It was early May and the air was alive.
For the first time in over 200 years, the 13 and 17-year cicadas were emerging at the same time. Two different broods, collected around a small, one-room church in rural Sumter County, Alabama. A million tiny abdomens, vibrating in unbroken, indistinguishable unison.
Gerald Holloway, a retired Army Corps engineer originally from Mobile, leaned over the pew and looked at me, “Sunday was the most segregated day of the week.”
His wife Margaretta, known to friends and neighbors as “Sweet”, sat in an adjacent pew, nodding. “White and Black people — we would see each other during the week, and people were always friendly. But on Sunday, people went to their separate churches. It sometimes felt like the deeper comfort wasn’t there.
“And this church?” she said. “It’s historic. My ancestors have come here for generations. I’ve been coming here since I was a toddler.”
But the church, Clark Chapel, was falling apart.
What is an “independent Black church”, and why is this one of the oldest?
In 1867, newly freed slaves in Gainesville, AL — including Margaretta’s ancestors — built Clark Chapel to have a place to worship. Clark Chapel was not unique in this: after the war, independent Black churches sprung up across the South.
But unlike Clark Chapel, most of these other churches are now long gone — be it through abandonment or the weathering of time. The locals, for example, already rebuilt Clark Chapel once in 1923. Of course, some Black churches have faced worse: attacks from the Ku Klux Klan and the like.
In 2006, disturbingly recently, arsonists struck Black churches at night across western Alabama. “It was scary,” Margaretta said. “We didn’t know if they were going to start burning houses next.”
The most famous example may be the KKK bombing Birmingham’s 16th Street Baptist Church in 1963, which killed four girls. And the attacks on Black churches didn’t simply stop once the Civil Rights Act passed in 1964. In 2006, disturbingly recently, arsonists struck Black churches at night across western Alabama. “It was scary,” Margaretta said. “We didn’t know if they were going to start burning houses next.”
Clark Chapel’s apparent demise was much less dramatic; its attendance simply dwindled over the years. By the time it shuttered in the ’80s, the congregation was down to 2. And while Margaretta retained ownership, she had little choice but to watch as it fell apart. So she assumed that, like countless other historic Black churches across the South, Clark Chapel was also reaching its end.
Using the Church to Cross the Racial Divide
Gainesville may have a population of less than 200, but just like the rest of the country, its racial dynamics show up in surprising places. One such place: the town’s Christmas celebrations.
A few years back, while Gerald was on the city council, the other members invited him to participate in the town Nativity. He agreed. So there he found himself one Christmas season: a Black wise man in the town’s otherwise white Nativity scene. “They invited me,” he said, “and that showed me that their hearts were in the right place.”
In order to preserve the buildings and their culture, the congregants of Gainesville’s historic white churches now rotated between all four — one for each Sunday of the month.
As for Margaretta, she grew up with many of the white families in town, often eating dinner at one another’s houses. Between Gerald’s experiences and her relationships, they felt the time was right to publicly float the idea of fixing up and reopening Clark Chapel. After all, Gainesville’s historic white churches had already moved beyond their denominational differences and, in order to preserve both their buildings and culture, the congregants now rotated between four churches — one for each Sunday of the month. As a local woman told me, “we’re all MethoBapterians.”
They didn’t quite know what to expect, but Carl Sudduth, the pastor rotating at the town’s white churches, jumped at the chance. So while Gerald planned to do the work himself, people — black and white — kept showing up to help. Electrical work? Someone volunteered. Updating a 100-year-old foundation? Again, a volunteer. Some folks were there every day. As Sudduth said, “it was a community effort. And it was comforting to know that we were all there together.”
“If a rich person wants to give us $100k to fix up this historic building, that’s great. But for our community to grow together, we need people here to donate their time and money.”
– Colter Nelson, Gainesville’s mayor
“If a rich person wants to give us $100k to fix up this historic building, that’s great,” Gainesville’s mayor Colter Nelson told me, “but it doesn’t help the community grow together. For us to move forward, we need people here to donate their time and money. Whether it’s putting up siding or cooking for the volunteers, everybody can do something.”
Integrating
Of course, rotating between four churches leaves an extra Sunday open every four months.
“So they [the white community] started coming here every 5th Sunday,” Gerald said, “they were so accepting, it caught me completely by surprise.” And just like that, in December of 2018, Gainesville had its first ever integrated church service.
“This is a very small town, so things move slowly here, but these barriers are universal. Just look at our country,” Gerald said. “It feels like the news pits black and white people against each other. But when you get to know people through mutual respect, such as volunteering, then you find we aren’t as different as we’ve been led to believe.
“For example, I get tired of the perception that Black people don’t contribute to society and just collect food stamps, but in reality there are more white people on food stamps. But I’m guilty of misperception too. We had one guy come here to volunteer, and he looked the part of a ‘redneck’. As a Black person, I got nervous. But then he was one of the nicest guys I’d ever met — both he and his wife.
“Margaretta and I are older. We don’t have much longer here, so we think about how to leave the world better than we found it. There’s a lot of hate out there, and we want to see that fade away.”
– Gerald Holloway
“Margaretta and I are older. We don’t have much longer here, so we think about how to leave the world better than we found it. I guess it’s cliché, but we just want people to see that it’s possible to get along. There’s a lot of distrust and even hate out there — and I mean everywhere — and we want to see that fade away. And it’s been successful here to a degree: there are definitely people who are more comfortable around each other now. This church has been the crossroads.
“Fixing up this church and worshiping together — it’s opened the door to dialogue. And that’s the first step, I think.”
Story by Wesley Miller.
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