Once upon a time there was a church up Wild Creek Holler. It was a lively place, full of the Spirit. They preached fiery sermons on the prophets, and sang joyful songs of praise as they waited on the coming of the Lord. People were healed, sinners forgiven, the hungry fed and saints molded from the faithfulness of the Wild Creek Holler Church.
But young folks had no time for waiting. They began to drift away. There were more attractive ways to spend their time down in the town. There were movie theatres and shopping malls, fast food restaurants and all-day soccer programs for the kids. Moms and dads threw themselves into the frenzy of careers and raising their young families. There was no time for them to wait. It was all now, now, now!
Things continued pretty much as always at the Wild Creek Holler Church – except people missed the squeals of babies in the middle of prayers and the giggles of little kids cooking up orneriness in the Sunday school rooms. The church was still a lively place, and the Spirit still danced through their gatherings, and people still waited. The only difference was that some church members waited on the Lord to come, and others waited only for the young folks to come back – so church could be like it used to be again.
Then some of the older folks began to die, their waiting completed. And others moved to town, where they would be closer to doctors and things would be easier for their old bones. And Wild Creek Holler Church was not so lively anymore. A quiet calm settled on the congregation. Sermons were still preached on the prophets, but they were not so fiery anymore. Mostly they were just reruns of the past. Songs of praise were still sung to God, but the joy was gone because the singers missed the voices of their friends so very much. The waiting continued, but it too had changed. The waiting was more a plaintive cry, than the eager anticipation it had been long before. The waiting had lost its focus. Some still naively waited for the young folks to return, and they talked about the kids they saw living just down the road. Others waited for the next good friend to die. And others waited and wondered about how much longer they could keep the church doors open. Only a handful still waited for the Lord to come.
That handful was faithful, though. Daily their prayers were “Maranatha. Come, Lord Jesus, come.” Daily they labored to make their souls ready for the day when the Lord would answer their prayers and return to claim his kingdom. They were attentive to and appreciative of every sermon, even the ones that put others to sleep. They still sang the old praise songs, and though their voices were wobbly and wrinkled, they sang with all their hearts. The sick were still healed, sinners forgiven, the hungry fed and saints molded – just not as much as in days gone by.
But the appearance to others, especially those folks from down in town, was that the Wild Creek Holler Church seemed dead. People figured its glory days, if there ever had been any, were all in the past, and none awaited it in the days ahead. The world passed by, and only tourists paused to take a quick photo of “the cute little church” up Wild Creek Holler.
Yet Sunday after Sunday after Sunday, the doors opened, and the faithful few gathered in the Wild Creek Holler Church. Then old Harry Rankin lost the last shreds of his eyesight, and hearing aids could no longer penetrate his deafness. So his boy gave up on bringing him to church any longer. And one winter the Evanston sisters, Sally Rae and Nelly Rae, both slipped on an icy patch and went down together. They went onto the church’s shut-in list, never to be removed. Only Aunt June was left to unlock the church doors on Sundays, which she did faithfully week after week.
Aunt June sat alone, waiting, in the Wild Creek Holler Church. Every Sunday she would read some scripture and sing a solo or two. Then she would pray, “Maranatha. Come, Lord Jesus, come.” Then she waited a while longer, thinking what it would be like when the day came and her prayers would be answered. How glorious that day would be, that would make all the waiting worth while, and she would smile. Finally, she would rise from her seat to fuss a little over the church’s décor, dusting this and that, until all was ready. Then she would leave to spend the rest of her Sabbath at home.
A Sunday came, just before Christmas, but not much different from all the rest, and Aunt June filled her usual seat. The doors never opened, but a man came in and sat down beside her.
“You’ve been a long time in coming,” she said to him.
“There has been much to do,” he answered, “but now everything is finished and ready.”
“So I’m going to die today, eh?” she asked.
“Die? No,” he answered with a smile, “you’re going to live – forever!”
He reached over and took her hand, and suddenly they were standing outside, looking at the closed doors of the Wild Creek Holler Church. A tear rolled down her cheek, as she realized that there would be no one left to open those doors next Sunday. Like the man said, it was finished.
“June, why are you crying?”
She turned to answer the man beside her, and was stunned to see old Harry Rankin standing there.
“Harry! God bless your old soul! I haven’t seen you in a coon’s age!” Then, looking around, she asked, “Did your son bring you?”
“Nope, got here the same way you did,” Harry answered. “Now I answered your question. You answer mine. Why are you crying? Why is there a tear running down your cheek?”
