Reflections on the quiet peace of an old country church

By an Ordinary Citizen, special to The Richmond News

As I was mowing the ditch this afternoon, I thought about a comment my grandsons made recently after spending three days with us. They told their mother that our house is very quiet, much different than their house. Of course, it’s just old folks living in my house – no kids running or cartoons blaring from the television. About the noisiest thing is the regulator clocks calling out the hour.

If you think about it, there are different sorts of quiet. Walking down a country road is one kind. And there is the unique quiet in a house as everyone sits around while waiting to go to a funeral. And most ominous is the quiet stare Yoshi, our dog, and I get from the Boss when we have run afoul from accepted norms. But my favorite quiet is the rare times spent alone in an old country church.

The decades of prayers, hopes and tears seem to fill the sanctuary with a gentle sense of well being. And the old pews are polished slick with generations of blessed assurances, as one preacher remarked. The old oak floors show a bit of wear from all the marches to Zion. If I close my eyes and breathe slowly, I can see lots of familiar faces in the pews. Old women with perfect hair surrounded by the smell of lilac water and old men in overalls and brilliant white starched shirts.

The complete story is in the Friday, October 27, 2017 Richmond News.

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