In the pre-padded-pew era, my
skinny behind polished plenty of rock-hard benches in country churches. Born with not much cushion between bones and my
sitting-down place, I mastered the art of squirming. I have several layers of
callouses back there. Credit goes to
my Baker County grandmother for the first layer. During my farm visits, Nanny believed that if
Pilgrims Home Primitive Baptist Church’s doors opened, her duty to God was to
plop me in one of those heart-pine pews.
As
soon as I was old enough to lash on a necktie, my dad assigned me to the flower
detail at too-many-to-count country-church funerals. I sweated and lugged sprays, wreaths, baskets
and potted plants by the thousands. As a
teenager, with my long arms, I could tote six potted plants in a dignified trot
from the sanctuary to the grave before the family ever got seated under the
tent.
Before
I went to the University of Georgia, I had already earned a Ph.D. in rural-church
visitation. But that did not stop my
affinity for quaint houses of worship. Even today, I’m apt to pull off the road
for a look-see. In that spiritual
atmosphere, walking through ancient cemeteries, I can feel history oozing into
my pores.
Sometimes,
I look at the crumbling houses of God and want to weep. I know how these churches—beyond
religion—knitted a sense of place and purpose into so many souls. Too often, I have sighed, “Lord, somebody ought to do something.”
This
year, I met two “somebodies” who are doing something before it’s too late. I want you to meet Sonny Seals and George
Hart, through their new book: Historic
Rural Churches of Georgia, published by the University of Georgia Press. This
coffee-table edition, loaded with 300 photographs, is something you should ask Santa
to put under your Christmas tree.
In
2013, these two Atlanta businessmen founded Historic Rural Churches of Georgia,
www.hrcga.org, with the purpose of
“researching and documenting some of Georgia’s most historic and
architecturally significant rural churches.”
George says he and Sonny first got into this for “fun.” But before long, others’ interest in the
project mushroomed, spawning the book and a campaign to raise funds to save as
many as possible of these structures and document their histories.
Powelton
Methodist Church, organized on June 27, 1822, in Hancock County is featured on the
book’s cover. In early October, I
sat—squirming a little—on one of the church’s rustic pews, listening to the Rev.
Dr. Gil Watson preach on redemption and salvation as if it were the spring of
1865. With four-part harmony, the
Atlanta Sacred Harp Singers took us back 150 years with their shape-note performance. History came alive to members of the UGA
Press advisory board, as we immersed ourselves into Sonny and George’s
endeavor.
Up
Highway 22, in Taliaferro County, we heard George Turner tell how Antioch
Baptist Church—built by freed slaves—nurtured the lives of multiple generations
of his African-American family. His
father was the last deacon of the now-endangered church. Halting such decay drives the passion of this
new historic organization.
Also
on the tour was a stop in the tiny village of Locust Grove, home of the “cradle
of Catholicity in Georgia.” The Locust Grove Catholic Church, not far from
Crawfordville, was established in 1790 and could easily have been forgotten had
dedicated volunteers and historians not taken up its cause.
In
Oglethorpe County’s Philomath Presbyterian Church, I got to polish one more unpadded
pew that day. As volunteers, Sue Ellen
and John Buckman, along with Jim Carter, recapped the labor of love for this
irreplaceable landmark, you could see what civic pride, donations and selfless
labor can accomplish.
Here’s
what Todd Groce, president of the Georgia Historical Society, says about Sonny
and George’s book: “Rural churches offer a unique window to the soul of
Georgia. Through them we gain insight
into the architecture, culture, history and geography of our state. … A must-read
for anyone seeking to understand what it means to be a Georgian and an
American.”
And
if my grandmother were alive, Nanny would be 116 and shouting, “Amen!”
dnesmith@cninewspapers.com
