Zion Methodist Church

The church we grew up in was Zion Methodist Church. It was a small country church located at the intersection of two gravel roads kitty-corner from the cemetery. The church wasn’t real fancy, but then it didn’t have to be for God to bless us anyway.

Heated in the winter with a wood stove and cooled in the summer by open windows, it was an old wooden structure. It wasn’t uncommon for an intruding wasp to infringe on our worship service and Sunday School. The only means of cooling the church building were open windows, four on the north and four on the south sides and the double doors on the east. Along with this natural ventilation we had fans. Not the electric type that hung from the ceiling, but the hand type that was in each pew. They always had the name and logo of a local funeral home printed on one side. On the reverse side was a picture of an angel looking over the children. The handle, much like a wooden tongue depressor, was stapled to the cardboard.

The pews were made of wood, a row down each side and a third row in the middle. I was young enough that when we sat in the pews my feet wouldn’t touch the floor. I would occasionally feel a tap from Mom to get me to quit swinging my feet back and forth.

Our preacher was a fellow named Judd Jones; we shared him with the big Methodist church in town. He came to our church every other Sunday to deliver a sermon. Those were the services that for us kids seemed to last for ever so we would do our best to talk Mom and Dad out of going on those particular Sundays. Sometimes we were successful, most of the time we were not.

On those Sundays when Doctor Jones was not there one of the adults would lead us in a couple of songs, a couple of prayers then we had Sunday School. Broken up into three or four groups by age, we all met in the same building. It must have been somewhat noisy in there with three or four groups going at once but it worked.

The church hosted various events occasionally. Along with our summer Bible School and Christmas Eve service was the annual bazaar. This was a much anticipated event where all kinds of donated items were auctioned off to raise funds for the church. The Ladies Aid made quilts to be sold at the annual church bazaar. People came from miles around. People who attended other churches would show up, not for the bargains, but for the fellowship. There was an old fashioned bonnet, the kind worn by ladies in the early west, which was a perennial favorite of everyone at the bazaar. It was light blue with white polka dots. This bonnet sold at least once at each bazaar and would return year after year to be auctioned off again. The crowd would always applaud when the auctioneer brought the bonnet out, and roar with laughter when he put it on his head to demonstrate the bonnet. It became a much anticipated traditional article at our annual bazaar.

All that was a long time ago, gone is the bonnet, gone is the bazaar, gone is Zion Methodist Church. The congregation dwindled and the building was moved into town and is now the sanctuary of another church. All have evaporated into the past never to return.

God was with us in that church. Unlike the bonnet, He isn’t going to go away. Unlike the congregation, He is not going to evaporate into the past. By His grace, by His mercy He is with us. He was with us in the past, He is with us today, and He will be with us tomorrow. Let us remember and give thanks for the many ways He has blessed each of our lives.