Enchanted Rock, TX

As I travel further afield in Texas, I realise that Dallas is to Texas as Slough is to England. Enough said.

Today, I headed to Texas Hill Country, to the “Enchanted Rock”. This is about a four-hour drive, but once you get south of the Brazos River, the highways straighten up, and, even though it’s a two-way, two-lane road, you can set the cruise control to 75mph, and sit back while the miles slip away under the wheels. You hardly ever meet any other traffic, and, even when you do, the accepted practice seems to be that the slower vehicle moves halfway onto the shoulder, so that passing is easy. Occasionally, you have to slow down as you pass through a “town”, usually characterised by a gas station, a Dairy Queen and a couple of houses.

I passed a dairy farm (a little unusual in predominantly “cattle country”) with a slogan underneath its name: “Drink more milk – the udder cola”. I also passed ranches raising sheep, goats, llamas and ostriches, as well as the more common Texas Longhorn cattle. I stopped for lunch at the Roadhouse BBQ in Lampasas. Outside they have a huge (about 10ft) barbecue, from which you choose your meat –  brisket, 2-inch thick pork chops, baby-back-ribs, sausage. I chose an inch-thick slice of brisket. You take this inside to add “fixin’s” – potato salad, coleslaw, beans, and sweet iced-tea. The owner told me that the succulence is due to good barbecue sauce, and slooooow cooking – around 18 hours!

Hispanic Temple

And I passed a Hispanic temple. I’m sure there’s nothing strange about Hispanic Jews – I just hadn’t thought about it before.

Enchanted Rock is a 500ft tall dome-shaped granite outcrop, and is quite spectacular. I didn’t arrive there until about 4pm, when it was a little too late to attempt the ascent, but I’d love to go again earlier in the day (I’ve been advised that it’s not wise to attempt this in the middle of summer).

Enchanted Rock

Travelling back through the Hill Country was beautiful. Around there, the trucks all have cattle guards on the front – for good reason, and not just for show. Cattle wander freely across the road, and I’m sure would make quite a mess of a car (I know, I know … the cattle’s perspective may be different). I passed through a town called Llano where I needed to stop for gas. I asked the guy behind the counter: “If you had to get to Dallas from here (which, unfortunately, I do), how would you do it?”. The answer: “Look at a map – don’t know, ain’t never been over that way”. OK, we have a redneck – time to up the ante. “How do you pronounce the name of this town?”. “Lan-oh.”. No more imaginative than I expected, so in for the kill: “Is it the first “ell”, or the second, that’s silent?”.

Cow!

Prestonwood, TX

Now I’m in a quandary.

A work colleague, knowing my penchant for weekend trips, suggested I should go to Prestonwood Baptist Church, especially if there was a baptism. He would say little more than that, other than to add that, since the congregation was about 7,000, it was highly likely that there would be a baptism, whenever I chose to go.

It’s difficult for someone from England (or even New England) to even begin to describe the church. If a picture is worth a thousand words, a website is probably worth ten thousand, so that, if my meagre description and photograph are insufficient, you could look for yourself at http://www.prestonwood.org. I think it’s likely that our largest cathedral would fit several times over inside Prestonwood. The parking lot outside is so huge that it needed a small army of traffic control cops to regulate the flow. It’s more like a religiously themed mall than a church, with bookshops, gift shops, a café and meeting rooms, in addition to the auditorium (with seating for 7,000) in which services are held. I actually had to go to an information desk to ask for directions to the service, since it was by no means obvious amid the milling crowds and signage to the many and various facilities.

Prestonwood Church

There was no altar, but rather a stage, on which were seated a 30-piece orchestra; behind them, a choir of 150; above them, to either side, two giant screens that are more usually seen at large sporting venues – these were fed by what must have been a dozen cameras, controlled from one of two boxes in the centre of the auditorium (the other, I think, controlled the lighting). And in between the two screens was a large glass tank, half full of faintly greenish water – this was used, halfway through the service, for a baptism of the full-immersion variety. A special section was reserved for deaf members of the congregation, and the whole service was signed for their benefit.

The music was entirely modern Christian (marvellously performed), with the words displayed on the screens so that everyone could join in. There was no kneeling, and moments of prayer were signified by an appropriate dimming of the lights. There was no Lord’s Prayer, no “peace”, and no Communion. Being plain Baptists, rather than Southern Baptists, there were no wild displays of ecstasy either – for which I was thankful.

When I got back to the hotel, I called Val, who had just got back from church at Eggesford. Because there was a special event, the congregation was larger than usual – about 10, I think she said.

Now here’s my quandary: I see the church in England slowly withering, with disillusioned youth leaving in droves, but I like the tradition and the reverence of the service, though many find it obscure and uninspiring; I see the unwelcoming pews gradually emptying as their occupants age, and ultimately join a much larger congregation. I also see the churches in Texas, of every conceivable denomination, on every other corner, but still vibrant and packed with people of all ages who look as though they’re happy to be there. So I have to wonder which is better, not for me, but for Christianity. Is it worth sacrificing tradition for the multimedia extravagance, if in doing so the trend can be reversed? Or is there a “happy medium”? Perhaps I’ll try a Lutheran church next week.