Posts Tagged ‘ Spirituality ’

Bethany Associate Reformed Presbyterian Church, Clover SC – Visited on 10/16/12

The Bethany Associate Reformed Presbyterian Church looks far older than the communities around it.  In the semirural South Carolina countryside west of Clover, SC, generally a land of farms, fields, and whitewashed houses on rolling hills, it stands with a sort of atavistic defiance to its setting.

The church rises tall upon a green lawn, framed at its back by forest, flanked on one hand by the elementary school across the road and on the other by its cemetery, rank upon rank of headstones marching to the roadside in every direction.  Its walls were of mortared red brick, darkened by age.  Tall, arched windows of stained glass march down the sides of its central hall.  A tower rises beside the front entrance, its crenelated top more reminiscent of an English parish church than anything typically found in South Carolina.

The floor of the church’s sanctuary sloped down from the front doors towards a raised stage.  Lurid red carpeting covered the floor and red cushions sheathed the three columns of pews that filled most of its space.  A strip of red separated the front row of pews from the stage.  The church altar stood at the stage’s foot, draped in red fabric and laid with a cross and candlesticks wrought from gleaming silver.  A broad wooden pulpit rose directly behind the altar, at the stage’s forward edge; behind it sat three high-backed wooden chairs for the church’s pastor and other prominent speakers, and behind them rose the church choir loft.  Two secondary wings opened onto the main sanctuary at either side of the stage, separated from the hall by panelled wooden doors that could slide up onto their ceilings on runners like suburban garage doors.

All the sanctuary’s walls, from rear to sides to choir loft, were painted in seamless white.   Those stained glass windows seen from outside punctuated the walls, framed by age-darkened wood and set with tiny plaques naming worshippers whose donations helped restore them over the years.  An identical window stood behind the choir loft’s seats, but it was sealed and its glass removed long ago when the church expanded beyond its old sanctuary.  Outside, the church’s walls lighten noticeably where its original brickwork gives way to later additions.

The sanctuary’s ceiling was easily its most striking feature.  Two ventral beams of heavy, dark wood stretched the length of the chamber, crossed at regular intervals by seven matching lateral beams.  Taken together, they arched the ceiling along its middle and resembled nothing so much as the segmented plates of a turtle shell, as seen from inside the putative beast.  Within each segment was a grid of molded, white-washed squares, torn here and there where age took its toll on the paint and plaster-work.  Electric lamps hung from the ceiling on long chains, adding their light to that already pouring in through the many windows.

A formidable congregation gathered beneath that turtle shell ceiling come the start of the day’s worship service.  From a quiet seat in the rear of the sanctuary Churchspotting was able to count over fifty individuals in the sanctuary, not including those seated in the secondary wings and those on stage among the choir.  All told the full number on that Sunday was well over sixty persons, though probably less than a hundred.

The day’s ceremonies began with a reading of announcements, followed by prayer, followed in turn by a hymn sung by the full congregation.  Public prayer was conducted at the Bethany ARP in the following manner.  First the presiding speaker, whether the church’s pastor or an elder, afforded the community a period of silent prayer; worshippers sat with heads bowed, eyes closed, in silence.  In time the speaker began to pray aloud while the congregation remained seated, sometimes at considerable length, until the prayer was closed a last thanks to the deity.  Music at Bethany ARP was highly traditional, composed wholly of the human voice and a simple piano accompaniment.

The congregation recited the Lord’s Prayer together immediately after the day’s first hymn.  Then the church’s pastor, Alan Arthur Morrow, holder of that post since 1992, called the congregation’s children to the front pews for a children’s sermon.  Morrow, a tall, bald, older man, began by asking the children to make a list of bad things they did in their daily lives.  Once they’d compiled a list, which he committed to a whiteboard brought down before the stage, Morrow explained to them that these bad acts were ultimately sins: violations of God’s law.

Morrow taught the children that all people were sinners, including themselves, but that if they asked God’s forgiveness for their transgressions he would “put [their] sins out of sight,” a point he illustrated by wiping the white board clean of text.  Because of this, he said, “let us love Him and worship Him and serve Him all the days of our lives.”

