The Secret Church

It was not a good thing in that time and place for the police to pound on the door of your apartment. But when Leana asked through the door who was there, a gruff male voice answered, “Police. Open the door now.” Her husband Peter made his way through the crowd who had gathered in their apartment, and stood at her side as she unlocked and opened the door. 

Two policemen dressed in shabby suits stood there. One did all the talking; the other man just glared at the couple without saying a word. 

“We know you have Americans in there. Bring them out here now.” 

The American missionary didn’t understand much Russian. It was only his second visit to Dneprodzerzhinsk, Ukraine. But he heard the words “Americans” and “police.” His translator whispered, “Michael, the police want you to come out there, right now.” 

Later he would be ashamed of the fear he felt in that moment and in the hours that followed. But Michael and Inna (his translator) stepped through the group sitting on the living room floor and more people standing in the foyer of the little apartment. They took deep breaths and went out onto the ninth floor landing. 

The talking detective demanded to see Michael’s passport and visa. He said, “You are causing trouble here. The neighbors are complaining. You must come to the police chief tomorrow morning at 10:00.” The glaring detective continued to stare with bloodshot eyes. 

Back inside the apartment, Michael’s new friends were afraid of what would happen to him and all of them. To be honest, he was afraid, too. They talked about what had just happened, prayed and dismissed the meeting for the night. 

When Michael returned to the apartment where he and his mission partner stayed, they talked about the situation and decided to go together to see the chief. So the two missionaries and their translators, along with the couple in whose home they met, went to the police station the following morning. After a long wait in the dark hallway, an officer ushered them into the chief's office. Michael and his mission partner Fred were uncomfortable when the chief asked for their passports and visas, and even more uncomfortable when the chief handed them to an assistant who left the room with their documents. 

He told them, “I know all about your secret church. It is causing problems in the building where you meet.” He said he would not stop the meetings, yet. But he warned them about creating a nuisance and told them to limit the number of people at the gathering. 

The chief did not discuss incarceration or deportation. Instead he said he knew all about them, what they were teaching and why they were there. He said, “It is good that you do not discuss political issues or speak against our government. You teach good things.” He said it would help him if their teaching about changed lives got a single drug man off the street. He told them they were welcome in “his city,” and said he would protect them if they needed his help. 

The chief returned their documents. The missionaries and their friends left the meeting, thanking God. They laughed with nervous relief that they were neither arrested nor kicked out of the country. They went back to the meeting that night and discussed how the little church could continue to meet without creating a nuisance for the neighbors or trouble for themselves. 

The group grew in number every night. It started with the missionary, his translator and a single family who invited them to their apartment for a meal and a Bible study. Some extended family came the next night, then some curious neighbors. The group became a standing-room only event in just a few days. 

It was very cold outside, but inside the little apartment all the bodies in the small place generated a lot of heat. The balcony door stood open to let the cold outside air moderate the stifling heat (and odor) inside the apartment. 

The teacher and his translator sat side by side, spoke calmly and taught simple songs. The people who gathered to meet the American and hear what he had to say were adults. But they were spiritual beginners, many of them hearing about Jesus for the first time in their lives. 

Many of them had never seen or held a Bible in their hands. They wanted to see and touch the missionary's Bible. Although they could not read a word of the English text, they held the book with care and stared at it with reverence. Soon, Bibles in their native language would be common and affordable enough for most of them to have their own. As he watched their first exposure to the Bible, the missionary shed a few tears of shame. How easy it is for people like himself who’ve had Bibles of their own all their lives to take the Scriptures for granted! 

Their group really was a "secret church." They existed in a culture that only knew of church as a corrupt institution or a holy place. But they learned from the missionaries that the church in the New Testament was a group of people who followed Jesus and shared joyful lives. They encouraged and helped one another. Their gathering was a church like the house churches in the Bible. Even if others didn't realize it or know they were there, they were more of a church in the Biblical sense of the word than any institution or building. 

They weren't a secret to the police. They weren't a secret to the neighbors who reported them. But best of all, they were not a secret to the Lord Jesus, who told his disciples that when they gathered, he would be there, in their midst.

