Editor, Times-Union: For decades the old bell sat in its lofty perch looking out over the country side. How many souls did its ring call to worship in the walls beneath it. A well known term is, “If these walls could talk, what stories they could tell?” The old bell no longer sits in that lofty perch and the walls, if they could talk, are no longer there. The old bell is silent. Oh it may be rung again but it will never sound the same.
I went to see that it was really happening and as I watched I saw a child with tears running down his cheeks. I realized what was happening in the eyes of that child. History was being destroyed. I thought about the generation whose hands constructed that building and about what their thoughts and hopes were for it. About the generations that followed who came to that little church. Oh I know that a building is not the church but what did it mean all those decades ago. A place where they and the generations that would follow could meet and worship in that country setting.
It’s gone now and I don’t need to hear the reasons or excuses. I know them all and you might ask who am I to make comment on the destruction of that building. What right do I have to talk? My right is given to me by the look and tears on that young child’s face because I broke into tears at that moment. I wept with him.