After the children’s sermon deacons walked the aisles bearing trays for the congregation’s donations, backed by accompaniment from the piano.  Once the day’s tithe was gathered the congregation recited from catechism statements printed in that day’s church bulletin.  Among other things they affirmed that they believed there to be one god in the universe, a godhead composed of three personalities (Father, Son and Spirit) which were nonetheless one being.  Morrow read each catechism question from the pulpit; the congregation read out the appropriate response in unison, save for those who knew their catechism well enough to recite it from memory.

A second hymn followed this group recitation, then another period of prayer.  The remainder of the service, about half its overall length, was the pastor’s sermon.  First Morrow read from the Bible, specifically Luke 7:36-50.  His selection told the story of an evening Jesus spent in the house of Simon, a priest of the mainstream Jewish establishment in his day, at which a woman of ill repute in her neighborhood washed Jesus’ feet with her tears and anointed his feet with expensive oil.  To better set the scene for his congregation Morrow described contemporary styles of eating and architecture: specifically, the Roman fashion of eating from low tables while reclining upon couches, and the layout of a Roman-style urban villa with its atrium opening onto the street.

Morrow focused on the contrition and passion of the woman in her tending to Jesus, and the self-righteousness of Simon when he rebuked Jesus for associating with a woman of such poor reputation.  He asked his congregation how they would treat a drunk, a prostitute or an open homosexual who entered their church and called them to be “a friend to sinners,” as he repeatedly described Jesus.

A final hymn followed the sermon’s close, after which the congregation of Bethany ARP made for the sanctuary’s front doors.  The land outside was cool under a gray sky, and leafy boughs stretched over the church’s cemetery hung yellowed and inflamed by the changing seasons.


Church of the True Worship, Clover SC – Visited on 9/24/12

In the northern reaches of Clover, SC, on the eastern shoulder of Highway 321, there lies a strip mall.  Among its modest tenants are a tanning salon, an empty video rental store, and a church: the Church of the True Worship, a Ministries Holiness Church.  The church’s plate glass front is backed by heavy curtains during the week.  A sign in the window lists its times for worship and names its pastor, Paul Mackins.

The church has two rooms, the bathroom and the main room.  Its floors are white linoleum tile, and fluorescent lights beam in its ceiling.  Single chairs stand in close-set rows, laid to encircle a broad square of red carpet against one wall.  The carpet holds a pulpit, draped in red cloth on the Sunday of the 23rd, side-tables laid with plastic flowers, and a row of three modest wooden chairs for ministers.

Behind the chairs, in the back of the main room, stands a solitary filing cabinet.  To its left is a wooden desk and small, low table set with chairs.  To its left are a drum set and an electric keyboard.  Beside the bathroom door is a sign, red text on a white background: “HOLY SPIRIT YOU ARE WELCOME IN THIS PLACE”.

Dozens of chairs were set out on the morning Churchspotting visited, but only a few of them were put to use.  Eleven people attended the Church of the True Worship that day, including children.  Its members tended towards formal dress with men in polo shirts and slacks, women in dresses.

The morning’s service began at 11:30 AM, preceded by Bible study.  Two men from the congregation sat the church’s instruments, while two women–Paula and Nancy Mackins–took to the chairs upon the red carpet.  The music began almost immediately.  Drummer and keyboardist provided a rhythm while the whole group, impelled by the two Mackins’ strident voices, progressed through a cycle of gospel hymns.

Almost every group visited by Churchspotting uses music during worship in some way, but few make it so constant a feature of the service as the Church of the True Worship.  From the start of worship music only ceased to permit the reading of some scripture from the Book of Psalms.  The songs were simple, expressive affairs, with refrains including “Everybody ought to know who Jesus is,” and “Lord I just want to thank You.”  The singing of them was not just entertainment, or a form of communal expression.  Moreso than is common in the groups visited by Churchspotting, these were explicitly praise songs–they mere singing of them was meant as a glorification of their primary subjects, Jesus and God.

Even when hymns gave way to the morning’s sermon, the drums and keyboard never ended entirely.  Thumps of percussion and skirls of electric piano emphasized each phrase as Nancy Mackins, the younger of the two, took the pulpit and began to preach.  Members of the congregation underscored her words with shouts of “Yes God!” and “Amen!”  Her style was boisterous, even aggressive.  At times she was fairly shouting into the pulpit’s microphone, which redoubled her voice’s strength in the church’s confined space.

