The Pastor's Wife (6 page)

Matthew Winkler was born on November 21, 1974, when older brother Daniel was sixteen months old. At that time, the Winklers lived in Fort Worth, Texas, a major industrial city dominated by aviation producers, and grain and oil merchants. Its historical role as cattle marketers and meat-packers earned the city its nickname, “Cowtown.” It was also where Matthew's grandfather, Wendell Winkler, a native of Port Arthur, Texas, made his mark with the churches of Christ.

Matthew's family had deep and substantial roots in this faith. By the time Matthew was born, his grandfather Wendell Winkler, a third generation Church of Christ pulpit minister, was director of the Brown Trail School of Preaching in Fort Worth. He had been spreading the word for thirty years in at least twenty-six states. He'd published nine books on biblical theology, among them the first five books in his “Sound Doctrine for Everyday Living” series and authored several smaller works, including one about the role of the preacher's wife.

Matthew's ancestors were pioneers in the movement that established the churches of Christ. Its history began in the early 1800s when preacher Alexander Campbell proposed a separation from the Presbyterian Church and a return to the primitivism of the first century Church, embracing the fundamental beliefs and fervor of the early
Christians. A new Christian denomination, the Disciples of Christ, was born.

In the early 1900s, another split erupted, led by those who felt that any denomination was wrong in God's eyes because it created divisions in the body of Christians, and that the existence of an umbrella organization over any individual congregation undermined the authority of Christ.

The new branch of the churches of Christ—unlike the United Church of Christ, a more liberal Protestant denomination—were all independent, autonomous congregations that reported to no headquarters or convention. Each Church of Christ, then as now, is governed by an all-male group of elders.

Wendell Winkler wrote that “the New Testament speaks only of local congregations…or the church embracing all of the saved.” He insisted that “Our Lord was undenominational so must his church be.” Winkler considered denominations to be unholy, man-made constructs and advocated for the end of them all:

Any name—Methodist, Baptist, or Lutheran—was wrong, he argued, because it was not contained in the scripture. Any rule of discipline—like the Presbyterian's Westminster Confession of Faith—was wrong because it set itself above and apart from the Gospel. Other churches
said that denouncing denominations was itself destructive, in that it divided and excluded other Christians.

Nonetheless, this philosophy drove the growth of churches of Christ in a broad swath of this country—from Pittsburgh to El Paso—in the twentieth century. There are congregations in all fifty states and in eighty foreign countries, with 3,500,000 adherents. The majority are in Tennessee and Texas, with Tennessee having the largest per capita membership.

Despite the lack of an over-arching human authority, the churches do have consistencies in their doctrine. All congregations sing
a capella
—no instruments are allowed in worship services, since they are not described in the New Testament. Critics of this policy point to numerous mentions of harps and lyres in the Old Testament.

Another universal belief is that the role of women in the church and the home is secondary to that of men. Women are not allowed to serve in any leadership position in the worship service—not even as song leader. This belief is validated by a verse in the Bible that exhorts women to be quiet in church. Many theological historians believe that this biblical admonition was nothing more than the reflection of a society where women were not educated, and that it is irrelevant in today's world.

In the churches of Christ, however, that verse is law. Each congregation decides where to draw the line. In some, a woman is allowed to teach children's Sunday School classes; in others, putting a woman in charge of the church nursery is considered an affront to God.

Young women raised in the Church were urged to willingly choose submission to the authority of men as a way of life. Pulpit preachers told the girls that women are treasured and uplifted in the churches of Christ and that the acceptance of submission was a gift from God to be cherished and embraced by every woman. Their mandated purpose on earth was to care for their children and support their men.

Another sharp distinction between the doctrine of the
churches of Christ and the Christian denominations centers on the rite of baptism. Most protestant and Catholic churches practice infant christening. In this ceremony, the parents present their baby to be anointed on the forehead with water from a baptismal font or basin. Like the Baptists, the churches of Christ do not perform this service, and believe, instead, in full immersion baptism. A participant in this rite walks into waist-deep water in a river or small pool designed for this purpose in the front of the church. The minister lowers the celebrant backward until the head is completely submersed. But the purpose behind this act differs greatly. Baptists believe that once children reach the age of accountability, in other words, achieve an understanding about the difference between right and wrong, they can be saved by accepting Jesus into their hearts and asking for forgiveness of their sins. They are then eligible for baptism, a prerequisite for membership in the Church. To the Baptists, this ritual is one that follows the example set by Christ. It is a public affirmation of faith and a symbolic resurrection to a new life.

