by Vivian Lawson Hogue

My family wasn’t in church every time the doors were open, but our mother made sure we went often. I first attended as a babe-in-arms when my parents took me to be christened. I wore a dress made from fabric a salesclerk at our downtown JCPenney store had saved under the counter as a gift to Mother in case I was a girl. Wartime had limited fabrics, so she was grateful for it. She fashioned the dress, crocheted the booties, then had photographer Sam Fausett make a picture of me wearing it. Twenty-six years later it was worn by my daughter while Mr. Fausett photographed another generation. 

I did not understand a word the minister said during my toddler years, of course, but I did love the music and my shiny shoes. I have kept an affinity for both. Not many know that I began college as a music major, but they do know I love shoes as did my best friend, Carolyn Lewis. 

Carolyn and I were into church music in our teens. I recall a few times we sang duets. 

Perhaps the most memorable was, “Love Lifted Me.” Included in the lyrics was the phrase, “. . . from the waters [God] lifted me, now safe am I!” I was reminded of those lyrics after I nearly drowned in a lake on Petit Jean on a college outing. On two other similar occasions, I was finally convinced that I am a sinker, not a swimmer, and the Lord might not be amused by my self-baptisms. 

Another song that was a favorite from early childhood was, “I’ll Fly Away.” That one I remember because the lyrics said, “. . .when I die, Hallelujah by and by, I’ll fly away.” In innocence I happily glided over the dying part, but the flying away sounded fun, and I thought the other phrase was saying, “Hallelujah! Bye-bye!” What excitement! 

Church music and churches have changed. I haven’t heard those songs in 40 years, and there are fewer mid-week or Sunday night services. Some pulpits have no mention of politics as if it didn’t exist in Jesus’s life. Sin is a touchy subject seldom addressed. When I compare this with the small churches in my memory, it is astounding. What I long to see are some hands raised in happy worship and to hear a sincere “Amen!” from the back row. 

As a teenager I attended some services in the church in the hills where my Lawson grandparents were members. White siding, pine floors, a water bucket and dipper at the back door, wood-burning pot-belly stove, backless wood benches, men in their best overalls and women in flour sack dresses. They sang old hymns, some by the shaped-note system. 

The sermons were often about sin, salvation and having good morals because that’s what churches were meant and expected to do. They preached about hell and damnation, but always offered a simple, no-cost option with a lifetime guarantee and no expiration date. I feel fortunate that I experienced those visits because the small, close-knit churches are fading.

A church and cemetery in my Arnold grandparents’ tiny hill town is now on the National Register of Historic Places. Located near the rock house my granddad built, the building was a little more refined than others, but the church services were the same. Baptisms were cause for rejoicing. Death had its own traditions with food brought for the family and people sitting up with the dead. In those days, churches established their cemeteries close to their buildings with the deceased close to their hearts, not miles away. Even today one can recognize an “antique” church by noting its proximity to its cemetery.

Both churches held cemetery cleanings once a year. They were often held in the summer because weather, spring planting and fall harvesting took precedence over all other gatherings. With cleaning completed, a fervent blessing was said, wonderful home cooked foods were served and participants sat on blankets spread on the ground. While the adults ate and chatted, the kids ate and did mischief. When all were tired and full and the cemetery weeded and raked, the ride back home in the twilight was full of recollections of family-and-friend news and “how the kids had grown.” 

Church members may be in a large church with stained-glass windows, a small country church of painted wood or working at a cemetery cleaning. The Lord said if it is done in His name, He is there in their midst. Now, one doesn’t even have to be on the back row to shout an “amen” to that!