Encased History

The dark blue environment glowed with tessellated waves.  Back and forth; darker and lighter.  A dull vibration of the space echoed from above.  A beat of crunching approached from the distance.  More, smaller beats grew with the base, accented by the occasional bark.  The rattling at the light end of the cavern beget a stream of unfiltered light, before slamming shut once more.

Four figures ambled down into the cavern.  One was tall with a long beard peeking out of the folds of his scarf.  Another was small with two pigtails bouncing along behind.  The final two were comprised of two Alaskan huskies in full winter coats.

At the bottom of the stairwell, the man set down his burden.  The child followed suit, eyes wandering about their new surroundings.

“A moment, luv,” grunted the man.  “You’ll see better once I have a light.”

The dogs circled the humans closely and them further out.  The chink of the man’s tools echoed softly further in.

A crackled and a light emanated from his hands.  “Thar it is.”

The waving blue light mixed with the glow of the large lamp, creating competing dances of blue and gold.   

Leaving the bags on the floor, the man held out his hand to the child.  “Alright.  Le’s go.”

The child grasped the outstretched hand with both of hers.  “Okay, Grandpa.”

Down and further into the cavern the little groups traversed.  Careful not to slip on the smooth floor.  The grandfather monologued as the child walk along, talking in every detail of the ice cavern. 

“This place wasn’t here when I first started making trips out here.  One of my buds told me about it being built, but it didn’t quite sink in that they meant to build it within the ice.  One day, he got me to actually come.  I acted much like you are right now.”

“Huh?”

The grandfather chuckled.  “Mesmerized, dear.”

“Mes…meser…mmm…”

One of the dogs barked and both bolted off.

The child reached out to them.  “No!  Grandpa!”

“They can only get so lost,” he reassured.  “As it is, they probably smelled just what we’re coming to see.”

They rounded a corner, where their warm light collided with several more warm lights.  The distant hall from their viewpoint was full of stretched shapes.  As they approached, however, the stretched chapes reflected the light of their lanterns, revealing a tight, frozen archway.

The man lifted the child over the threshold.  “Watch yer step, young’un.”

The child’s boots landed firmly on a black pelt.  As she stepped forward, the cavern opened up to a small area with wooden folding chairs and a wooden altar towards the back.  Candles lined the entire perimeter of the space, beating back the darkening depths the of the location.  Two mounds of clothing sat on one side.  One dog was sniffing at one of the huddled piles, while the other simply wagged her tail.

The pile not being sniffed at rose and turned, revealing another grizzled, bearded face.  His face was grim, but softened upon seeing the newcomers.

The grandfather approached with outstretched arms.  The two men greeted with bear hugs before turning back to the child.

“My granddaughter,” the grandfather pronounced proudly.

The grisly man put his hands on his hips.  “And her mother is okay with you bringing her this far out?”

“She’s nearby for her work.”

“Ah!  So this is a family affair!”  The new face chuckled before turning to the other pile.  “This is my wife.  I believe you met her at our wedding.”

“Ya mean the wedding that you had here?”

The second pile punched the other in the ribs before getting up herself.  “We have many important memories here,” she spoke.

The child looked from the elderly couple to the space and the shining walls.  “You got married here?” she asked, wide-eyed.

The old woman bent down to the child’s height.  “Yes.  It was the one place where we could have the wedding we wished for.”

“It was?”

The old man nodded.  “Yes.  We were both sent here for our research work, which led us to making,” he gave a knowing nod to the grandfather, “new friends we would otherwise have never met.  And with that came…well…”

The woman placed a hand on her husband’s shoulder.  “How much does she know?” she put to the grandfather.  “About our situation?”

“Not much.  My daughter and her family have been cautious in that regard.  They want to make sure that she’s ready before hearing about ‘politics.’”

“And now?”

“And now she is ready.”  He picked up his granddaughter and set her on a pile of pelts.  “We agreed that she should start by hearing your story.”

The couple smiled and sat back down.  The child looked up at them expectantly.