Ms. Mackins’s subject was change, in the seasons and in human life.  She said that change was a necessary, natural part of life.  “All change is not bad, some change is good.”  She encouraged the congregation to accept the wicked ways of others, to focus on doing good in their own lives and leave the punishment of evil to God.  It was God, she said, who allowed one to wake in the morning, who gives men and women their power in life.  There was no life, she said, and no peace, without Jesus.

After the sermon, Paula and Nancy Mackins invited members of the congregation to approach and be blessed.  One man neared the podium.  Nancy stood before him and took his hand, while Paula stood at his side.  Another man, the church’s youth pastor, stood behind him.  The Mackins anointed the man’s forehead with oil, set their hands on his shoulders and chest, and prayed.  The man stood with his eyes closed, his features shifting between furious emotion and relieved calm.  The drums and keyboard continued throughout.

Afterward, the floor was opened for anyone to stand and speak.  The man who was prayed over thanked God for bringing his wife through surgery.  His voice thickened with emotion as he said that God took care of him when he couldn’t take care of himself, and watched over his children when he couldn’t provide for them.

After his speech the church took up offerings and sang one last song together.  Then, after some announcements and a final prayer, the group was dismissed.

Back Up The Bridge: A Return to The Bridge at Clover High School – Visited on 9/16/12

In August 2011 Churchspotting visited The Bridge, one of a number of York County churches that convene in rented spaces at area schools.  That year, The Bridge met in the cafeteria of Clover High School.  Its congregation was a few dozen middle-income Clover locals pastored by Kevin Witt of Fort Worth, Texas.

When Churchspotting first attended The Bridge it had existed as a body less than two years.  Founded as a colony of Clover’s First Baptist Church, The Bridge spent its first year supported by that older organization before becoming an independent church in October 2011, just months after Churchspotting’s visit.  As the group nears its second anniversary, we thought it opportune to stop by again to see how the The Bridge had developed in a year’s time.

The church’s blue banners flank the entrance to Clover High School’s student parking lot on Sundays.  A volunteer from the congregation stands between them, beckoning towards passing motorists and directing the curious inward.  Though The Bridge met in Clover High School’s cafeteria in 2011, more pairs of banners guide visitors to a different site: a strip of brand-new construction across the parking lot from the school’s main building, behind its Applied Technology Center.

Inside, there is a different air to The Bridge from a year before, not least from its change in surroundings–only opened to students in the fall of 2012, the Bridge’s current location is sparkling new by local standards.  The congregation met in what appeared to be a combination cafeteria/auditorium, very similar to that rented by Relevant Church at nearby Oakridge Middle School.  The Bridge’s membership expanded in the year since Churchspotting’s first visit, with more than fifty men, women and children milling between three marching columns of cafeteria tables positioned as pews and a hall immediately behind the cafetorium, where coffee and doughnuts were laid out for their use.

The pew-tables slanted to better focus their occupants on The Bridge’s “stage,” a huge screen lighted by an overhead projector which hung from a pole in the room’s ceiling.  To the right of the screen stood the instruments and microphone stands of the church’s live, in-house band; to its left stood an unadorned, human-sized wooden cross.  To the rear, laid out on a series of conjoined tables, were the controls and computers of the church’s audio-visual systems.

Kevin Witt stood behind that nerve center before the service began in earnest, talking with men from the congregation.  Mr. Witt remained the relatively short, heavyset, dark-haired young man of Churchspotting’s first visit.  He wore a polo shirt and jeans to his church; a clear plastic earpiece stretched the arm of its microphone midway over his right cheek.

It was not Kevin Witt who took the stage and began the morning’s service.  That duty went to a member of the church band, a man on the young side of middle-age in a blue t-shirt, goateed, with violently orange glasses.  He gave some announcements before the band started into the first song of its opening set, with him as its lead male singer.  After the first song, a standard Christian rock-pop ballad, the singer led the church in prayer.  He spoke while the congregants, most of them standing, bowed their heads and closed their eyes.  A guitarist in the band strummed behind the singer’s voice-over, till the prayer finished with a call of “How many people believe God isn’t dead?” and the band dove into its second song.

