To be honest, I hadn’t planned on going to homecoming this year. I had responsibilities at my church, and I just didn’t see how we could make it. But, when I mentioned it to Terri, she said, “We’re not going? We always go to homecoming.” So, last Sunday, after finishing teaching Sunday School, we quickly headed for Clement, and homecoming at Bethabara United Methodist Church. And I’m glad we did.
It seems like Terri is starting to sound a lot like my father. He would always say, “You are coming to homecoming, aren’t you?” It was one of those questions that are really a command, like, “You are going to take out the trash, aren’t you?”
Every year Pa would make sure to remind my sister and I that homecoming at Bethabara Church was coming up. It was understood that we were expected to be there on the fourth Sunday in October. We would be there. And not just because Daddy and Momma were expecting us to be there. I’ve looked forward to going back. I have probably missed only three or four homecomings at Bethabara since I’ve become an adult. And that’s been a lot of years.
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’ homecooking. 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 twenty five 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 a few years ago. 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. And 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. As he got older they became more important. He enjoyed the little children there, as well as his lifelong friends. And it always tickled him when some of the younger ladies there would “make over” him.
Daddy supported his church and church family and they supported him. As a widower, during those tough and lonely times, his church family was there, doing what they could to help, primarily by just being there. And he would do the best he could to be there for them, in their time of need. I suppose that’s what a family is supposed to do.
Homecoming at Bethabara now feels a little different for me. But it’s still good.