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Potosi Methodists endure Baptist sermon for
film's sake
By BILL WHITAKER
Even if Chris Haas never gets his movie released to theaters
nationwide, he will have accomplished a mighty miracle while filming
down Potosi way this summer.
He will have gotten Baptists into the Methodist church there.
When Chris Haas came to the Lytle Gap-Potosi Methodist Church
one Sunday, the young filmmaker asked members of the oldest continuously
operating church in Taylor County if he could use their place
of worship for "Go With Me," an old-fashioned romance
he was shooting on a shoestring budget.
Church folks prayed, pondered, then decided to go with it.
The church was turned over to Haas' little filmmaking troupe
for shooting on a subsequent Saturday. Naturally, some of the
Methodists showed up to be in the film. Come noon, however, after
a long morning of tedious preparation by filmmakers, Methodists
one by one began slipping away.
Fortunately, friends of the young filmmaker - many of them
reportedly Baptist - took up enough spots in the church pews to
make the shot look convincing.
"Funny thing was, we had to learn three songs for the
shot, but we never did sing them on film," Methodist Judy
Harvey told me later. "We got here about 9:30 and practiced
and practiced and practiced, but we had to go home before we could
sing.
"I mean, I had something important to attend to,"
she said. "I had a husband who was hungry!"
PICTURE-PERFECT CHURCH
Drive to Potosi and you can see why Haas, a 1990 Hardin-Simmons
University graduate and son of a Southern Baptist preacher, was
so taken with the little white Methodist church. Proudly standing
beyond a sign that reads, "Fresh Eggs. $1 a dozen,"
it is the incarnation of old-time religion in West Texas.
So picture-perfect is the place, the church was even used as
a backdrop for a church calendar this year featuring the artwork
of George Boutwell. (In fact, it graces the month of August.)
Originally begun in 1879 in Lytle Gap, not far from Potosi,
the church now operates out of a quaint structure constructed
in 1906. Today it offers up old-fashioned values in a comfortable
but reverent setting.
And right next door: Potosi's Baptist church.
You might expect a bit of rivalry between the two churches,
but most of it has been good-humored. Take, for instance, the
summer of 1934, when then-McMurry College student Howard Hollowell
became Potosi Methodist's preacher.
The morning he was to speak to his new congregation, he and
his wife motored out early to the church, decided the place was
far too dirty for a proper Methodist service and consequently
cleaned it thoroughly.
Only come service time did young Hollowell realize he'd erred
and cleaned the Baptist church. It was a holy embarrassment, of
course, but Methodists have at least been able to claim it took
one of their own to clean up the town's Baptist church.
BARBECUE HEAVEN
Considering how movies are these days, some churches might
have been reluctant to let a movie troupe shoot so much as a picture
frame in their places of worship. But church members at Potosi
Methodist were intrigued and impressed by the young filmmaker.
"It makes me real proud of this church because most churches
are very protective," said Linda Rigsby, whom I saw among
30 or so other worshippers at Potosi Methodist Church one recent
Sunday. "But here they're so open."
"He was such an outgoing and personable young man and
seemed so aware of what he wanted to impart with this film,"
68-year-old church member Ralph Hicks said of filmmaker Haas.
"He seemed to have a lot of integrity and drive."
Nor did it hurt when congregation members were told Mr. Haas'
dad, Leon, was a bona fide Baptist preacher. In fact, Potosi Methodist
Church not only turned over its country church to a filmmaker,
it even let the filmmaker's father preach a properly Baptist sermon
for all cinematic posterity.
In other words, it was part of the script.
"And we got to hear it several times," quipped 83-year-old
Rosa Sitchler, one of the few Methodists who stayed till shooting's
end. For their part, the Methodists were just happy this scene
would include no cussing, at least inside the church. (Not surprisingly,
there was no dancing, either.)
And, in a final bit of irony, they say the Baptist-leaning
bunch cleaned the Methodist church up nicely after they were done.
I'm told Sunday morning, when the Methodists came for their worship
service, you couldn't tell anyone had been there the day before.
"We thought they were awful nice," Rosa said of the
filmmakers later. "Of course, it didn't hurt that they also
fed us barbecue from Joe Allen's. Luckily, I toughed it out till
then!"
Bill Whitaker, who almost provoked a war at B&L Grocery
when he asked for directions to Potosi Methodist Church and two
backsliders disagreed on how to get there, can be reached at 670-5293,
ext. 325.
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1997, Abilene Reporter-News / Texnews / E.W. Scripps. Publications
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