Kevin Witt emerged after the band finished its first set.  He stood behind a slim plastic pulpit set before the projector screen and announced upcoming events at the church: plans to hand out balloons and water at the annual Clover Auto Show, to feed the high school football team in the next week, all heralded under the banner of “loving our community.”  Another set from the band followed Witt’s announcements before the sermon began in earnest–not with an introduction from Witt, but with a televised clip from the 1999 film “Office Space.”

The clip, with its one use of the word ‘ass’ censored for the congregation’s benefit, showed the film’s protagonist, Peter Gibbons, speaking with a pair of specialists hired by his company to interview and subsequently downsize its work force.  He explained to them how the scant rewards and threats of reprisal he faced from his superiors at work were only capable of making him work just enough to avoid being fired.  As the film clip ended Witt regained the stage to open what he called a new series of sermons.  The projector screen showed its title in two foot high letters, “Malachi: Grace and Gratitude.”

Witt explained the historical context of the Book of Malachi, the last book of the Bible’s Old Testament, written in the middle of the 5th Century BCE within living memory of the Second Persian War between the city-states of Greece and the Persian Achaemenid Empire fancifully depicted in the film “300.”  Witt’s hands moved in rhythm with his speech, complimenting each word.  In fact his hands moved so often and with such a carefully repeated regularity of gestures that his display could almost be mistaken for sign language.  With the intellectual stage set Witt embarked on a chapter by chapter, verse by verse commentary on the Book of Malachi, with the projector screen behind him displaying the text to the congregation as he read.

The substance of Malachi’s text, as Witt described it, was a reprimand to half-hearted believers.  The prophet Malachi claimed that the priests of his day gave up only their lame and infirm livestock as offerings to God, not the best of their flocks, and that the people performed only the bare necessities of the rituals demanded of them by Jewish law.  The prophet went on to say that God had informed him that he despised these half-hearted offerings, and ordered that if his worshipers did not worship him whole-heartedly, with the best sacrifices they could manage and the highest devotion, they should shutter their temples and cease their lukewarm rituals.

Witt explained that in the Old Testament the blessings of God broke down on explicit national and ethnic lines, that he blessed the people of Israel above all others then and that this blessing obligated them to provide whole-hearted gratitude to God.  He explained further that the crucifixion of Jesus in the New Testament ended these ethnic restrictions and extended the blessing to those who believed in Christ.  “The air we breathe belongs to God,” he said, “Every good thing we have comes from God.”  This grace, he said, carried the same expectation of gratitude for modern Christians as it did for ancient Israelites.  In modern terms, he said, God would prefer the churches be shut than that they be used for less than genuine worship.  “Be real about this or just quit.”

Witt closed the morning’s sermon with a prayer.  The congregation bowed its many heads in silence as he spoke, while band members with downcast eyes retook their positions to the right of the pulpit.  Witt melted back into the crowd as the band began its final song, ending the day’s worship.  Worshipers at The Bridge emerged into the parking lot of Clover High School soon after, to soggy asphalt and a cloudy September sky pregnant with rain.

First United Methodist Church, Clover SC, Part II – Visited on 6/20/12

Tommy Wilkes was in the midst of an administrative call when the time came for his interview with Churchspotting.  He was in his office on the second floor of Clover SC’s First United Methodist Church, the church he pastored, on a hall it shared with Sunday School classes and the church choir’s practice room.  His topic of discussion was a church-run summer camp.

His was a dim office, its walls plastered with finger paintings and drawings that might have come from other, similar camps of previous years.  After he finished his conversation Mr. Wilkes took a seat on office’s single low couch, opposite my chair, and began to tell me how he’d come to that place and time.

Tommy Wilkes was born in Charleston, SC in 1965.  His father was a United Methodist minister in his own right and Tommy’s family–his mother and two sisters–followed the elder Wilkes across South Carolina throughout his childhood.  The mainstay of his young life was Spartanburg SC where Tommy attended high school and played in a rock band named Escape.

