Grandpa was a Preacher

Grandpa was a Preacher

“Give me that old time religion, give me that old time religion, give me that old time religion, it’s good enough for me.” “Friends,” Grandpa Willie began, “we gathered here to pray for deliverance from evil. The evil our fathers brought onto us through their sins!” His long gray beard, balding pate, jeans, shirt, and boots that was grandpa Willie Moultree, my grandpa, and a preacher to end all preachers. Grandpa Willie preached the word of God all over the Smoky Mountains. Sometimes I can still see in my mind; grandpa Willie with a bible in one hand and a bottle in the other, he was making a point about devil rum. Times dictated that ALL ALCOHOL be prohibited; that amendment caused all types of problems, not only for grandpa Willie. Grandpa and Grandma Moultree rented part of their house to a gentleman who made bootleg whiskey in the basement. Grandma Moultree, told Grandpa she thought she smelled whiskey, and together they went down to the basement. There in the corner was a still. Grandma ran upstairs and brought down a DDT spray. She sprayed until all they could smell was the spray. Grandma was satisfied that no one could smell the whiskey; then she told Grandpa the gentleman was going to have to leave. She had no desire to find either of them behind bars. Times changed, and prohibition was repealed. I think grandpa missed those times. Grandpa preached the gospel to everyone. Sundays were meant to be a family day; we would rise early, get our chores done, and then go to church. The little white church in the vale, that was Grandpa’s church. I was baptized there, not like today, a lot of children are not even baptized. I remember when grandpa baptized me in the creek that ran behind the church. I accepted God that day of my own free will. I was thirteen at the time, so I knew my own mind. Grandpa was very much like the preacher in the movie Pollyanna, when he sermonized, the church vibrated. There was one sermon he gave that scared the entire congregation, God’s wrath descending on us on judgment day. The rafters of the church vibrated; “You are all going to hell unless you listen to the word of God! It was a powerful and enlightening, or so the congregation said. Grandpa’s blue eyes were flashing as he spoke. I could almost see the Rath of God. I trembled for fear I had already committed all sorts of sins, unknowingly, of course. Grandpa took me on his lap as he told me that even he was a sinner. I could not imagine my grandpa as a sinner, but he also preached that old-time religion, better than anyone I have ever heard. Music was something we all enjoyed, especially when Grandma played the lap organ; we would all join in. Grandpa sang bass, Grandma sang alto, together they sounded wonderful. They sang Will the Circle be Unbroken, I’ll Fly Away and I Saw the Light. And Canaan’s Land. I would give anything if our family could sing those the way we did when we were growing up. Grandpa Willie thought Grandma should teach me to play the lap organ, but I was not interested then; at fifteen, I wanted the world at my feet. Now I would give anything to have grandpa and grandma sing. Time has a way of getting away from all of us. Grandpa always stood tall; he was over six feet tall. Grandma, on the other hand, was only four feet seven inches; most folks called them Mutt and Jeff, to me, they were grandpa and grandma. One spring, grandpa got the idea that the church should have a garden, not too large but adequate. He sent a check to the seed company. He ordered: pumpkins, green beans, peas, carrots, and corn. He planned a revival of how wonderful God provided for the church. That summer, we had a corn festival. Grandpa roasted the corn; there were hamburgers and hot dogs. It was a great time to be a kid in Texas. Grandpa made enough money that autumn selling pumpkins on the road side. People came from miles around to purchase a pumpkin, or beans and peas. The more he sold, the happier he was! I learned a valuable lesson that grandpa was a determined man. He gave away a lot of the vegetables to his flock and preached about the Good Shepherd. He told about how the Good Shepherd always takes care of his flock. I thought that made perfect sense; my grandpa was a good shepherd; he took care of all of us. Time began to take its toll on grandpa; his black hair was turning white, his beard, now past his chest, was white, and he reminded me of Santa Claus, although I never told him that. His preaching remained vital and sometimes funny. He was at the point where the thought of baptizing someone in the cold creek did not appeal to him, nor to anyone else. He began work on a baptismal font made of wood. He carved a huge log into the basin, sealed the inside with tar, and prayed it would hold. That same font is still in grandpa’s church; it has held up all these years; God heard his prayers over that baptismal font. Grandpa, loved the spring, with all the wild flowers, birds, the beauty of the earth. His last sermon was about just that, the beauty of the earth which God created. He was about to retire, but he was not going to retire until he made clear that God was foremost; we mortals are simply that, mere mortals. The congregation gave him a gold watch, and he had been preaching for over fifty years. Most remembered his sermons as enlightening and sometimes scary, as the rafters of the church vibrated. I doubt that any member of the church would forget his sermon on the Rath of God on Judgment Day. His voice boomed as he spoke of all the evil in the world. No one did that better than my grandpa!