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Chapter 17. The Advcate
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181 Chapter 17 The Advocate early on a Wednesday morning, long before the appointed time with my Huguenot Society sponsor, Miss elizabeth Salle, I arrived at the Manakin church with my camera and extra rolls of film. I turned into a wide drive at a sign that said, “Manakin episcopal Church, established 1700.” The earth had not yet thrown off its blanket of fog and frost covered the ground in a cold winter scene of dormant grass and leafless trees. After parking my car out of camera range, I walked back toward the road, the lawn’s icy surface crunching softly beneath my feet. The presentday Manakin church was housed in a graceful red brick building tucked in a clearing of heavily wooded bottomland near the James River. To the right of the main entrance, a covered walk led through a courtyard and under a series of arches to classrooms, offices, and the parish house. The deep green foliage of a large magnolia complemented the warmth of the brick, and a tall bell shelter at the entrance to the walled garden of gravestones stood like a shepherding pastor with his flock. A car drove into the parking area near the entrance and blocked my composition. A man got out, waved a greeting and paused to wait as I walked toward him. I introduced myself and said I was to meet Miss elizabeth Salle in a short while. “I know. I’m James Salle, Miss Salle’s nephew. We’ve been looking forward to meeting you. I’m early, too. I came to show you around. You don’t want to miss seeing—well, I won’t say any more. You must see. I’ll go get the keys.” I took pictures in the walled enclosure until James returned. We walked along the path past the main entrance where the sun shone its early rays on the east wall, defining a crisp, bright line at the corner of the building. We paused at the large monument commemorating the Huguenots’ settlement and contribution to religious freedom, then continued on a path through the forest of slender tree trunks until we approached a remarkable white frame structure. James identified it as the church’s earliest building that was still standing. Legacy of the Sacred Harp 182 A front extension of the small building was three-sided and was roofed with three peaks beneath the taller roof of the main structure. The sun reflected brightly off an angled front wall, accentuating the building’s unique architecture. As we stepped into the reverent silence of the sanctuary, intense early morning sunlight streamed through the arched windows and the glowing hues brought to life a stained glass scene behind the altar. Its message was direct and gripping. This was what James had wanted me to see. “It’s called, ‘The Sower,’” he said, “and it honors our first pastor.” In the depiction, the sower’s robe and head covering followed a sweeping gesture of his arm as he cast seeds from a wide, flat basket. On his left, birds descended to devour seeds on rocky ground, while the path continued past stones and thorns to an open, level field. “God answered our prayers and led us to the good soil,” James said. “We are the seeds.” Absorbing the meaning of Jesus’ parable, I walked to kneel at the altar. My heart was full of gratitude for the blessings I’d received from the sower’s seeds. I prayed for spiritual growth and guidance, that I, too, might be fruitful. When I rose, I saw that James had knelt at my side. I followed James back up the aisle and further up the shallow treads of a steep staircase. “Slaves were admitted as members, too, but they were made to sit here in the balcony.” James stopped at an old, but sturdy, straight-backed wooden pew placed against the rear wall. “This is the only pew that remains from our original church building. You’ve said you have ancestors from the beginning days of Manakin. Go ahead and take a seat. It might be the same pew where they once sat.” On our way back to the library, we entered the beautiful sanctuary of the present church. Walking down the center aisle, James pointed out small brass inscription plates on some of the pews. He stopped at the second row. “Read it,” he said. The pew was dedicated to the memory of Jerome and Unity Dumas, a...