This Reconstruction-Era Church Is a Place of Sanctuary, Liberation and Reunion

These churches bear witness to generations of rural people who not only built them but who also organized their lives and communities around these gathering spaces. Many of these churches are also disappearing.

A 2025 report from Boston University’s School of Theology says that 15,000 churches closed their doors for the last time. Many of them are rural.

But in Grayson County in southwest Virginia, the Riverhill Baptist Church tells a different story. The church’s history dates back to the days of slavery. It’s a church community organized by people with African ancestry in the South’s plantation system. Today, those descendants carry this legacy forward to be preserved for future generations.

Riverhill parishioner Stephanie Richardson and I had the chance to talk about her church. Both of us grew up in rural America, walked to church on Sundays, and we both have lots of fond memories of childhoods spent in church.

When I asked Richardson about why Riverhill seems to defy the odds when other country churches are closing, she believes that it’s because of God’s grace. That idea of grace not only embraces the power of culture and community the church has sustained for more than a century–it is also a result of a commitment from younger generations like hers. Although many in younger generations have left Grayson County for bigger cities like Winston-Salem, North Carolina, they still drive 1-2 hours to attend Riverhill on Sundays, often bringing their kids with them.

Richardson is a history keeper for Riverhill’s story. Ever since she can remember, she’s felt a deep connection to the land and the church’s history. Today, she is a resource for memory and story telling for Riverhill’s congregation and for a diaspora of family and friends with roots in this church. Currently residing in northern Virginia, Richardson travels home several times a year to be with family and friends and to attend church.

In 2023, in a publication honoring Riverhill’s 150th anniversary celebration, Richardson writes about her church’s history after the Civil War and the impact Emancipation had on religious practice:

Beyond the social and political impact, Reconstruction would transform nearly every aspect of religion and religious life in the United States. For African Americans once restricted to worshiping in secret meetings, or attending biracial congregations controlled by whites, one of the most significant achievements of the era, and a central component of the concept of freedom, would be the creation of their own independent churches. For whites across the North and South, deep religious factions arose, creating a complex landscape among the Methodist, Presbyterian, and Baptist denominations.

In this same publication, Richardson relies on both oral and recorded history to preserve Riverhill’s memory. Oral tradition informs her that the congregation began its story during slavery. “With the Civil War having ended in 1865,” she writes, “the families that would form Riverhill Baptist Church, were undoubtedly worshiping in some capacity in the years following the war … ” