Twisting and turning from out of the peaks and valleys of the Appalachian Mountains come the three rivers flowing past abandoned farms, rusted out cars and wild flowers; Beattyville passively waiting in silence as three tributaries merge forming the Kentucky River. Once again I find myself in this rugged terrain as if drawn by an Appalachian father. Somehow, returning to these hills is as natural as rain on a spring day and yet I question, wondering, why I would want to minister in this place, like a toy that has been used and abused by many children and now placed on a shelf, gathering dust and all but ignored. As one drives between, around and over these rugged mountains its difficult not to feel the wounds of this country and it's people. Often referred to as a depressed area and yet so much more. Barefoot children with dirty faces playing in grassless yards while "soup" beans simmer on top of a pot bellied stove, and yet so much more. A little red elementary school overshadowed by a giant basketball coliseum, but so much more. Just perhaps it is this 'so much more' that draws me into these hills again; that which one can feel only with heart and soul, an experience that cannot be put into words. Ask most anyone in these parts about this 'so much more' and they will agree its here, but don't ask them to explain the unexplainable.
I reckon when one reaches out to distant lands and becomes disillusioned, confused and generally pissed-off at life, one retreats back to the familiar and the comfortable. Looking back, this is what I did after working for a year in Michigan as Minister of Youth and Christian Education. That seems so far off and so long ago. Kentucky was home for my wife, Joy, and me; Joy, home grown in Lawrence County along with ten sibling. Eastern Kentucky was no stranger to me and had been my home, my mentor and my heart in many ways. Attending Lee's Junior College in 'Bloody' Breathitt was an education in itself even if you never opened a book.
The sleepy town of Beattyville, deep in the hills of Lee County was always waiting, as was all of Eastern Kentucky, for anyone with an education. Good doctors, lawyers and preachers were hard to come by and then they had the tendency not to stay very long. I'm not even sure you had to be good at what you did as long as you had the education and credentials for the task at hand. In this part of the country folk were just glad to get any kind of professional. I can remember an Elder of the church taking me to the bank shortly after I arrived in town and introducing me to the president of the bank, as well as the most prestigious layperson in the Episcopal Church, whose pulpit had been vacant for a ling time. The Episcopal congregation had a priest who came in from Lexington on Sunday mornings to perform the clerical duties for morning worship. Elder McClean placed his hands in his pockets and reared back with a big smile on his face as he said, "Well, we got our'n, when you gonna get your'n? The Presbyterians had completed their task and got a preacher and they were going to show him off.
I was warmly welcomed in this community; however, I knew I would never be accepted as one of them. I would always be a foreigner. To be a native it helped if you were born in the county or at least had deep family roots; someone's son or daughter who was raised on a particular ridge or up a known hollow. Family is as important as the very air one breathes; it gives sustenance, as does the earth to the trees that stand tall only by the roots running deep. One is usually identified by one's daddy - "You're Jake Turner's son, ain't ye? Loyal Jones tells of two mountaineers talking of their kin folk saying, "You know he is a real S.O.B. the other replied, 'Yeah, but he's our S.O.B
|