The Man Who moved A Mountain (And the Woman the Mountain moved)

You may be familiar with the story of Rev. Bob Childress, or read Richard C. David’s book, The Man Who Moved A Mountain. Bob grew up at the turn of the 20th century on Buffalo Mountain, an isolated community infamous in its poverty and citizens penchant for moonshine and violence. Bob was not without participation in such activities, but at age 30 he felt the call to ministry, completed high school and Davidson College, then after a time serving in law enforcement, attended Union Theological Seminary where he graduated in 1926. It had not occurred to me until now, but it is highly likely that Bob met and gleaned wisdom from New Providence’s influential pastor of the same years, Rev. Henry McLaughlin.

When he returned to Buffalo Mountain, Bob Childress was instrumental in the formation of multiple Presbyterian churches in the area.  In his 30 years of service Bob was well known for breaking up fights, inviting people to attend church, and driving his neighbors over the mountain for medical care. It is said that Bob would regularly preach at five churches every Sunday!   These became known as “the rock churches” and were placed on the Virginia historic registry in 2007.   

I was given a copy of this book by a dear man who has since passed, named Cliff Harvey, upon my arrival at my first call in Appomattox, VA. I think Cliff wanted me to understand the impact that a minister could have on a small town if that person were committed to knowing and loving the people.  Little did I know that a decade later I would find myself serving at two of Bob’s churches following the retirement of Bob’s grandson Stewart who had been ministering to them for several years.

 As I told you a bit about my own personal sense of exile in worship on Sunday , this is the story of how God reclaimed the scattered and brought me home.  Upon my sudden departure from my call in Roanoke, our General Presbyter who had been a wonderful co-worker and friend to me said that two yoked congregations on the edge of the Presbytery needed a supply pastor and would I be willing to travel up to Patrick and Carroll Counties to preach on Sundays at Mayberry and Bluemont churches. Well, yes indeed, I jumped at the chance.  My future in ministry was decidedly up in the air, dejected as I felt, but this was an opportunity to bless my family.  A few Sundays turned into an 18-month position as a “temporary bridge supply.” I was basically an interim without the official title and with guidance from an established interim minister, I walked through the process of preparing for a new pastor with these two congregations.  More than a substitute filling in, these congregations gave me a job! They paid me a salary and supplied our health insurance.  Even more important, they loved me.  Members there looked me in the eye and told me they trusted me; they believed in me.

They breathed new life into me and reminded me that I was indeed called to the ministry.  For much of 2019 I made my hour and a half trek to the parkway twice a week.  On Sundays I would leave the house before the sun came up and head to Mayberry for worship, then leave there and drive 12 miles further down the road to Bluemont.  Two individual congregations with their own distinct personalities, but to me they became “Blueberry.”  When covid hit we soldiered on, I would send out worship materials, not unlike our Worship Guide here, and we would meet on Zoom as well.  When the weather broke, we spent the summer worshiping outside.  Blueberry reminded me of the beauty of rural life and small church ministry.  Our son was just beginning kindergarten while I was with them, and just as he is welcomed here, he was in those churches as well.  He would sit with me behind the pulpit and stick his head out from behind my legs to peak at the pews.  At Bluemont once he was down in front around the Communion table and I had to stop preaching to tell him he had finally become too much of a distraction!  Ah, but he felt safe there.  And loved. At Mayberry he would go into the basement of the fellowship building and play with all the toys.   On those summer Sundays outside, a member of Bluemont with grandsons of his own would take him for walks out in the yard to look for bugs when he got restless.  I was present to celebrate Bluemont’s 100th anniversary and Mayberry celebrated theirs last year and were thoughtful enough to include me in the recognition of their pastors. 

As they began the search for an installed minister, I began my search as well.  And God led me to you, New Providence.  Had I not had those 18 months with Blueberry, my path may have looked very different.  It was there that my confidence as a pastor was rebuilt and my faith in the precious goodness of God’s people revived.  It was there that I was reminded of all that I loved about serving in a small church. It’s like Cheers, where everybody knows your name (haha)! Truly, I recalled that when I visited Appomattox, I felt nothing but warmth and welcome. And I should interject here that I was blessed by my call in Roanoke as well, while a different position within the church I have fond memories and sweet relationships from that time. Its not that it was not good, it was simply different and in a season of life that was difficult. When I went to the rock churches, it was the very same sense of warmth.  And not just because my first Sunday at Mayberry I was met by a retired race car driver, and at Bluemont the most soft-spoken farmer I’d ever met! I knew then—that’s it—that’s the feeling the Spirit will give.  And so, I felt that here with you.  As I wound around Raphine Road and admired the views from the winery to the mill.  As I turned the curve and our beautiful church in all her glory came into view. I still feel it when I look down on the church from the front porch on the hill.  But more than that, it’s the wonderful people of this congregation and the ways you love each other, and the ways you serve the Lord.  I’m reminded of the little song I was taught in my grandparents’ church as a child, “there’s the church, there’s the steeple, open the doors, and there’s the people.”  It’s the people.  And I am honored to be counted among you as we call this place home.