It was a cool Sunday morning in October. Mary and I made the drive over to Warrenton, Georgia, to attend homecoming services at First Baptist Church – a church that has been ministering to souls for 193 years. Before the first Model T. Before Abraham Lincoln and the Civil War. Before the Battle of the Alamo, there was Warrenton First Baptist.
I grew up in nearby Thomson, and attended high school at Briarwood Academy. Briarwood drew students from Thomson, Warrenton, and other nearby small towns, so I had a lot of old friends that grew up in Warrenton. One of my high school classmates, Chris Giddens, was preaching the morning message. I was excited to see an old friend and hear what God had laid on his heart as well.
This church was a special place in my teenage years as I hung out with friends and school mates in the youth group there. My high school girlfriend and I would take a Sunday afternoon to shoot baskets or walk to Doug’s store for an ice cream or slice of hoop cheese. Yes, young people… that was fun entertainment for us. There were no cell phones to be in constant contact with each other, and no risqué pictures to post up for all to see. No funny memes to pass around. I promise you, young people, we were way better off. Much less drama. Not near the anxiety and fear. No secret world at your fingertips with one thousand virtual “friends.” We had real friends. And we actually knew how to talk to each other. Just walking to the store. Or sitting in the backyard “visiting.” Or shooting hoops with my girlfriend.
After a wild afternoon of fun, we would attend youth group and evening services of Warrenton First Baptist. We would sing a few verses from the green hymnal that hung in the back of the pew in front of us, and then Reverend Phil May would preach from God’s Word. I can still remember standing up and singing, “And sinners plunged beneath that flood, lose all their guilty stains” with all of my friends on the back row.
Those were special times. Good times. Old friends. Warm fuzzy memories of small town life and friends that would hold on for dear life with you when you almost wrecked Matthew Thigpen’s go cart. Friends that would laugh with you when you fell down Ashli Callaway’s back steps. Friends that would cry with you when our team lost out in the football semi-finals. Friends that took the heat for you when you pranked the Rainbow Connection Choir leader’s wife and got “in trouble” for it. Friends that would sit fishing on the pond bank and try to get you to take a dip of Copenhagen snuff. Still makes me smile thinking of standing strong and not dipping in that HOT, HOT sun while they pulled out a thick, double-pinch worth and spent the afternoon feeding the catfish with their puke. That’s OK, guys. I caught the fish. You enjoyed the dry heaves. All names withheld to protect the guilty and innocent from this alleged incident. Some still remain in Witness Protection.
I’m talking friends that really love you. Friends that would worship with you. We sang together. We prayed together. We listened to sermons together. Friends that would laugh like crazy one minute and comfort you the next. Friends that knew your victory and your pains. Friends that prayed for you and picked on you at the same time. But it was all in love and friendship. Never with a hateful or mean spirit. You know, buddies that would hand you a peppermint before you met your date because your breath would wilt a 2 x 4, or buddies that would say, “hey man, bat in the cave” because you needed a booger check before you knocked on her door.
So Mary and I arrived in Warrenton at First Baptist. We walked into the front doors and were greeted with love and smiles. Many people remembered and knew me, but folks were hugging and loving on Mary, who they had never seen before. They were loving her because I love her. Just because that’s what we should do. Share God’s love. Old friends hugging. Fathers of my buddies shaking my hand and talking about the old days. Mothers of my buddies giving bear hugs and inviting us to eat fried chicken after the service.
And then there was Chris. My old friend and now pastor. We hugged and caught up for a couple of minutes before the service. Several high school classmates joined us and everyone was smiling, laughing, and loving on each other. I was so happy to see them and I could tell they were happy to see me.
The service started and the children’s choir sang a song pointing us to the love of Jesus. It wasn’t long after that the music minister was leading the congregation in singing “Love Lifted Me.” Believe me, love already had lifted me and was still raising me ever higher. No smoke and lighting show. No multi-level balanced sound system. Just a couple of hundred people surrounded by the beautiful stained glass windows raising their voices to the Lord. We later sang “Here I Am To Worship” and no doubt we were there to worship.
Chris took the pulpit and welcomed everyone reminding us all that he grew up in Warrenton First Baptist and sat on the third row to the right. Small town southern Baptist churches are known for its family “reserved seating.” Chris began to read from the Word and dug in at Romans 12.
“What will you do with the Grace that’s been given you?”
Uh oh. He’s gone to meddling. Getting to our hearts right away.
“Love must be sincere. Do not repay anyone evil for evil. If your enemy is hungry, feed him. What will you do with the Grace that has been given you? Who have you fed? Who do you need to feed? What will you do with Grace?”
Man, he keeps asking that. Has Chris been following me around lately? It’s like he knows I needed to hear it. God knows I do.
The service ended with the old Bill Gaither song “Because He Lives.” A few hands were raised and a few wet eyes were around.
And then more folks came and loved on us. A laugh with Gayle Callaway. A hand shake from Palmer Hadden. A hug from Mrs. Louise. A hug from Ashli, too. A smile from Larry and Jeremy Rachels. Another hug from Fran Coxwell. I swear that I can still smell her hashbrown casserole cooking every Thanksgiving from two counties away.
And then Mary and I stood with Chris, Aaron, Tricie, and Jon. We shared a few more laughs. We talked about old times and our kids. My heart was full and I hated we had to leave. Especially with fried chicken in the fellowship hall.
I live around a lot of pavement and four lanes now, but you can’t get the small town and old friends out of me. I’m convinced heaven will be a lot like that homecoming service in Warrenton, Georgia. A place where people love you and call you by your nickname. A place where a smile and a song fill your heart. A place where we can all truly worship together.
A place full of old friends.
