Return to Mount Hermon

On a magnificent fall Sabbath earlier this year, William E. Hatcher enjoyed a return to Mount Hermon Baptist Church in his native Bedford County.

The occasion was the church's 220th anniversary. The church was packed with members, former members and friends of the congregation; but Hatcher was unique among them all because he has been dead since 1912. As most of my faithful readers know, Hatcher is an alter ego of mine and my favorite historical character to portray for church anniversaries and other special occasions. And the day at Mount Hermon was special in every respect.

Hatcher was born “beneath the shadow of the Peaks of Otter”; and as a boy, he waivered between following his mother's people, the Lathams, and becoming a Presbyterian or joining his father's people as a Baptist. Obviously, the Hatchers won; and he became a regular attendant at Mount Hermon, which was known as Hatcher's Meetinghouse after his grandfather, Jeremiah.

In 1834, the year of Hatcher's birth, the church had reunited after a split. The year before, the church divided, according to a history written in 1939 by O.B. Falls, “because one group did not approve of the disciplinary measures.” The Strawberry Baptist Association helped in a reconciliation in which “each side was forced to acknowledge its wrong and the split was healed.”

As a boy, William Hatcher attended the protracted meetings, often sitting on “the anxious seats” or “the mourners' bench,” which was occupied by those struggling with a spiritual decision. “Father” William Harris was the pastor. Hatcher described him as “the very figure and form and glory of a fine old man” and pictured the “well rounded” man with long flowing white hair and smoking a long-stem pipe. “Fully 50 preachers came into service under his influence and he was everybody's friend.”

But it was another preacher who held forth when Hatcher made his profession of faith. Francis Barker, a son of Mount Hermon, possessed a powerful voice which Hatcher reckoned could be heard by “ten acres of people.” “I heard every word of the sermon and trembled as I heard. The people were singing and the crowd was standing up, but I sat still and hardly knew what I did.”

Deacon Falls, “a venerable gentleman,” sensed the boy's reluctance. He stooped down and whispered in Hatcher's ear, “Did you hear the call tonight?” “I heard it and felt that I ought to answer it but I could not start; something is holding me back.” The old man stretched out “his wrinkled old hand” and said, “Maybe that might help you to start.”

“There was his hand,” remembered Hatcher many years later, “stretched out to me and wide open and he was waiting. That made a difference and I put my hand in his and I got strength by his touch and was lifted to my feet by its grasp. That moment I took my first step, I put my back toward the world, I planted my feet on the Zion road.”

The helping hand lifted the boy and guided him into his faith decision. When Hatcher left Bedford for college, he continued on a road which led to greatness, as some people measure greatness. He certainly entered a life of service as a pastor of several prominent churches, a constant speaker and writer, leader in every good cause and eventually founder of Fork Union Military Academy. Two Virginia Baptist churches bear his name.

In real life, Hatcher made a few return visits to Bedford. In 1887 he visited the old homeplace where he was born. “It seems not the place it once was. We could have cried for sorrow that the orchard was gone forever. We roamed the hills, lingered at the rock-bound spring, sauntered through the woods, gazed at the quiet unchanging mountains and went again and again to the spot where sleeps the dust of our precious dead.”

If the real Hatcher had returned in 2007, he would have been pleased that the modest white church yet stands. If he had followed the crowds to the basement for the bountiful dinner-on-the-grounds, he would have looked up at the ceiling and wondered at the original massive support beams. He could have taken his plate of food out under the massive oak trees which probably sheltered him in youth. He would have met no one who actually knew him because they have all “gone to where congregations never break up and Sabbaths never come to an end.” But he would have met some of their descendants and recognized familiar surnames.

He would have been pleased with the spirit within the congregation. It is an easy mix of oldtimers and newcomers. Friendly smiles and hearty laughs are characteristic of Mount Hermon people. The membership is small, about 135, but the isolated location is beginning to experience a change as new residents build attractive homes. There are children and young people coming just as they did in Hatcher's youth and there is hope.

The church remains a generous contributor to missions.

Mark Flores, a tall and enthusiastic (and energetic) young bivocational minister, serves as pastor as well as a hospice chaplain. He resides in Lynchburg but sometimes can be seen running (yes, running) along the backroads between Lynchburg and Otterville on his way to and from church. When Hatcher arrived to occupy the pulpit for the anniversary Sunday, the church was so crowded that Flores folded his long legs and sat on the floor of the platform.

Mark Flores has brought a creative ministry to the ancient church. He led the church to create a website. Visit www.dewofhermon.org and experience the country church for yourself. Better yet, if you are within driving distance, visit the church. From Bedford, take Route 122, turn onto Otterville Road (643) and the church is 2.8 miles on the right. The ancient oaks will shelter you. The singing will be heard from the roadway and the doors will be open on any Sunday morning just as they have been for more years than anyone can calculate. And you will be “put to home” just as warmly as any son or daughter of Mount Hermon.

Fred Anderson may be contacted at [email protected] or at P.O. Box 34, University of Richmond, VA 23173.