Harmony Baptist Church celebrated their 190th anniversary with an October Homecoming service. My mother, 98 at the time, was recognized as the oldest member. She’s hoping to win again in five years. 

Homecoming revived some fading memories, including Mama’s path to membership there. She grew up attending Bethlehem Baptist, a small congregation near her childhood home. Preacher Simon Anderson baptized her in the cold waters of Mock Springs, a popular swimming hole during her childhood as well as my own.

She and two cousins, Ruby and Alvin Hogsett, began attending Harmony also during their teen years. Alvin drove my grandfather’s old farm truck on the four mile trip. Bethlehem and Harmony were quarter-time churches then, with preaching only once a month. Mama says that prospects of meeting other young people appealed to the trio more than extra sermons.

On one of those Sundays, Ruby told Mama that George Joiner would be calling on her. Although my mother had only seen him from a distance, Ruby was convinced, saying he’d been looking her way. Daddy borrowed his father’s car that afternoon and introduced himself to his future mother-in-law. With her permission the young couple went to McVay’s Pharmacy in Cochran. McVay’s popular soda fountain featured a long bar with stools plus glass top tables and metal chairs. That first date began a Harmonyous relationship.             

Patricia Cross Williams, who was born into the Harmony family in the 1950s, has done a remarkable job of preserving church history. Something I realized from her presentation is the connection, continuous I believe, with the Mashburn family. Daniel Mashburn and his wife Elizabeth were two of the seven founding members. Generations later, Elaine Mashburn Free Peavy continues that admirable legacy.

Virgil and Edith Peavy were at Homecoming. Though somewhat younger than my mother, they are well into their senior years. They are the only ones of that age group still at Harmony who were there during my childhood. Mr. Virgil’s sincere prayers impressed me even as a young boy. It was obvious he and God kept in touch. And Miss Edith’s chocolate cakes were always among the delightful choices at church dinners.

Concrete picnic tables are long gone, as is the unpainted-block outhouse. The small cement baptismal pool is no longer there, nor the hand pump that was close by. Baptisms were usually held just after July revivals. I was nine when Brother Earl Troglin immersed me. Some folks say he didn’t hold me under long enough. 

Mrs. Ilene Mashburn, Elaine Peavy’s mother, was the first Sunday School teacher I remember. She used a felt board to teach us about Bible characters like Noah, Moses, and David. Miss Ilene held our attention by telling stories with zeal while creating colorful scenes on the big board. I can still picture Noah’s brown ark floating on blue water. 

David Dunaway and I would quietly tussle when it was time to quote scripture, competing for the rights to proclaim, “Jesus wept.” William Cross was the champion at Sword Drills. He’d flip pages with lightning speed then raise one foot, poised to step forward. As he was stepping across an imaginary line, I was usually wondering whether to look in the Old Testament or New.

Those are some of the fading memories that Homecoming brought to mind. I’m thankful for them all, but especially one before my time. I’m here and I’m blessed because a sixteen year old girl visited Harmony Baptist Church in 1942, and a lanky young man began looking her way.