After high school Mr. Wilkes attended the University of South Carolina, where he pursued a Bachelor’s Degree in Sociology.  Even then, though, his goals did not lie in academics.  After completing his preliminary schooling he sought a missionary position through the United Methodist Church’s General Board of Global Missionaries’ US2 program.  The church sent Tommy to Philadelphia, where he spent his missionary years working with inner city communities.

His time in Philadelphia confirmed an inclination towards the church that Wilkes felt from a very young age.  He entered seminary school at Emory University soon after returning from Philadelphia, intent on following his father as a United Methodist pastor.  During his time at Emory he served as chaplain of a nearby mental health ward.  He worked primarily with troubled young people, many of them suicidal, and sought to offer them sort of hope in the midst of a terrible dark part of their lives.

Wilkes graduated from Emory in 1993 and was soon ordained as an Elder of the United Methodist Church.  He served as a an associate pastor at Central Methodist in Spartanburg before embarking on a career as senior pastor in his own right in a succession of South Carolina churches in Lexington and Lancaster.  In 2011 he and his family–his wife, Meg, and three children–arrived at Clover’s First United Methodist.  It was the most established church he’d yet pastored, with around 820 members and over 250 regular attendees each Sunday, spread amongst several services throughout the day.

When asked about the proper relationship between Church and State, Mr. Wilkes made clear his opinion that though the Founding Fathers were wise, they were not in themselves holy.  He held that Church and State should be separate, but thought hat some people want, with evil intent, to take God out of all aspects of daily life.  He insisted that no one “deny that God is.”

Mercy Baptist Church, Part II – Visited on 8/14/12

David Robinson met with Churchspotting in his office at Mercy Baptist Church, where he serves as pastor.  On the previous Sunday he was one of the few men present at Mercy Baptist’s morning service in a suit; on that Tuesday he arrived in a Tommy Bahama shirt and shorts.  The church’s cooling systems were defeated by a mid-August heat wave earlier that day; the interview was spent speaking over the hum of an electric fan in the corner.

David Robinson was born in Monroe, NC, in 1962.  He never knew his birth father, who left his mother before he was born.  Mrs. Robinson remarried when David was a year old, and his stepfather remained with the family till his death in 1982.

The Robinsons were a working class North Carolina family.  David’s stepfather made his living at a brick company while his mother worked at a cotton mill.  Mrs. Robinson developed brown lung disease at her work and must manage with a respirator, but she remains with her family.

Though there was no shortage of love in his family, David Robinson did not develop close ties to his stepfather as a child.  Around age fourteen he “started rebelling,” to use his words.  He began running away and skipping school on a regular basis; by fifteen he left home permanently.  He said he ran with a dangerous crowd, and by age 21 he’d spent some time in prison.

Mr. Robinson left North Carolina at 21 to work for an uncle in Texas.  As a condition of his parole, he swore not to return to NC for some time.  Out in Texas David built log homes and helped in other wood and construction projects.  He also met the woman he eventually married.

In the early 80s, after their first child, David’s young family moved back to North Carolina where he found work in the steel mills.  That career was cut short when Mr. Robinson fell three stories on the job, landed on his side, and suffered severe injuries that precluded him from the work mills required.

According to him, an uncle who also worked at the mills reported a miraculous event on that occasion.  This man said that as David fell, a “cloud-type hand” seemed to coalesce around him and turn him, so that he fell on his side rather than his head, and so survived the accident.  Churchspotting is unable to interview him on this matter, as the uncle in question passed away some time ago.  After his fall Mr. Robinson took to carpentry, the craft he still professes, particularly in service to building houses.

He and his wife separated not long after, due to David involving himself in certain wild practices again.  Among the conditions their separation was that he could only see their children at his wife’s church, Maple Grove Baptist.  As such, he began attending regularly.  On August 12, 1983 visiting preacher gave a sermon on the Biblical figure King David, and Mr. Robinson said he felt “as though a spear were jabbing him” each time his namesake was mentioned.  David repented of his sins before the altar on that day, and became increasingly involved in the church.

A year later he was a regular Sunday school teacher, but felt he should do something more with his life.  He prayed on the issue with his wife, but came to a decision one day while they sang with his friend Terry, the pastor’s son, and Terry’s wife.  He “felt called to preach,” and set out to pursue ministry.

