By Bob Burchard, exclusively for the Inquirer

I was talking to a friend the other day about how many churches there used to be in Gonzales County. Every community, every settlement had a church, and now they’re all gone. He told me about an old church that still stands in the western part of Gonzales County and gave me directions to it. So one beautiful sunny afternoon I drove out to check it out. After a few wrong turns and a bit of wandering around, I found the old church.

I drove into the church yard, stopped the truck, and got out. What a beautiful day it was—bright sunshine, warm temperatures, birds singing. I thought of how many Sundays like this the people of this parish had come to the churchyard—perhaps some on horseback, some in wagons, perhaps on foot—and had perhaps not seen or spoken to another person all week except their own family members. The children were happy to see the other children; the men were eager (though they did not know it) to share with other men their worries and concerns about the crops, the lack of rain, and the

Cost of things; perhaps a dead mule or a sick cow.

The women of the church would be willing to share and hear the latest news about people, babies, relatives—things women talk about. Perhaps a young girl would check to see if a certain young man had come to church that day, and perhaps he would look her way and sense her presence—but not too openly, for the younger children would tease her if they found out.

But on this day the churchyard is silent, as is the wood-framed church, which is in a sorry state of disrepair. The tin roof was rusted and some of the sheets were missing. The wooden canopy over the front door was crooked, 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 “FH.” Also visible in the steps are the footprints of a child and the handprint of an older child. One can imagine the pride of the workman who, as he set about building new steps for the church, took pride in dating them, signing them, and placing mementos of his children for all to see.

I carefully climbed the steps into the building. Wow. What a mess. Pigeon droppings everywhere; the paneling was peeling off the wall in strips; windows were smashed, one window was missing completely, only a hole in the wall remained. A few pews were still there, covered in dirt and droppings. I walked up the aisle to the front of the church, a narrow piece of tattered cloth guiding my way. I stepped onto the platform where two choir pews were still standing. I stood behind the small lectern and looked at the empty pews, thinking about the people who worshipped God here. What

What was their life like? What did they think about God? How did He fit into their lives? In their eyes, was He harsh or merciful or a bit of both?

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

landed on a pew. Then another flew in. I thought if some dogs would walk in now, we could go into church, but they would have to be Baptist dogs. There was a piano in the corner, partially hidden by the fallen paneling. I played one of the keys. The piano reluctantly gave a muted, musical sound. I wonder what songs were sung at the last service in this church. “Rock of eternity, rent for me; let me hide in thee” Or maybe they sang “Yes, we will gather by the river; the beautiful, the beautiful river; Yes, we will gather by the river that flows by the throne of God.” Songs of peace and

Comfort. Songs to strengthen body and soul. Songs of hope.

I wonder what the text of the last sermon in that church was. What attribute of God was presented to that last congregation? What did the preacher tell our fellow citizens about God as they gathered for the 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 Luke’s Gospel. I like that story because it shows the love and forgiveness of God. I hope it was a sermon like the one the walls, rafters, pews, and the people sitting in those pews heard at the last service. That’s the kind of God they needed to hear about.

This could also apply to us today.

An old village church in Gonzales County, its siding falling off, its roof blown off, its windows gone and pigeons flying through. But this old church tells us a story, a story of its people, our people, coming together to worship God, to listen to the words of the Bible, to sing hymns of love and praise. It is a story of community, of life and death, of births and deaths.

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

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

Your Texan freedom.