It’s almost as though the Little Cahaba River is whispering. Or singing. That’s the way it sounds. That’s what folks say.
And it never stops.
Tom Fancher’s aunt said she couldn’t be buried at the church like all the others because she’d have to listen to the whispering river for all eternity.
But Fancher thinks it’s beautiful. He comes up at night sometimes to hear the song that never stops on the steps of the church that hasn’t stopped for 10,000 Sundays. It feels like home.
Or maybe he’ll listen up close down on the two concrete slabs that serve as the church’s fellowship hall, right on the bank.
Either way, he’s never alone. There, spread out under the oak trees among the ancient graves that come all the way up to the tiny building’s new vinyl siding, are pioneers of the ancient Alabama jungle who in 1817 gave birth to Cahaba Valley Baptist Church, Centreville, in Bibb Baptist Association.
Many of them are veterans from almost every war America has fought since the country started fighting wars. Many are Fancher’s relatives — five generations’ worth.
The church is one of the oldest still active in the state.
“There were 11 families that started that church,” said Fancher, 65.
One of them was his. Four of them were black. That means a lot to Fancher. Cahaba Valley Baptist isn’t big. It’s not as if the whites were down front and the blacks were cordoned off in a balcony somewhere, he said. The church even ordained a black man to be a preacher in the 1850s, he added.
But back then, the congregation did get onto folks about a lot of things.
When Sister Martha Dun was suspected of dancing, it sent Elisha Fancher, Tom’s great-great-something, to investigate, same as it did when it heard the cussing coming from Brother Bankston’s house. When Brother Mitchell was caught selling the same team of hogs twice, it sent H.F. Fancher, another ancestor.
The church was small, simple and holy — and Stanley Dawson said it still is.
“There’s no pretense in the church,” said Dawson, Cahaba Valley’s newest pastor. “We’re all just humble, you know? Nobody’s putting on a show. We’re just there to worship God and do His will.”
And they get to do His will inside this incredible time machine of a church, with the heroes buried outside and the music of the Little Cahaba, which, when the time comes, will serve as the soundtrack for Dawson’s first-ever river baptism.
“Well, yes, let me just say it like this — I’m a history buff,” Dawson said. “I love old stuff and just knowing the history of the place is a thrill. I think what really put the icing on the cake was when one of the members was showing me around the church and they opened the crawl space door and there were the original, hand-hewn floor joists.
“You could see where they cut them out with an ax.”
Since Dawson’s arrival last November, those joists have been supporting a lot more weight than normal — more than 20 people.
Fancher chalks that up to the Lord and to Dawson’s youth. He’s 56.
“Well, he’s just real energetic and young,” Fancher said. “He’s just real active and it’s really helping. We’ve had our lean years. One time, we got down to eight members, but they were here every Sunday. We’re picking back up now.”
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