At first David tried traditional seminary study, but with four children he found he had too much work to do to meet the school’s requirements.  Instead, he began to confer with local ministers who taught him and helped him study the Bible.  Between seven and eight years ago he was invited to minister his first church.

It lay in Kentucky, an old and established Baptist church.  Mr. Robinson described his time there as “a battle.”  The founders of the church were still living, and as the deacons of the congregation they held considerable sway.  David’s aggressive style of preaching, far different from what the church elders were used to, rubbed some people the wrong way.

As a first-time minister he did not yet have the experience to smooth those ruffled feathers.  Bad feeling mounted on both sides.  A wealthy member of the church left and pressure grew for David to leave so that he–and his expensive donations–would return.  The congregation put David’s presence to a vote, and he was sent home.  His frustration with the experience remained with him for years to come.

When David’s family returned to North Carolina they settled in Pineville.  After trying several new churches, and even retreating from church life for a while, The Robinson family was invited to a Christmas play at Trinity Baptist in Fort Mill, where they stayed till David was invited to serve as minister at Mercy Baptist.  Mr. Robinson has since ministered to Mercy Baptist for three years, and plans to spend the remainder of his life there.

His tenure at Mercy Baptist has not been without its hiccups.  Around the two year anniversary of his arrival, the church’s founders took about half the congregation with them to found a new church.  Since then, however, the congregation has grown and David has set his sights on establishing a new, permanent building for the church, rather than the old Ace Hardware building it currently rents.  The church has around forty members.

Mr. Robinson does not know whether the End Times described in the New Testament’s
Book of Revelation are here, but he feels that ‘things are adding up.’  He finds the conflicts affecting Israel especially important, as well as what he regards as an erosion of the moral fabric of the United States.  He sights the removal of Biblical study from public schools, the rise of the Gay Rights movement as signs of America’s moral shift.  He believes homosexuality is an “abomination before God,” and that any nation that sets itself against Israel will be judged by Heaven.  Despite this, the Apocalypse does not often enter his sermons and he does not regard himself as a ‘prophecy preacher.’
Finally, on the proper relationship between Church and State, Mr. Robinson holds that they need to be separated.  He said that the Bible instructs him to obey the law of the land, with the caveat that where the law and the Bible part ways he will hold to the latter.

Mercy Baptist Church – Visited on 8/12/12

More and more people in the York County area worship in non-traditional spaces.  Churchspotting has covered groups who gather in rented spaces at local schools, who meet in the churches of other congregations during their owners’ off hours, and who take over and refurbish former business and industrial sites as their places of worship.  Between the collapse of America’s real estate market and an economic malaise with no end in sight, there are certainly plenty of perfectly good buildings standing empty and renting cheaply.  It’s only natural that religious communities, particularly young groups with limited funds, take advantage of these vacuities in the market while they’re available.

Mercy Baptist Church is one such group.  The building it occupies was once an ACE Hardware store, and that lineage still shows in the structure’s red awnings, in the padlocked black iron grate that can swing shut over its main entrance, and in the bones of its interior.

Inside, Mercy Baptist’s ceiling vaults high overhead.  The bare metal of its ventilation system hangs exposed on high, and light pours down from bare tracks of fluorescent lighting.  Beneath that distinctly industrial ceiling, the church’s floor is divided and subdivided by beige walls, between eight and nine feet high–far lower than the ceiling itself.  The walls are set with whitewashed doors, and small red signs above them note their purpose or typical inhabitants: Nursery, Beginners, Teens, “Middlers.”

The walls form an L-shaped hall from the entrance doors, with the L’s stalk terminating in two sets of double doors leading into the sanctuary.  The largest single room in the church is dominated by three sets of wooden pews marching towards a raised stage.  A wooden altar and pulpit lie at its center, flanked at some distance by twin banks of speakers for the church’s sound system.  To its rear stand pews for the church choir; at the congregation’s right is a red-painted wooden ramp that renders the stage handicapped accessible–the first such addition Churchspotting has encountered in a church sanctuary.

