I call it the Roll Call of the Waiting: inactive churches in need of friends. Friendship, Dothan Methodist, St. Simon’s Episcopal, Halfway Creek, Workman Methodist, Graham’s Methodist … the roll goes on, and now I add Shiloh, a name that has been haunting me.
On a cold, clear Feb. 24, I made my way to Jenkinsville to meet supporters of Shiloh Methodist Church. Naked limbs filtered a cobalt sky and there she sat beneath all that blueness — lonely but beautiful. No feet tread her steps, and her doors stay locked.
Her cemetery holds family members whom the living hope to rest alongside. Amy King hopes to find new life for the church where her ancestors sleep. She could use a helping hand; Shiloh could use a helping hand.
Gleaming white, Shiloh stood beautiful in winter light. Double front doors could have used kickplates where the congregation scuffed them. They testify: “Yes, people came to worship and share fellowship, to rejoice and grieve, and simply believe.”
I walked the grounds and cemetery. Fine old stones leaned just so, as if gentle winds had bent them to their will. There were handmade crosses here and there, and blue granite among pastel marble markers.
Inside, I saw a portrait of Burrell Brown Crook, who gave the church its land. The pulpit’s three chairs were burgundy and plush. A portrait of Jesus hung nearby. A gas space heater stood between the piano and a pew — a good place to stand on a cold winter’s day. Well, it used to be.
After taking photos, I left, vowing to work on the story immediately. Between ongoing projects and travel, 51 days slipped by. But a strange thing happened: No matter where I went, “Shiloh” followed me.
On a back-road journey, I came across Shiloh Road. Later, I passed two other Shiloh churches. If I said I came across a pointer named Shiloh, I would be making it up. But a friend, Dennis McCarthy, emailed me after reading something I wrote about peach trees. “Here is the passage you’re thinking of from Shiloh by Shelby Foote,” he wrote.
Foote’s novel gives a poetic, disturbing description of the Shiloh battlefield:
“The air was filled with smoke and dust and sound … and through it all the peach blossoms kept falling, shaken from the trees by the concussion of the guns … The ground beneath the trees was covered with them, and still they fell, white and soft, in contrast to the harsh crash of musketry and the screams of the wounded.”
Shiloh … 24,746 casualties. Petals that clung to trees had to be a deeper pink, bathed in blood as they were.
My haunting exorcised, I write now. Shiloh stands across Highway 215 from the Jenkinsville Post Office. It is a 1902 Carpenter Gothic clapboard church. Its cemetery holds the graves of two Revolutionary War soldiers. It began as a brush arbor. I surmise it took its name from the Bible; Shiloh was pivotal to the Israelites for 300 years, housing the Tabernacle and the Ark of the Covenant.
Small, rural churches suffer hard times. Old members die; young members move. One day, those left behind find themselves alone. The church becomes inactive, dormant as a shoals lily in February.
Shiloh, from high to low. Amy King hopes to save her — to find a purpose and strike her from the Roll Call of the Waiting. I hope she succeeds. You should, too.
Tom Poland is the author of 12 books and more than 1,000 magazine features. He writes a weekly column for newspapers in Georgia and South Carolina about the South, its people, traditions, lifestyle and changing culture, and speaks often to groups across South Carolina and Georgia, “Georgialina.” Visit Poland’s website at tompoland.net or email him at tompol@earthlink.net.