Old Gonzales County church tells story of a people

I was talking the other day to a friend of mine about how many churches there used to be in Gonzales County. Every community, every settlement had a church, and now they were all gone. He told me about an old church still standing in the western part of Gonzales County, and gave me directions to the location. So, on a beautiful, sunny afternoon, t drove out to take a look. After a couple of wrong turns, and a little bit of wandering, I found the old church.

I drove into the yard of the church, stopped the truck, and got out. What a beautiful day this was — bright sunshine; warn temperature; birds singing. I thought of how many Sundays just like this did the people of this community come into the church yard — maybe some by horse, some by wagon, maybe on foot — possibly not having seen or talked to another human being all week, except for their own family members. The children excited to see the other children; the men eager (although they do not know it) to share with other men their worries and concerns about the crops, the lack of rain, and the

cost of things; maybe about a mule that died, or a sick cow.

The women of the church would be ready to share the latest and hear the latest about people, babies, and relatives, the types of things women talk about. Maybe a teenage girl looked to see if a certain young man had come to church that day, and maybe he glanced in her direction, and acknowledged her presence — but, not too openly, for the younger kids would tease them if they found out.

But, on this day the church yard is silent, as is the wood frame church building, sitting there in a deplorable state of disrepair. The tin roof was rusted, and some of the sheets are missing. The wood awning over the front door was leaning down, almost blocking the entrance. The front steps of the church were built in 1951, although the church itself is much older. The inscription in the concrete steps reads 11-13-51, and bears the initials "F. H." Also in the steps are the imprints of a child's feet, and the hand imprint of an older child. Imagine the pride of the workman in his task of providing new steps for the church that he dated it, signed it, and placed remembrances of his children for all to see.

I made my way carefully up the steps into the building. Wow. What a mess. Pigeon droppings everywhere; paneling coming off in strips, and pulling away fro the wall; windows broken out, with one window completely missing, leaving just a hole in the wall A few pews remain, covered with filth and droppings. I walked up the aisle to the front of the church, a narrow piece of tattered cloth leading the way. I stepped onto the platform where two choir benches remain. I stood behind the small lectern, and looked toward the empty pews, wondering about the people who worshipped God here. What

were their lives like? What did they think about God? How did He fit into their lives? Was He hard, or was He merciful in their minds, or a little of both?

I was standing there thinking about these things when a pigeon flew into the church, and

landed on a pew. Then, another flew in. I thought, now if a couple of dogs would wander in we could have church, but they would have to be Baptist dogs. In the corner stood an upright piano, partially covered by the fallen paneling. I played one of the keys. The piano grudgingly put forth a muted, musical tone. I wonder what songs were sung at the last service held in that church. "Rock of ages, cleft for me; let me hide myself in thee " Or, maybe they sang "Yes, we'll gather at the river; the beautiful, the beautiful river; Yes, we'll gather at the river, that flows by the throne of God." Songs of peace and

comfort. Songs to encourage the body and soul. Songs of hope.

I wonder what was the text of the last sermon preached in that church. What characteristic of God was presented to that last congregation? What did the preacher say about God to our fellow citizens when they gathered for that last service? I hope he talked about God's love, and how much God cares for us. I hope it was the story of the Prodigal Son from the book of Luke. I like that story because it shows the love and forgiveness of God. I hope it was a sermon like that which the walls, rafters, pews and the people sitting in those pews heard at the last service. That's the type of God they needed to hear about.

That might be true for us today.

An old country church in Gonzales County with paneling falling off the wall, roof blown away, windows gone, pigeons flying through. But, that old church tells us a story, a story of its people, our people, coming together to worship God; listening to the words of the Bible; singing, hymns of love and praise. It is a story of community, of living and dying; of births and deaths.

It tells the story of who they were, and in so doing, tells the story of who we are.

And that is part of our history, the history of Gonzales. Gonzales, Texas is the Birthplace

of Your Texas Freedom.