In the churches of Christ, however, full immersion baptism is an essential ingredient for salvation. It literally washes away sin. Without it, a soul is doomed to hell. Because of their belief that this form of baptism is the only way to avoid eternal damnation, many Baptist ministers have labeled churches of Christ a “sect” or “cult.”

The churches of Christ provide an inflexible outline for living life, worshiping and raising children. Some Christians are turned off by this rigidity. Others find their black-and-white approach comforting.

The Winkler family emerged from the churches of Christ as a multi-generational dynasty. Matthew's father, Dan, began his ministerial career five years before Matthew's birth. As a high school student, Dan preached at a little church in the country. He continued delivering sermons through his college years. After graduating, he stepped into the pulpit full-time at the age of 21.

Dan met Diane while they were in college. They mar
ried in August of 1970. After graduation, Diane became a school teacher. During Matthew's childhood, the family moved from state to state, following a trail of pulpit positions. They moved from Fort Worth to Greenville, Texas, a small city northeast of Dallas, in the Blackland Prairie. Then to Woodbury, Tennessee, a small town southeast of Nashville, situated halfway between Murfreesboro and McMinnville. When Matthew was 5 years old, the family grew by one more boy, Jacob.

Then Dan moved on to the Huntingdon Church of Christ—in a town a little more than an hour's drive from Selmer. Matthew attended sixth and seventh grades, and played football at Huntingdon Middle School before Dan accepted a position at the Beltline Church of Christ, and the family moved to Decatur, Alabama, the seat of Montgomery County, on October 6, 1988.

Decatur is perched on a hill overlooking the Tennessee River. It began its life as Rhodes Ferry, named after the crossing established in the 1810s. Incorporated as Albany in 1821, a directive issued by President James Monroe changed its name to honor Stephen Decatur, renowned United States Navy commander, who was killed in a duel.

During the civil war, Yankee troops burned the city to the ground—only three buildings survived the conflagration. The city rose from the ashes despite the additional decimation caused by two yellow fever plagues. From that building spurt, the town now boasts the most intact Victorian-era neighborhood in Alabama.

Like Mary's hometown of Knoxville, Decatur was nestled on the Tennessee River, and benefited from President Roosevelt's creation of the Tennessee Valley Authority.

Dan assumed his new position as pulpit minister for Beltline Church of Christ, a well-established congregation—they had their first service under a big oak tree in 1931. Under Dan's leadership, the church grew, reaching 425 members, and built a new activity center with offices, work-rooms, fellowship rooms, a benevolent area and several classrooms.

Matthew enrolled at Austin High School and played on the football team as an outside linebacker on defense, and fullback on offense. All three of the Winkler boys played football. Dan and Diane told each one of them to exercise their force on the field, but to always remember there were different expectations elsewhere. “Be nothing but a gentleman off the field.” They believed all of their sons lived up to this ideal. They never saw any evidence that Matthew was emotionally or physically abusive to anyone.

His football coach, Dyer Carlisle, told reporter Tonya Smith-King of
The Jackson Sun
that the two older brothers were both hard-nosed players. Matt trained all summer long lifting weights to be the best player he could be. “The only difference between Daniel and Matthew, Matthew was more, probably more spirited. Daniel was even-keeled. And I mean this in a positive way, but Matthew, he would really get fired up. I mean, he really got into the game, he was very emotional…

“He was very passionate. As coaches, that was a good thing…Matthew was one of our best hitters. He was just pretty much a coach's dream to work with…I could see him maybe having a temper, but the only time I ever saw it was in relation to getting fired up about a game. He was a really tough-minded kid on the football field…” but “…he left it all on the field. He didn't bring it into the locker room or the community.”

The coach also appreciated his star player's parents. “Even when things weren't going well with the team, let's say, they were always positive and always supportive. They were just the ideal parents to work with.”

In addition to football, Matthew liked swimming, going to movies and playing Nintendo. He was active in the Lads to Leaders program at his church. He got involved in the puppet teams—putting on shows designed to tell the story of the Gospel to children—public speaking and Bible reading, and traveled to Nashville for competition with teenagers from other churches. He took to speaking in public as if he'd been born for the pulpit.

