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The pleasant feeling of eating chocolate is caused by a chemical called anadamide, a neurotransmitter which also is produced naturally in the brain.
And Now You Do
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11:12, He that is void of wisdom despiseth his neighbour: but a man of understanding holdeth his peace.
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Kerens old-timers, driving around town, see things in memory that others do not—the Kerens Hotel, which stood back of the Kerens Theater on the northwest corner of that block; Reese’s Lumberyard, which stood on the now-vacant block of Colket immediately south of the railroad, on the west side of the street; and of course the old grammar school that marked the south end of Colket Street--the place where a fleet of yellow school buses assembled at the end of every school day for over fifty years. There were other landmarks as well, stores in the fire-ravaged section of downtown, the school gymnasium, and the beige brick high school building--a landmark I still remember so well that I could take you on a verbal walking tour of the entire premises. In our hearts, in our minds, in our memories, we can visit there together one day, but just now I am thinking of another landmark to tell you about—the old tabernacle.
A wooden tabernacle shelter stood in Kerens for many years. I do not know how many years, but it was there when my father was a child, and it was there during my childhood as well, but now it is gone. It stood on the large city block of land that lies just south of the First Baptist Church of Kerens. I always supposed the block of land and the tabernacle belonged to the Baptist Church, but if so, it was used as well by the nearby Church of Christ, the Methodist Church, and perhaps by the Presbyterian Church.
Structurally, the old wooden tabernacle was constructed in pole building style with a wood- shingled roof supported by tall cedar posts all the way around. By family legend, my grandfather Lewis Comer Vernon contributed the cedar posts. The floor was earthen, and the sides were open. The west end, which housed the platform and preacher’s pulpit, was partially shielded from the elements. The wooden platform was large enough to seat a small church choir as well as the pulpit and chairs for other service participants.
The primary, perhaps only, purpose of the old tabernacle was for church revivals. Revivals were almost always held in July or August. A revival, for those unacquainted with Texas protestant ways, was a time for church members to revive their faith, repent their sins, and resolve to go forward in a better way. The unchurched were welcome as well, and in our lexicon, they needed to be “saved,” to be brought to a saving knowledge and acceptance of the divinity of Christ and to accept His offer of salvation. Church members, indeed, were exhorted to find the unsaved and to invite them to the revival meetings.
Revival meetings were more than just religious events. They were social affairs as well. Before services began sun-burned men wearing their best khaki trousers stood outside smoking and discussing their cattle and cotton crops and speculating upon the strength of the Bobcat football team for the upcoming fall season. Wives wearing their good clothes (not their “Sunday best” because of the summer heat and the rough tabernacle seats) discussed their children, households, and gardens, and by this time of year many could boast of having canned over one hundred quarts of beans, black-eyed peas, tomatoes, and peaches—frugal and industrious preparation for the winter ahead! Surely someone must have repeated the old joking refrain of the home gardener: “We eat what we can and what we can’t eat we can.”
Teenagers found their own places to congregate, usually in the last two seating rows of the tabernacle, and mightily resisted any parental entreaties to join the family groupings—they were too grown up for that! Conversation, whispers, and giggles were the inevitable result, and quite a lot of the “Peggy loves Bill” sort of gossip inevitably ensued. It was a time and place of creating, acknowledging, and reinforcing social relationships, some no doubt of lifetime duration.
Smaller children and babes in arms remained with their parents. To the best of my knowledge, the church nursery, where my Mom served for so many years, was not opened for revivals. Younger children fidgited, twisted, whimpered, and sometimes fell asleep during the sermon portion of the services, and justifiably so. Some of these sermons were long, approaching or even surpassing an hour, the length on occasion challenging the patience and physical endurance of even the most committed!
Worshipping in the old tabernacle put you in contact with nature and the outside environment. You could hear the chirping of insects, and off in the distance the distinctive shrill sound of cicadas. There was the sound of passing traffic and in the distance the sound of gasoline-powered lawn mowers. The evening sounds of mothers calling their children home also drifted our way. Smells also intruded upon the consciousness—the aroma of evening meals came wafting through the air along with the smell of freshly cut grass and sometimes even the acrid odor of cotton burrs burning in nearby fields and pastures. An occasional bolt of summer lightning served as ample reminder of the power of the Almighty and added dramatic emphasis to the admonitions directed toward the errant.
Younger children sometimes took off their shoes to feel the loose cool soil under foot. Doodlebugs made their home here as well, and I recall seeing little kids twirling plant twigs or stems in the little dirt doodlebug funnels, calling out the ancient childhood chant: “Doodle-bug, doodle-bug, your house is on fire, come on out and get your children!” The racks on the back of the pews contained hymnals and offering envelopes, but more practically they also included folding hand fans decorated with religious motifs—Daniel in the lions’ den, Moses leading the Israelites through the Red Sea, and Joshua making short work of Jericho!
Teenagers whispered and giggled, youngsters squirmed and cried, and parents sighed and stoically endured until the sermon finally reached its conclusion well before midnight. This was not the end of the service, however. Every revival meeting concluded with an altar call and a hymn of invitation. The invitational hymns were mainly these two standbys whose tunes will immediately come to the mind of anyone who ever attended a Kerens revival meeting:
Just as I am, without one plea,
but that thy blood was shed for me,
and that thou bidst me come to thee,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come.
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Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling,
calling for you and for me;
see, on the portals he's waiting and watching,
watching for you and for me.
These hymns were played over and over to the accompaniment of a small upright piano. “Every head bowed, every eye closed,” the revivalist minister intoned. “We don’t want to leave until God has the chance to touch the heart and soul of every unsaved person.”
As the years passed, the old tabernacle grew shabby, and the local churches gradually installed air conditioning. Like so many other things, the tabernacle became obsoleted by modern technology. It served its purpose well, however, and it left its mark upon all those generations of Kerens folks who came together beneath its roof.
Dr. Ivan R. Vernon
ivernon-ohio@att.net
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