This is from JohnCarl Hastings’ FaceBook post on April 13, for sharing in April, 2026 Prayer Email.

Early in my sophomore year of college, after leaving the small schools I’d known my entire life, I found myself a bit unmoored on a large campus. Like many church kids before me, I eventually wandered into the Auburn Wesley Foundation on a Wednesday night for dinner and Bible study. At the door stood the towering figure of David Goolsby, who extended a hand, fixed me with a serious look, and said, “Name’s Goolsby.”

We did the usual college introductions until David realized my last name matched a tall and lanky vet student he had served with years earlier at Auburn UMC. His face lit up. “If you’re Joe’s son… that means your grandfather is—”

“Joe Ed,” I said.

David got really excited and said, “I’ve gotta show you something.”

He pulled me out of line and pointed to a water stained ceiling tile dripping into a trashcan. “Back after your parents left Auburn, this whole building looked like that.”

David went on to explain that In the late 1980s, the Alabama–West Florida Conference faced a decision: either invest seriously in campus ministry at its largest university or limit its efforts during a difficult economy where churches were struggling. David had pitched an ambitious vision—a renovated and expanded Wesley that would reach and equip students for service in the church and the world. His only roadblock was the Conference Treasurer, deeply committed to stewardship amid declining giving, who was not jumping at the chance to spend tons of capital on college students. That Treasurer was the Rev. Joe Ed Hastings.

David and Joe Ed went back and forth, wrestling with vision and prudence, calling and caution. Finally, by a single vote, the Council on Finance recommended funding the renovation.

At Annual Conference, Joe Ed presented the budget and the debate resumed from the floor. Was it wise to invest significant resources in this economy toward a population not known for its commitment to tithing? David braced for the budget line to be stripped. Then, he excitedly told me, “Joe Ed stood up and fought for that money like it was his own idea!”

The renovation passed and for the next three decades, Auburn Wesley became a standard for campus ministry across the conference and beyond. It produced pastors, professors, doctors, teachers, social workers, and countless disciples whose stories converged in that building on South Gay Street.

Early on Good Friday, Poppa Joe crossed the threshold of heaven to sit at the feet of the One he had spent 98 years pointing others toward. In our United Methodist funeral liturgy, we hear Jesus promise in John 14 that He goes to prepare a place for us. When Thomas asks how the disciples can know the way to that place, Jesus answers simply: “I am the Way.”

That verse is often used to make arguments about belief and how to get to heaven, but it strikes me differently now. We find the place God has prepared by following the One who shows us what God is like. And perhaps Jesus knew that those who would follow after him would go about preparing places as he had so that others could come to know The Way as well.

When I think of Poppa Joe, I think of him as someone who quietly prepared places: the communion table he set with care in the churches he served; the carefully mowed lawn where grandchildren played; the hum of the Doxology before family meals and his rush to wash dishes so the table would be ready again; the dirt on his clothes as he dug out the boathouse at what would become The Lake—a place where generations of our family now gather to rest and be together.

As David finished his story that night in 2006, he gestured around the building and said, “Everything you see here traces back to your grandfather having the faith to follow the Spirit, even when his head told him otherwise. It’s not a stretch to say that without Joe Ed, none of us would be here.”

And he was right. For the next four years, I lead a dozen Bible studies (as Pop had), preached a few sermons (Pop preached a few more than that), led one-thousand Chris Tomlin songs (he really didn't care for contemporary music), and ultimately heard a call to the very ministry Poppa Joe had given his life to decades earlier. A place had been prepared for me - to find myself, to hear God more clearly, and to learn how to more faithfully follow the Way.

David finished his story, looked around once more, let his big smile linger for a moment, then slapped me on the back, pushed me back into the dinner line, and said, “Welcome home.”