African Methodist Episcopal Church preacher, or what John Wesley calls a “mission rider.” 

When a preacher lines that hymn, I do not just hear the call to ministry; I feel it–deeply– personally–constantly. 

Our entry into this life was not through seminary, but through sacred vows. We said “I do” not just to our partners, but to the pastoral life—a life that is always in motion. We are the sons and daughters of the itinerant, members of a quiet but essential order: the spouses who serve in silence, intercede in the shadows, and stand beside the one called to lead. 

Though the robe and microphone belong to my pastor, the calling of spouses reaches into our home, our calendar, and even our private moments. It arrives in midnight phone calls, urgent hospital visits, and the collective heartbreaks shared in whispered conversations and tearful prayers. 

This role is sacred.  

And still—on Sundays, we watch the one we love, speak with clarity, boldness, and conviction. I know I sit with pride because I know the road to that pulpit was paved with sleepless nights, hard-fought faith, vacationless summers, and no dates on Saturday night.  

But as the hymn continues, “Explain to them My sacred Word; Bid them believe, obey, and live.” 

That commission is not just for the preacher. It for all of us who stand beside, behind, and sometimes ahead of the one who is publicly called to lead God’s people.  

So when the preacher steps to the mounted desk, I sit up straighter. I whisper a prayer. I gather myself. Because the call is a collective one, it is a call for everyone in the family. Time and time again, we say “yes.” And even with shaky legs and sweaty palms, I say “yes”—again.