“I suppose,” began the woman, “it shall first be stated that love is everywhere, including here and that’s is the purpose…”

Passing Through

She shouldn’t have been able to find this place. It was supposed to a hopeless, desperate venture, where she would search fruitlessly for a place she would never be able to find.

Because Evelyn wasn’t special.

But she stood in front of the church doors, carved from pale wood, in the ruins of an alley on a road she had passed many times before. The road shouldn’t have led anywhere at all. Not for someone like her.

When she walked up the steps and touched the, the doors’ hinges squeaked open, and a gentle breeze spilled out, carrying the scent of fresh grass and flowers.

She stepped inside.

The church between worlds was quiet, far more intact than its surroundings, and filled with a warm light that didn’t seem to come from any source at all. She couldn’t help but feel out of place. She shouldn’t be here. She wasn’t like him.

Yet here she was.

“Welcome,” a woman spoke. “My name’s Abigail.”

Evelyn was shocked by how she hadn’t noticed her. The woman stood among the pews, hands folded at the skirt of her white dress. Her expression was soft, with a recognizing glint in her eye that Evelyn didn’t understand.

“Um… hello?” Evelyn asked.

Abigail bobbed her head. “I take it you have somewhere you need to go. Do you need to rest first?”

Evelyn paused, stunned, but shook her head. “No. I’m not tired.”

Finding the church had been astoundingly easy.

“Come with me.” Abigail passed between the pews, and Evelyn followed her towards the other end of the chapel. She opened a smaller door, leading to narrow archway with peaking sunlight.

It was supposed to be gray outside. Abigail didn’t bother to question it.

“I don’t know how I got here,” she wondered, more to herself. “I mean… I’ve heard of a place like this, but how did I find it? I’m nothing special at all.”

“Hmmm.” Abigail led her into a courtyard full of flowers, bathing in a golden light. “Well, you’re here. And only special people can find it… when they need to go somewhere else. If you don’t believe you’re special, I don’t know what to tell you then.”

Evelyn swallowed. The days-long ache in her chest tightened.

“But… I don’t even know where to go,” she whispered. “I don’t know how to find who I’m looking for.”

“That’s why you came here.” Abigail motioned for her towards the flowers. “Let me show you something.”

Vines curled along the stone walls. The bed of flowers had a faint glow that pulsed like a heartbeat.

Evelyn stared. “This is… beautiful.”

“It’s also crossroads,” Abigail said. “If you’ve found your way here, they’ll take you wherever you need to go.”

If she found her way here. Evelyn squared her shoulders, startled by a spark of confidence she hadn’t felt in years.

“So I can just… do this?” she asked.

“Of course you can.” Abigail’s smile widened and she quietly stepped behind her. “And I think you’re ready.”

“I… ready for wh—”

Abigail gave her a hard shove.

Evelyn gasped and tumbled forward into the glowing flowers, and the world erupted in light. The courtyard dissolved, the church dissolved, and Abigail’s voice echoed I her head:

“Happy travels!”

Evelyn fell, fell, fell—through the petals, through the light, through the thin veil in between—into another world.

In a Kentucky town with a name too generic to remember, a few dozen people assembled a congregation they were sworn to keep secret.

The building they used to hold their weekly services was small, shabby, and old. It’d been standing since the time this Appalachian village was a bustling coal town. As the coal jobs went, so did the character of the people who lived there. The poverty of the townsfolk led to the underfunding of the public schools, which kept the people born there stuck. As if their futures had been buried like so much mining equipment under a tunnel collapse. Many dropped out of school. Many turned to drugs.

Some turned to Jesus. They sought a higher power to keep them on the straight and narrow. But the thrill junkie behavior followed a few right into the sanctuary. Theirs was a church in which the pastor and a few of the congregants practiced serpent handling.

Because Kentucky, like almost all US states, forbade the practice of using venomous snakes in a way that endangered human life, the exact location of the building was kept hidden from outsiders. Pastor Albert met his flock in a repurposed office from the days of the coal mining operations. The only sign you were in the right place was a cross hanging over the doorway as you entered.

