JUST A SIMPLE COUNTRY CHURCH

I was driving through the country in Pike County, Georgia
On a Saturday afternoon, middle of Spring, April 2007
The sky was getting cloudy because a storm was coming
But the trees were full of light green leaves
The dogwoods had already sacrificed their petals to Easter
And their arthritic branches were showing the early green of Spring
But things are different now, the gentle flow of the pastures has felt the cut
Left in remnants, a half acre at a time, by the relentless clutch of Atlanta
But there were still little reminders of the ancient fields
Where the backhoes hadn't torn up the green blanket
To reveal the red dirt that lay below it all

But as I drove, a touch of white split the green of the trees in front of me,
The steeple of an old clapboard country Baptist church
Showed itself in the green, green, green of the trees that surrounded it
And I got closer and saw the pickup trucks and Buicks and Chevys parked around it
Like relics of some earlier time
When that simple wooden church was a sign to travellers
That no matter how the scene changed or where you found yourself
The one true God who created and sustained it all
Was still here and acknowledged by these good country folks
Until their place was taken by another generation
And their bones found their place of final rest in the same red dirt that lay below it all.

Shalom to me, Shalom to all.