A wonderful reader of ND Nice – and a retired master chief petty officer of the Navy – has become my pen pal. He sent a few reflections on his now-shuttered hometown church and cemetery as it dwindles in numbers and in memory (although now remembered for all time in print), and has given me permission to share it with all of you.

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THE LITTLE CHURCH ON THE PRAIRIE

There’s a little white frame church on the prairie in southwest Minnesota and every fall,
usually in September, there’s an annual service and it’s a pilgrimage for many families
from the tri-state area (Minnesota, Iowa and South Dakota). Although the church
officially closed in the mid 1970’s there remains a strong connection to its members.

I remember sitting on the north side, third pew with my aunt, uncle, father and my children. We hear the old songs from the red hymnals that were held with love and reverence in the hands of our treasured ancestors.

We wonder and remain proud of the firm foundation and condition of the church as well
as the solemn upkeep of the cemetery and grounds by Dave and Mark. You can see the
pride in their work!

We stop at the church on Saturday afternoon and visit with Dolly as she and others clean
and prepare the church for service the following day. We walk around the cemetery and
remember our relatives who rest beneath the tear-stained prairie soil.

Sunday begins with former members, family and guests arriving at the church. Everyone
arrives early to renew friendships, tour the cemetery and remember friends, classmates,
family and relatives resting in the cemetery.

I am joined by my children to ensure that the graves of our veterans are each marked with two American flags and new to the church grounds is a quartzite marker and flag
honoring the church veterans.

All who enter the church are greeted by Dick and Dolly, Randy and Milo. Promptly at
11:00am the old bell tolls for the call to worship. The door closes. All are seated quietly.
Memories follow. Tears flow.

Mary plays hymns on the old piano, softly but resolutely. Quietly we listen to the gentle
refrains of “Shall We Gather at the River”, “American the Beautiful” and “A Mighty
Fortress is our God” and other songs chosen by the visiting pastor. Donna and Betty Jo
sing duets including “King of Love my Shepherd Is” and “As We Come to Thee in
Prayer”. Betty sings “The Lord’s Prayer”. We all applaud for their wonderful effort.

Eldon asks those in attendance to do three things; remember the church in your wills and trusts and be generous in your giving to sustain the building and cemetery. Then he asks everyone to stand and “look to the east” and remember our relatives and friends buried in the church cemetery. Then he too, turned to the east. Pioneers who risked everything for a better life.

We hear the visiting pastor say that buildings don’t matter, it’s the people that matter. All
in attendance know better. We know and our fathers, grandfathers and great-grandfathers knew the importance of three sacred acres of land with a little white framed church and cemetery. For many, the church will forever be an anchor in their lives.

At the conclusion of the service there is always a time when those in attendance are
encouraged to share memories. One of the guests of a member asked why we still gather even though the church closed decades ago. A sweet and dear lady exclaims; “Because we weren’t ready to close!” Dad stands and said “I’ve been away for a very long time but I just wanted to say that I saw my son and his children placing flags on the graves of all veterans.” That’s all Dad could say. Nothing more needed to be said. It was enough.

After everyone had said what was deep in their hearts we break for a wonderful luncheon in the basement fellowship hall. Before we eat, we sing the old table blessing; “Be present at our table Lord, be here and everywhere adored, these mercies bless and grant that we may be strengthened for thy service be.” For many who always remember
singing this verse at family meals and holiday dinners the emotions are strong and deep.
Many are unable to sing or say the words. Their tears and silence are understood.

When lunch is concluded we all stay for coffee and conversation. No one wants to leave.
As we all depart we know that we’ll meet again next September.

Whenever I’m in that area I always stop to visit the church, even if I’m alone. Flags are
placed on the graves of veterans and I wait for sunset. The peace and serenity of an
evening on the prairie with a little white frame church and cemetery is unforgettable.