The sun was setting, throwing a pale orange glow across the blue-gray sky as we drove into the gravel parking lot. The sign next to the white clad board country church announced that the service began at 7:00. We were almost a half hour early, so we pulled in next to the two parked cars and sat in the car and chatted about our day. After about ten minutes, a pickup truck arrived, driven by a bearded man in a sport coat and tie. I had not met him before, but Charlie recognized him immediately as the pastor of the church.
Pastor jumped out of his truck and opened my door for me, introducing himself and welcoming me to his church. His wife came around the vehicle. Holding out her hand, she said, “Hi, I don’t think we’ve met.”
After introductions, we crossed the parking lot, and walked up the wooden handicap ramp to the front door. Crossing the threshold, we entered the century-old auditorium. Two young women were at the piano practicing a duet. No one else had arrived yet, but soon a middle aged woman arrived with four attractive teenage girls behind her. They chose seats in the back row of the 50-seat room. Two of them plopped down and re-entered the world of their Christian novels while their sisters chatted.
Soon a woman, her shining gray hair streaming past her shoulders, walked in with a roll of fabric tucked under one arm. When the singers finished practicing, they descended the platform to talk with her. She unrolled the material. Inside was a quilted lime green table runner with appliquéd purple butterflies. I joined the trio to admire the piece and listened to their comments.
“I’m going to teach this young woman to quilt,” she told me, “so I’ve been bringing this table runner in to show her the various stages so she will know what it’s like.” I smiled and added a comment about the simple beauty of the piece.
Just then a family of four arrived. Charlie had met them, so he introduced me. I stood beside them, admiring their baby daughter as they talked.
“Here comes Father Abraham,” someone said laughing as a balding man with reddish hair walked in carrying a baby carrier. Behind him, his wife and four other children followed. “Father Abraham” put the carrier on one of the seats and turned to talk to the pastor. I peeked into the carrier to see a little boy beginning to fuss. His mom was engaged in conversation. So was his dad. They had not heard him yet. Quickly determining that it would not scare his mother, I bent over the carrier, unsnapped the harness and lifted him to my chest. Soon he was snuggling against me.
The baby’s mom turned and saw me.
“You don’t have to hold him,” she said. “I can take him.”
“No, please don’t” I responded. “I don’t get to hold babies often enough.”
Before long the pastor ascended the platform, and everyone took their seats – infants to elderly all in the same room doing the same thing. We sang. We prayed. We sang some more. When the singing ended, I handed my precious bundle back to his mom. The pastor announced the young adult activity for the weekend: chopping and stacking wood for one of the elderly men in the congregation. We bowed our heads to pray, and the pastor dropped to one knee by a chair on the platform and prayed aloud for the needs of the people. Then he preached a sermon on the need for repentance in the presentation of the gospel.
When the service was over, we stood around and talked. Charlie's friend took a pistol out of its holster to show to Charlie, and then reached into his wife’s handbag and pulled out a revolver. I looked over Charlie’s shoulder, listening to the men talk about the merits of each one. The pastor's wife joined us.
“Do you have a concealed carry permit?” she asked me.
“No,” I replied, briefly explaining.
When our conversation died down, we walked out from the brightly-lit auditorium into the darkness. Laughing voices followed us, and I turned and looked back. For just a brief moment, I thought I would see women in Victorian dresses getting into horse-drawn carriages because for that brief hour, I had been part of a community church where people were ready to support each other and leave their worries and masks behind, just as I imagined they had done a hundred years ago.
As we drove home, I wondered if we would ever encounter another church like it – a church where there is no nursery so families worship together, teens do ministry for their fun activity of the week, a mother willingly lets a stranger hold her eight-week old baby, and people share their everyday lives in the sanctuary.
Did anyone say, “Little House in the Big Wood?” I think I was there.
On Monday morning before we left, our host took us to see a few sights. This park is dedicated to the bikers who have travelled to the four corners of the USA. While it was interesting to see where people had come from,It also had an impressive view of the St. John River Valley and the Canadian city of Edmonston. The brick walkway listed the names and accomplishments of those who wished to be remembered here.