There are no flags in the sanctuary of Mercy Baptist.  Instead, behind the choir pews, taller than anything else on stage, stands a wooden cross.  A white cloth drapes about its crossbeam like a shawl; a sign reading “INRI” is tacked to the headpiece.  The crossbeam is punctured at either end by a pair of long nails; a third juts from a footrest set into the cross’s base.  All three nails, as well as the wood around and beneath them, are painted blood red.

The congregation of Mercy Baptist Church gathers for their Sunday morning service at 11 AM.  By that time on the morning of August 12 there were over thirty individuals seated in the pews.  Their ages varied, from elderly to a handful of older children–most children of middle school age and younger spent the majority of the service in their classrooms down the hall.

The dress of those involved varied as well.  Both young and old worshippers could be seen in t-shirts and jeans, though overall the congregation skewed towards formal dress.  A handful of men came to worship in full suits, but most were satisfied with arriving in slacks and a collared shirt.  Among the suit-wearers was the church’s pastor, David Robinson.  An older man with brown hair and a greying goatee, he bore a faint resemblance to actor Harvey Keitel.

The day’s service began with a dozen-odd members of the congregation piling onto the stage to sing along briefly with a contemporary Christian song played over the church’s speakers.  A chorus of ‘Amen’s from the crowd met the song’s conclusion as the singers drifted back to their seats and a man from the congregation rose to deliver a few brief community announcements and prepare the congregation to make its offering.  Four ‘special singers’ from the group took the stage to perform, with accompaniment played over the sound system, while two men roved the pews with the church’s offering plates outstretched.

When song and offering finished Pastor Robinson took the pulpit briefly, but not to preach: he introduced his cousin, Paul, who was present with his own family that morning, and invited Paul to take the stage and ‘offer testimony.’  Paul proved to be the father of two teenage daughters, the younger of whom–Haley–was diagnosed with cancer some time previously.  Apparently Haley was a frequent subject of prayer for the Mercy Baptist congregation.

Paul spoke of his daughter’s battle with cancer, his despair when the doctors appeared to “give up hope” after her initial diagnosis, and the great comfort he drew from knowing his cousin’s church stood behind him and in his own faith.  His voice took on a vulnerable, emotional quaver as he drew to his story’s close.  He finished by singing, a capella, an old gospel song his brother sang in church when they were children.

Haley, whose cancer had gone into remission, was present with her family.  She sat with her father as the congregation’s children filed in to sing a rendition of “This Little Light of Mine” for her.  The children had spent some time in the preceding weeks collecting money for Haley’s treatment.

Robinson resumed his position behind the pulpit soon after, and the sermon he began took up the rest of the morning’s service.  Its principle subject was the plan for Mercy Baptist’s future.  It seemed Robinson and his church were committed towards moving out of the space they built in the former ACE Hardware store.  The goal was to buy a 10 acre plot of land nearby, currently occupied by a derelict blockhouse.  A black and white picture of the area, drawn by the pastor’s son, lay propped up on the altar while Robinson spoke.

Robinson spoke of the need for vision in the congregation, and faith that whatever they genuinely set their mind to would be supported by God.  He quoted martial artist Bruce Lee, and said that like Lee they must aim “six inches beyond their target.”

Over the course of his sermon Robinson reiterated again and again that their goal was not to build a church because he wanted it, but because they wanted it.  “Our objective,” he said, “is not to build a church.  Our objective is to build a house that God will want to live in.”  As the sermon drew towards its end Robinson pulled the black and white illustration of the current property to reveal a second picture behind it, this in full color, showing the ‘vision’ of what the property might be: a whitewashed country church with classrooms, a fellowship hall and broad green lawns.

At the close of his sermon Robinson left the stage while the man who read announcements at the service’s start led the congregation in a final prayer.  Then the people of Mercy Baptist Church filed out into the hall, towards the parking lot and a clear, cool August morning.

Clover Wesleyan Church, Part 2 – Visited on 8/1/12

Wayne Spear, pastor of Clover Wesleyan Church, sat for his interview with Churchspotting in his modest office in his church’s Fellowship Hall, a separate building from the church sanctuary and a regular setting for community meals and Bible study.  Though he woke sick that morning, Mr. Spear remained game to speak with Churchspotting.