“You can see the tear on my cheek?”
“Sure can. And I can also see that you’re wearing that red dress that you always looked so purty in too. I can hear too. And I don’t think that I have ever in all my life heard so many birds singing in this holler as there are singing today. Sounds like this is gonna’ turn into a mighty fine day.”
Aunt June listened, and Harry was right. She had never heard so many birds singing with such enthusiasm, especially at this time of year. It was like hearing seven years worth of spring mornings all rolled into one.
“Are you two going to stand there listening to the birds all morning, or are you going inside?”
Aunt June turned, and saw Sally Rae and Nelly Rae standing in front of the church’s open doors.
“You’d better get in there and claim your seats,” Nelly Rae told them. “You don’t want someone else to get them.”
They all chuckled at this old joke that they had shared for so many years.
“You’re first,” Harry said to Aunt June.
“What?”
“You’re first to go in,” he repeated. “Remember, ‘The last shall be first?’ Well, you were the last, and now you’re the first to go in.”
She did not really understand all that was going on, but Aunt June happily led her old friends back into their beloved church. They could have sat together, but each reclaimed the scattered seats that they had occupied for so many years.
No sooner were they seated, than cars began pulling into the church’s gravel parking lot. Old friends began getting out of the cars and filing into the church. Some were friends who had been in nursing homes, others who had been shut-ins, others who had moved into town, and others who had been dead for many years. Cheerful greetings, handshakes and hugs, laughter and stories began filling up the church in Wild Creek Holler.
More cars arrived, filling the gravel parking lot and spilling out onto the edges of the road all up and down the holler. Young families began arriving, descendents, friends, and neighbors of the faithful saints who had made the church their heart’s home.
Children began playing up and down the church’s aisles. And no one said “Stop running,” or “Be quiet.” Everyone loved hearing the squeals, giggles and laughter in the church again. It felt so right and so good.
Then a procession began, not one of those solemn, everyone-be-quiet processions; but a leisurely, happy-to-be-here procession. And a little toddler, who had just barely learned to walk, led the way. In the little guy’s hand was a tiny cross. He waddled up the aisle. Then he got down on his hands and knees to climb up the steps in the chancel. Once up the steps, he proudly stood up again, teetered for a moment, regained his balance, and then waddled on up to the communion table. He lifted the tiny cross way up high, as if to hang it from the rafters, but it was more imagination than reality for his tiny frame. Unable to reach the rafters, he tried for the top of the communion table, but this too was beyond his reach. So he satisfied himself with laying the cross on the floor in front of the table. Relieved of his burden, he turned to see if his efforts would evoke the praise he had been seeking.
The whole congregation broke into wild applause. They clapped their hands, and hooted and whistled, as a huge smile took possession of the little guy’s face.
No one even noticed that the big wooden cross that had always hung from the rafters of the church was no longer there. It had shrunk so much that now it fit in a toddler’s tiny fist. Though the cross was the foundation of all that was to come, this day was not about dying – but about living, forever.
After the toddler came a flood of acolytes, each with their lighted torches. Every age imaginable marched down the center aisle, young children, teenagers, young adults, middle-aged adults, retirees, the elderly, as well as the patriarchs and matriarchs of the congregation. Everyone who had ever carried the light of Christ, carried it again now. And when they began lighting candles, no one had ever seen or imagined so many candles lighted in one place. As more and more candles were lit, they grew brighter than Christmas and as bright as the sun rising on a new day. Everyone blinked at the brightness, but loved the new light filling the church.
While the candles were still being lit, singing that had been there all the time, became more apparent. A choir began to process down the center aisle, just as the acolytes had done before them. Now the Wild Creek Holler Church had never been big enough to have a choir, but there had always been people who had unpretentiously led the congregation’s singing from the pews. Unaware of their contributions, these people had just enjoyed singing the joyful songs of praise as they had patiently waited on the coming of the Lord. Now, without any word of direction, they rose from their seats in the pews, processed to the front of the church, and assembled there with a host from Heaven. Yes, it was like someone had lifted the roof from the church, and every angel in Heaven had come to sing with the Wild Creek Holler Church Choir. The singing flowed out and filled the whole holler with the Lord’s praise, and it blended with the concert of bird song already in full swing.
Ethel Belle Roberts, one of the saints of the congregation laboriously moved toward the old piano that Aunt June had dusted so recently. With great effort she pushed her walker toward the piano, and slowly lowered her ancient frame onto the bench. She reached out to the keys, and suddenly her fingers were transformed. They began to dance and play, strut and leap, up and down the piano’s keyboard. An energy poured from her heart and into her fingers that could not have been reproduced by a thousand generators.
