This past Sunday, Terri and I went back to Clement and my home church for homecoming. Despite living in different towns over the years, being involved in various churches, Bethabara Methodist Church will always be my “home church.”
Homecomings have always been a tradition, especially in rural churches. It’s a time, usually in the fall, when the church family comes back home to the church of their youth. You would get to see old friends and relatives and renew acquaintances. It was a great way to get back in touch with your roots. And then there is the food.
The highlight of homecoming was always the homecoming dinner. (Don’t call it lunch.) A long row of tables would be set up outside. After the morning worship service, we call it preaching, everyone would head out to their cars to get their food. Soon, those tables would be filled with good ol’ home cooking. We would carry dishes and dishes of food that Momma had cooked. Many times, Daddy would get up early homecoming Sunday morning and go out to the barn and fry a bunch of chicken. I wondered when I was young why go through all the trouble to load up and carry all that food to the church. It seemed to me that it would be easier just to leave it and then go back home and eat it.
But soon the long row of tables would be filled with food. I kept a close watch to see where the chicken pastry, turnips and other favorite foods were placed on the tables. I also made sure to know where Aunt Lettie would put her cake. I would make sure to head to the dessert table fast in order to get a big piece of whatever cake she made for homecoming. Because whatever it was, I knew it was going to be good.
Once again, it was good going back to Bethabara this year for homecoming. I enjoyed the worship service, the food was tasty, and it was good to see old acquaintances and friends. But part of homecoming now is remembering who is not there. Many of my childhood friends have moved away. And most of the adults who were at the church when I was growing up have now passed away. My grandparents, aunts, and uncles were a part of that church. My mother was church treasurer for years, and was involved wherever she was needed before she passed away years ago.
But Bethabara Church was really important to my father, L.F. McPhail. So were the people who went there. They were his family, his church family. He went to the church, “just across the branch,” his whole life, until he passed away. (I can’t believe it’s been almost 15 years!) He supported it financially and with his time. He wasn’t the type to be out front and didn’t care for church politics. He just wanted the little church to keep going. Preachers came and went during his lifetime. I know he liked some more than others, but he got along with them all.
More importantly, he wanted everyone to get along and for the church to keep going and growing. Because to him, it was the people at Bethabara that were important. And some of those people are still around, and it was good seeing them once again.
These are often difficult times for churches, especially smaller rural churches. The changing culture, demographics, and an aging congregation are among some of the challenges they may face. But Bethabara Methodist Church has been serving the Lord for 133 years, and with His help and grace, it will continue to do so in the days ahead. Looking back, I realize what an important part Bethabara had in laying the foundation for my life and faith. And that’s what makes heading home for homecoming so special.