On this specific Sunday, around 25 people took the trek through the trail in the forest, up the hills to the church. All were dressed in their Sunday best. Skirts and blouses were the norm for women, and some covered their hair as well. The men wore long-sleeved button-ups and slacks. The garments were oft-mended, in a way that evidenced the fact that there weren’t exactly any shopping malls in that particular holler. The best clothing items every person owned were well-loved, passed around from person to person for as long as they’d last.

Lisbeth Carlton, the eldest daughter of Pastor Albert, tended to the snakes in the cellar. She was responsible for caring for the serpents, a rather undesirable gig in the eyes of most, but she’d found pleasure in the task. She fed each one a live rat, timing the feedings exactly one hour before the church service was meant to start. Albert Carlton thought her a procrastinator, since she could’ve done the job any time of the week. But Lisbeth knew that a well-fed snake was a docile snake, unlikely to strike at the rodent-like fingers of her father or fellow congregants. 

Now, she sat in the second row of pews, her two younger sisters beside her. Their mother played the guitar in the far corner, beside and behind the podium which Albert preached from.

“And if God is for us, then who can be against us? This, I say to you, my brothers and sisters in Christ. We all walk in His holy light, as emissaries of His will made flesh, until the day we are called to meet Him.”

A small wooden box contained the largest of the three snakes Lisbeth fed that morning. Lisbeth had maneuvered the snake, a copperhead, into the ceremonial container just before the service with a long pole that had a c-shaped metal hook at the end. This box, Pastor Albert now picked up and opened, placing it on the podium. The snake poked its head out, curious and happy to be out of the cramped container. 

The Pastor continued speaking. “And in the book of Mark, our Father says thus: ‘These signs shall follow them that believe: In my name shall they cast out devils and they shall speak in tongues. They shall take up serpents and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them!’ We are His truest believers!” With that, he grabbed the snake around the middle, and raised it into the air.

Lisbeth’s mother, Carrie, continued strumming the guitar. But Lisbeth saw a worrying sign. As her father began speaking in tongues, she saw the snake curling up and starting to stiffen. The body language of a snake that was docile and placid was languid and loose. The copperhead was feeling threatened. It was coiling up for a defensive strike.

She saw no other option. Lisbeth sprang up, and ran to the front of the room. Without waiting for her father’s permission, she took the snake herself, and grasped it firmly just behind the head. Although it hissed and the body curled and coiled around her arm, the animal could not hurt her.

Carrie stopped strumming, and the room fell into shock.

“What are you doing?” whispered Pastor Albert angrily.

Lisbeth knew she could not challenge her father or contradict him. So she instead raised the snake, still firmly grasped, into the air, and yelled, “Praise the Lord!” She began to mimic her father whenever he spoke in tongues. The man smiled, realizing the situation.

“Amen!” he said, nodding to his wife. Carrie began strumming the guitar again.

Afterwards, father and daughter spoke quietly as Lisbeth returned the copperhead to the cellar. 

“You shouldn’t have done that, Lisbeth. If it was my time to go, then it would have been God’s will,” he said.

“And left me and Momma? And Annabelle and Nicky?”

“God would have taken care of you.”

Lisbeth placed the snake back into its roomy terrarium. It slithered back under the larger rock that served as its hiding spot.

“Well I guess today He called me to take care of you,” Lisbeth said quietly.

Albert placed an arm around his daughter’s shoulder. 

Testimony at the Chapel

The last thing Maddie wanted to do was explore the wilderness, especially with Clara. Just because they were both stuck in this lousy place didn’t mean they had to be friends. But here she was, guilted into hanging out with her new bestie.

“What do you think so far?” Clara asked with her usual cheer.

“I think we’re stuck in the middle of the woods.” Maddie replied flatly.

“Me and dad checked out the other trail a few days ago.” Clara was trying to make small talk. “It led to the old pool and picnic pavilion.”

“Isn’t that nice,” The sarcasm was intentional.

They kept walking in awkward silence. Maddie and her mother moved to Camp Revive just five days ago but it felt like five months. Despite the name, the property was in a state of neglect and disrepair after being abandoned for a decade. Mr. Higgins purchased it hoping to restore it to its glory days as a retreat center and summer camp. He had hired a handful of employees, including Maddie’s mom and Clara’s parents, to oversee renovations and eventually run the camp.