With no other encouragement, a shy, young teenager leapt from his pew, and began wildly playing drums that had appeared from nowhere. Others quickly joined in with guitars, banjos, fiddles, and harmonicas. One old farmer even added a washboard to the band that now played in perfect harmony with the heavenly choir.
The whole congregation sang and swayed and clapped their hands in time with the praise that was being lifted up to the Lord. And outside, the wind murmured through the snow-covered branches of the pines, and the mighty oaks and hickories swayed in time with the music. A bobcat added its wailing cry, and foxes barked, wild turkeys gobbled, grouse drummed on hollow logs, and every creature of God’s creation added its own unique voice to the song.
Then pastors started processing down the aisle. With a leisurely and confident gait they moved toward the front of the church, turning this way and that to greet and hug old friends. They chatted and laughed and stopped to admire how children had grown since the last time the pastors had seen them. Every pastor who had ever preached the Word at the Wild Creek Holler Church moved down that aisle toward waiting seats in the front of the church.
All the while, the chorus of song grew and grew. Angels and farmers, songbirds and choir members, fiddlers and little kids, Aunt June, Old Harry Rankin, Sally Rae and Nelly Rae, all heaven and earth sang and sang and sang their praises of the Lord. Their song rolled up and down the holler and over the surrounding hills and valleys. Such song had never been heard since the creation of the world.
Then, without a word of direction, the song stopped. Every singer grew quiet. A hush settled over the holler and in the church. Every eye turned to the doors at the back of the church. Every living creature held its breath.
A bright light began pouring through the doors, brighter than all the candles that burned at the front of the church, brighter than ten thousand suns. And yet, with all its brightness, it did not burn. It did not hurt to gaze upon it. Instead, the light was inviting all eyes to look and see that for which they had waited so long. In human form the light walked into the Wild Creek Holler Church.
Every creature, every person, and all the heavenly host watched as the Lord of heaven and earth processed down the aisle to the front of the church. Long-suffering, endurance and patience all saw their reward walking down that aisle. The waiting was now ancient history. It was nothing compared to the love and joy that now walked to the front of the church, and sat down on the throne that was centered there in the gathering of acolytes, choir and pastors.
Then, a single daring cricket started it. Hesitantly at first, but growing ever bolder and louder, it chirped the song of life. Ethel Belle Roberts, heard the cricket’s song, and softly fingered the keys of the piano with the same tune. The people began swaying gently in time with the song. Soon the whole church and all the creatures in the Wild Creek Holler were back in full tune, singing the song of life, the praise of the Lord.
Aunt June was singing her heart out when she noticed a wondrous thing. Not only did it appear that the roof of the church was gone and all the heavenly host had joined their singing, but the church’s walls seemed to have disappeared as well. The people in the church sang in unison with all the creatures of the holler, and now she could see that they also were singing in unison with people gathered in other churches. She could see the Baptists gathered in their church down the holler a way, and the Methodists in their church at the top of the holler. She could see the people gathered in churches down in town, and in churches in other towns beyond that, and in big cities across the land. And beyond them, people gathered in shipboard chapels on the open seas, and in more churches than anyone could count scattered through other lands and spanning the entire created world.
They all sang the same song. And when she listened, Aunt June could hear voices in countless languages, all singing the song of the life that the Lord had brought to them. And when she looked, Aunt June could see that the same Lord sat on the same throne in all the churches.
Just then the wind blew a branch across one of the church windows, and the noise woke Aunt June from her dream. Her finger still pointed at the verse in the Bible on her lap, the one she was reading just before she fell asleep. She read the verse again, “Be patient, therefore, beloved, until the coming of the Lord.” Now she knew for what she was waiting. The Lord had shown it all to her in her dream. And now the waiting would be easy. She knew it was nothing compared to what is coming.
Aunt June got up, dusted a few things, rearranged the artificial poinsettias at the front of the church, and made sure that everything was ready at the Wild Creek Holler Church. Because Aunt June knew, in her heart of hearts, that the coming of the Lord is near. Who knows it might even happen this year at Christmas. Wouldn’t that be fun!
Questions for Meditation, Discussion or Preaching
Copyright 2020. Robert D. Ingram, 32746 Jourden Rd., Albany, Ohio 45710 (dr.bobingram@gmail.com). Used by permission.