Rev. Spear was a heavy-set man, of greying hair and deep set eyes.  He was born in  Davenport, Iowa in 1947, the oldest of four children.  His father was an electrical engineer; his mother, a schoolteacher.  Mr. Spear’s family settled in Davenport during his youth, and his parents spent the rest of their lives there.  He grew up on the brown banks of the Mississippi; in his youth, the principal entertainments were riding bikes around town and playing baseball in empty lots.

After high school Mr. Spear left home to begin the pre-engineering program at St. Ambrose college, from which he transferred to the University of Iowa.  In 1967, as he was going down to an evening’s dinner he noticed a poster that read, “Jesus Christ and the New Student Revolution.”  He’d never considered Jesus a revolutionary figure before, but that poster set him to reconsider the Presbyterian faith his family followed, and in which he was raised.  It set him on a trajectory that would lead to his current position as a minister of the Wesleyan Church.

When general drafts began for the Vietnam War, Wayne Spear decided to enlist and choose a position in the military rather than have it chosen for him.  He joined the US Navy, in which he served for six years as a nuclear-trained electrician on a nuclear-propelled fast attack submarine.  He assisted in the maintenance of electrical equipment on submarine tours that could last from a week to two months at a time–and according to Spear, anything longer than a few weeks seemed to stretch into eternity.

After leaving the military Mr. Spear became an employee of Duke Energy, a Charlotte NC based power company that supplies electricity throughout Charlotte’s surrounding area.  He helped write procedures for the operation of the McGuire Nuclear Station at Huntersville, North Carolina, while it was under construction.

During his time at McGuire one of Mr. Spear’s superiors introduced him to his own Wesleyan congregation, and he evinced a growing interest in spiritual matters and religious study.  After around one year with Duke Energy, Spear left his position as an engineer to enter seminary school.  During this second period of schooling Mr. Spear met the woman he eventually married, and worked nights as a janitor to support himself.

After earning his ordination as a pastor of the Wesleyan Church Mr. Spear tended to a succession of North Carolina churches before settling at Clover Wesleyan, where he has presided as pastor for the last seventeen years.

Clover Wesleyan was founded in 1911, when Clover SC was only three decades old.  As of this interview it averages around thirty-five attendees each Sunday.  The Wesleyan Church was itself a product of America’s 19th century social political schisms.  The group that became the Wesleyan Church split from the mainline Methodist denomination prior to the American Civil War over the issue of slavery.  Whole churches that chose to condemn slavery broke away from the Methodist body to become the Wesleyan Methodists; the group’s name has shortened over the decades into the simpler Wesleyan Church.

Rev. Wayne Spear said that homosexuality was an “abomination in the eyes of the lord.”  He views same-sex relationships as a sin, of the same type and caliber as adultery.  As both a minister and a veteran, Spear believes that though the United States was justified in its invasion of Afghanistan after the events of 9/11, it is not within the US’s power to “fix the whole world.”  He remarked that while the US was engaged in its invasion and occupation of Iraq, genocide and civil wars raged in Africa that our government did not feel obligated to intervene in.  He held that the reason the US intervened in Iraq but not Africa was Iraq’s substantial oil reserves.

Mr. Spear’s church sits across the street from the wreck of the American Thread property, the shuttered and decommissioned warehouses that once held Clover, SC’s textile output.  Many of his own flock worked in the town’s textile mills before the vast majority shut down during the late 1980s and 1990s.  Spear said that God promises to bless the lives, lands and families of those who are faithful, and withdraw those blessings from those who are not.

He believes that America has turned against the Lord, and as such the country’s blessing is withheld.  He attributes this moral decline to the rise of secularism in American culture, to the practice of abortion, and to the breakdown of traditional marriage.  He also cited the “homosexual agenda trying to take over the country,” as a major contributor to civil decay.

Mr. Spear is not sure whether or not we currently live in the End Times mentioned in the New Testament’s Book of Revelation, but he said that after 1948 and the founding of the modern state of Israel, that possibility is stronger than ever.

On the proper relationship between Church and State, he said that the government is barred from establishing a state religion, but contended that Christmas displays on city property do not constitute such.  He maintained that God will bless America if the nation returns to Christian practice and values.