Matthew's charismatic personality came to the fore-front in these years. He was well-liked by fellow students, but he never had a steady girlfriend. His high school friend and football teammate Scott Fuller told
The Jackson Sun
, “I think more than anything I remember about Matthew was his love for life. He was always a comedian. He never got down about anything.”

His universal popularity compelled his classmates to elect him “Mr. Austin” in his senior year. He received another honor when he was named one of the escorts for the school's Miss Bruin Pageant. He wasn't as intense academically as his older brother. Daniel usually received straight A's. Matthew was a solid A and B student, though. He graduated in 1993.

After graduation, Matthew felt a call to the ministry. Although Dan and Diane were careful not to pressure any of their children to take this path, they were delighted. Dan said, “We told all three of our sons if they wanted to preach, we would help them any way we can, and if you do not, we will help you any way we can.”

Matthew followed his older brother to Freed-

Hardeman University in Henderson, Tennessee, a small town of 5,600 located between Selmer and Huntingdon. It was a pretty, compact campus sitting on a hilltop, the clusters of converted old houses and newer brick buildings broken up by green space and trees.

The church's influence over campus life was apparent. “Modesty and appropriateness” were mandated in clothing and hair styles. Unless actively engaged in athletic activity, students were prohibited from wearing shorts in public. Attendance at chapel was a daily requirement. There were separate dormitories for male and female students. Only once during the school year were students allowed to go into the dorms of the opposite sex. That was on Halloween, where they were allowed to trick-or-treat at each other's residences.

In 1994, Matthew's parents moved from Georgia to Nashville, where Dan served eleven years as the pulpit
preacher of the 1,300-member Crieve Hall Church of Christ. One year later, Matthew met and fell for another student, a year older than he was. After dating her for three months, Matthew knew it was serious. In October 1995, she placed a call to her mother and father saying she was coming home for a visit, and bringing along someone she wanted them to meet. Before the weekend was over, Matt asked Clark Freeman for his daughter's hand in marriage. Six months later, wearing her mother's satin wedding gown, and preceded by nine pink-gowned bridesmaids, she walked down the aisle. Matthew sealed his fate on April 20, 1996, when he recited his wedding vows in Knoxville, marrying Mary Carol Freeman.

At the end of the academic year, the newlyweds both dropped out of school to save up money. They moved to the Knoxville area and into a tiny apartment in Louisville, a small town outside of the city. Matthew got a construction job working for his new father-in-law.

That summer, Matthew started shouting and yelling at his wife on a regular basis. Mary never understood what she did to provoke that behavior. Perhaps he was uncomfortable being dependent on Mary's father for his paycheck. Perhaps he was bitter about terminating his schooling. Whatever the cause, an angry Matthew was intimidating. At 6'1", he was still built like the linebacker he once was. Riled up, he paced the floor and waved his arms around—seeming to be everywhere at once. When making a point, he'd poke his fingers inches from Mary's nose. If she stood up for herself, he'd say, “That's your ugly coming out.”

On one occasion, he sat her down and shouted, “You are my wife and we are a family now! Quit inviting your brothers and sisters over, and stop going over there all the time!”

They eventually returned to Henderson, where Matthew continued his education and Mary became the family breadwinner. She got a full-time job in the deli at Piggly Wiggly. Their first child, Patricia Diane Winkler—named for Mary's deceased sister and Matthew's mother—was
born in the Jackson–Madison County General Hospital at 3 o'clock in the afternoon of September 30, 1997.

Matthew graduated with a degree in Biblical Studies in 1998 and accepted a job as youth minister at the Goodwood Boulevard Church of Christ in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. It was the first time Mary ever lived outside of Tennessee and she grew more homesick with each passing day. Matthew was not happy, either, being so far from his family. He searched for a new opportunity in his home state.

Mary's feelings of separation grew even more intense when her mother's life began to fade with the onset of cancer. Mary was pregnant with her second child when her mother passed away on April 10, 1999. With the death of Mary Nell, Mary's adopted siblings turned to her for help, guidance and comfort even more than before.

Matthew found a new youth minister position at the Bellevue Church of Christ in Nashville in June of 1999. He and Mary purchased a 1,300-square-foot home, still under construction, for $132,350 in Pegram, a town of 2,100 residents just nine miles from the church.