At 13, Maddie had never moved before. Leaving her friends and home were hard enough, but the worst part was leaving behind memories of her dad. He was in every room, the backyard, even the ice cream shop down the street. Now strangers were moving into her happy place, while she was stuck living in a rundown cabin in the woods surrounded by bugs.

“It’s an opportunity for a new start,” momma had said, “I’ll be in charge of the entire kitchen.” An opportunity or a dead end, Maddie thought. The only good thing was that Mr. Higgins offered to pay Maddie and Clara to help. She’d already banked $50.

Maddie had considered being grateful that the only other kid at the camp was a girl her age but gave it up after a few hours. Clara was the perfect child, from the perfect family and was so cheerful – all the time! She was always singing church songs. Maddie recognized them from her younger days.

“I’m tired, I’m going back.” Maddie started to turn around.

“Wait, there’s a clearing up there – let’s check it out,” Clara pleaded.

“Fine – then I’m going back.”

The trail widened as they approached, leading them into a field of weeds and grass. The trees looked as though they once framed a picturesque view of the lake, but it was now obscured with branches and young trees reclaiming their territory.

“Pretty,” Clara whispered.

They soon realized that hidden in the overgrown grass were wooden benches arranged in rows with an aisle down the middle. At the front was a dilapidated platform, the rotting wood sinking into the earth under a blanket of decomposing leaves.

“This must be the outdoor chapel!” Clara exclaimed.

“What made you think that?” Maddie snapped. “A real Sherlock Holmes.”

“No need to be mean,” Clara said. “What’s your problem?”

Maddie spotted a shed on the side of the clearing. Without a word she walked over and to her surprise, the door opened with ease.

“What’s in there?” Clara jogged to join her.

Stepping inside felt like stepping into another time. Shelves lined two walls, one filled with storage bins and bibles; the other with a variety of tins, cans, boxes and other assorted rusty and dusty containers. A small desk sat to one side, and some folding chairs were stacked in the corner.

Maddie opened one of the bins filled with paper booklets. Yellowed with faded print, the cover read, Camp Songs. Inside she saw familiar titles, Peace Like a River, and It Only Takes a Spark. She remembered her daddy singing these songs. She rolled her eyes when she flipped to the Kumbaya page. Just a bunch of church camp cheese.

“These all have dates on them,” Clara stated, examining an old coffee can. Maddie picked up what looked like an old tackle box. Wiping off the dust she read the date, “1982.” Inside she found a stack of envelopes. She picked up one that said Sara Carter, June 14, 1982.

The handwritten note inside read, “I didn’t want to come to camp, but I’m so glad I did. I gave my life to Jesus today and it feels amazing! I met so many great friends and had the best time. Praise Jesus.”

“Really?” Maddie was skeptical.

Clara read from another envelope, “David Morgan, July 24, 1982, age 17.” Inside, he had written, “I’m so thankful for this camp. Now I know, without a doubt, I want to be a pastor. I can’t wait to tell my parents.”

For the next hour, the girls took turns, picking from the dozens of containers. They sat on the benches, reading through decades worth of testimonies of faith, friendship and even romance. Some were funny, some were sad, a few were just pictures. There was praise for healing, confessions of sin and celebrations of forgiveness. They laughed and cried and for a while, Maddie even forgot how annoying Clara was and how much she missed home.

The clearing felt alive despite the overgrown vegetation trying to bury it. In a strange way, Maddie felt connected to the campers who authored the notes, picturing them sitting on the same bench, surrounded by the same trees that had witnessed it all. What had become of all these people? Did Danny from 1993 ever marry the girl of his dreams?

“I wonder where all these people are now?” Maddie asked.

“We have to tell Mr. Higgins about this,” Clara said.

“Maybe we can invite them back when the camp opens?” Maddie paused after realizing that she had accidentally imagined her future at the camp. Maybe she could get used to it. Maybe she and Clara would become actual friends. Maybe Camp Revive wasn’t a dead end after all.