I Went for a Walk

When it’s complete, there will be 54 houses in our new housing development here in Travelers Rest. Ours is on lot 51, and we moved in on Christmas Eve.  Today, I veered off the Swamp Rabbit Trail, down a new-to-me side road named  New Circle Road. But not before walking between two of the five churches within sight of our house.  Renfro Baptist is a typical congregation, with its traditional sanctuary with steeple sitting prominently on Main Street, backed by a child care facility and recreation fields. My grand son Sam picked it out when I asked, “Where shall we go to church today?”  The sign of the door announced, “No Church Today”. We were invited to board a church bus and ride to a sister church for a joint service.  Which we did, to no ill effect. Across the street sits the local franchise of the ten-campus megachurch known everywhere as Grace.  When I returned home, I scrolled through their website, noted all ten campus pastors are male, and read through their seven-part, 1,400-word “Foundation Doctrines” which lays out what is “essential for Grace Church practice and fellowship.” The longest is the five-paragraph dissertation on “Male and Female as Image Bearers and the Implications for Marriage.” You can pretty much guess what it says. New Circle Road brought me to Greenville Independent Baptist Camp Meeting, announcing “Every First Full Week of August.” Picture above. Behind the sign is the tabernacle, wooden structure, open on the sides, closed at both ends, and stacked with chairs. I’ll have to wait a few months, but until then I’ll be thinking about the song I learned from the American Spiritual Ensemble, “Walk Together Children, Don’t You Get Weary, There’s a Great Camp Meeting in the Promised Land.” Then came the red brick building with no sign hanging in the steel frame at the edge of the yard. I took a picture, then another. Across the street a woman came out of her house and walked to the fence. “I’m Rev. Dwight Moody,” I said with a smile.  “What can you tell me about this church.” It is a black church, she said, but it’s mostly a tax write-off. I did not know what she meant but did not ask for an explanation. “Do they have a pastor and Sunday worship,” I asked. She ignored my question and pushed the conversation in a new direction.  “You are a good-looking man…. Want to come to the porch and sit for a while.”  I declined her offer, stayed on my side of the fence, but could not ignore her slurred speech and unkept dress. She was apologetic. “I took some meds this morning and don’t feel well.” I never did discover the name of the church, if it is a church. I moved on, passing the double campus of Upcountry Church.  More than one sign announced “Available. Moving.” I knew about their plans because I had called two weeks ago. “We are moving out to Keller Mill Road,” the youth minister explained over the phone. I think he said their attendance had reached 300, but I am not sure. I am sure, though, there are plenty of options within walking distance of my new house. I have not mentioned the Church of Christ two blocks toward town or another Baptist church nearby. All of them, surely, will tilt heavily toward the conservative end of the religious spectrum. Which means I may just stick with SUNDAY IN THE HOUSE and its wonderful collection of saints, sinners, and seekers who have largely given up on red brick buildings and megachurches of all kinds. We haven’t given up on Jesus and that is what counts. Dwight A. Moody