One Sunday in October...

   What do you want to do this afternoon?

   What about a ride around somewhere?

   Want to go down into Charlton County and see a couple of churches?

   That was the gist of a short conversation on our back porch yesterday, a conversation that culminated in a drive down south, camera in hand, toward Folkston, the county seat of Charlton County.

   A short drive over to Hwy 17 south, a jag south to the community of White Oak, a sign that read "Road Closed Bridge Out", a conversation in the car discussing the need to turn around, more signs, but cars coming the other way toward us

   Maybe...just maybe..

   More signs, then the river, a new bridge in place but the approaches not yet finished, a trip through road fill, up onto the new bridge, another trip through the fill at the west end, out onto Hwy 252, and smooth sailing.

   Corinth Primitive Baptist Church:

   A simple church, built in 1882, a quiet setting in the pines of South Georgia. People worshiped here. I wondered about their lives and their faith.

   Inside it was dark, only the light from the cracks between the boards and the shutters showing the simple pews. Pews where men and women with their families had sat listening and participating.

   I sat and thought for a few moments, then retreated to the car. We had another church to visit.

   On south on 252 into Folkston, then out the west side.

   There it was, on the east side, set back in the pines, Sardis Primitive Baptist Church.

   The setting was quiet, the folks in the cemetery were resting. The front door, barred but unlocked (indeed, there were no locks), beckoned..

  

   As I entered and sat down on the dusty pews, in the half light from outside, I thought about the contrast of worship that this day had brought.

   On this particular Sunday in October, our church on the Island, had its annual Church in the Park, where we gather for one service down in the park by the ocean. Lawn chairs, food for a picnic afterwards, music from the stage with speakers so large that they could probably hear the proceedings on Jekyll, the next island south.

   As I sat in that plain wooden building, cemetery out to the right side, the air still and the pines just standing there, I thought of a verse that began with "If my people, who are called by My Name..."

   And of the contrast between the worship of the morning with the ways of the past.

   But it was still "My People", and that was what mattered.

   Blessed to be in both spots on a glorious Sunday in October.