Listening between the lines

My first congregation was a three-point parish in rural South Dakota. Three points meant that there were three churches. Two of them were in tiny towns, and one of them was out in the country.

I lived in one of those tiny towns, in a large parsonage across from the church. According to the sign on the way into town, the population was 90, but a few of us counted one day (on election day, I think) and we came up with 63. There was a main street, which held the remains of a bank, the post office, and Gizzy's bar. There were also several open spaces where buildings used to be. A little farther up there used to be a school. There was no gas station, and there was no longer a grocery store. There was still a park and a town hall. We held vacation Bible school there.

The town used to be bigger. I heard stories, and I read some. I saw old pictures of the glory days. Four railroads used to intersect in this town. There were once four churches, too. The community was settled by Bohemians and by Norwegian farmers. It was a lively place.