They moved back to Tennessee just in time for the birth of their second daughter. On Saturday, July 10, the furniture arrived at their new apartment and Mary began unpacking her household. On Tuesday, she went into labor. Mary Alice—named for Mary's mother and Matthew's great-grandmother—was born on Wednesday, July 14, five weeks premature. They nicknamed the baby girl Allie.

Their new home in the quiet hilltop neighborhood on Elkmont Place in the Grandview Heights subdivision was ready in September. It was not a good time for Mary. She was still grieving for her mother, suffering from a case of post-partum blues and caring for a toddler and an infant. Soon after, Matthew invited Mary's sisters and brothers for a visit at their new home.

Mary's family griped a lot about their infrequent visits with their sister. They were not pleased with Matthew's answer to their complaints: “Mary is not your sister like she was your sister when you were growing up. She is
married now. She has two children now. Her responsibility is here, with her new family.”

He was angry at their demands on Mary. The passion he brought to the football field and to the pulpit felt oversized when it was revealed in a small roomful of people. The Freeman clan left Pegram with the feeling that Matthew was controlling, domineering and mean. Where did Mary stand in this confrontation? Did she resent Matthew's interference with her family? In later years, she would agree with her siblings' view, but, at the time, she appeared to side with her husband; friends recalled the negative comments she made about her family at the time.

Parishioners at Bellevue Church of Christ developed contradictory impressions of their new youth minister and his wife. One would say that Mary was the friendlier of the two. Another would insist that Mary was an odd person with poorly developed social skills.

The conflicting opinions may have been the result of Mary's unsettled state of mind, which led to dramatic mood swings. She was again coping with the childhood loss of her sister—feelings resurrected when her mother died. Two back-to-back pregnancies exacted an emotional toll. Adjusting to two new neighborhoods and two new congregations in a short span of time created additional strain.

To complicate her life even further, soon after they moved into their new home, Matthew invited his college roommate, Glenn Jones and his wife, Brandy, to live with them while construction took place on their house next door. Four adults and two children crowded the Winklers' small home.

Mary wasn't the only one under the gun. Matthew felt driven by an intense, self-imposed pressure to further his career, to have his own church, to be something more than a youth minister. It was a matter of living up to his father's example, as well as earning a sufficient salary to support his growing family.

Committed to monogamy and the sanctity of marriage,
Matthew also discovered an uncomfortable fact—he and Mary were sexually incompatible. Matthew wanted to experiment. Mary was more traditional. When they were outside of the bedroom discussing various practices, Mary spoke her mind about acts that she did not want to do—that she didn't feel were natural.

Matthew agreed not to do anything that made her uncomfortable during sex but in the throes of passion, he often went back on his word. Nonetheless, Mary said that if she pushed him away or even made the smallest involuntary flinch, he always backed off. However, on those occasions that she gave no indication that she wanted him to stop, he continued.

Later, they rehashed the problem. Mary re-stated her objections. Matthew once again agreed to abstain from practices she didn't like—and then he'd lose sight of it in the heat of the moment. It was a never-ending cycle of disparate desires and expectations.

 

A scary event rocked the Winkler home in the spring of 2001. Matthew had tooth trouble and his dentist prescribed pain medication. The drug did not interact well with Matthew's system, and it resulted in ugly side effects. Matthew grew paranoid, convinced that someone—perhaps Mary—was out to kill him. He threatened to cut her brake lines. Then, in a fit of rage, he picked up a recliner and tossed it on its side. Mary called Matt's younger brother Jacob, but he was a thirty- to forty-minute drive away. Matt was ranting and raving, and Mary knew something had to be done immediately.

She slipped out of the house and heard Matthew lock the door behind her. With curlers in her hair, she ran across lawns to Glenn and Brandy's home. Brandy said Mary arrived laughing about Matt's behavior. Mary would say that she was ashamed by Matt and was “blowing it off” for the sake of her own pride.

The Joneses had a spare key to the Winklers' home. Glenn grabbed it and walked back over with Mary. He un
locked the door, ready to confront a violent Matthew. By the time they arrived, though, Matt's rage had dissipated and he was stumbling around in a daze. Jacob arrived a short while later. Both men spent the night watching over Matthew, making sure he would be okay.

 

Mary said that her husband was angry and threatening during their years in Pegram, but, she insisted, he was never physically violent with her—that didn't happen, she said, until they moved to McMinnville. Still, years later, Mary recalled McMinnville with great fondness, but described Pegram as a “hard place.”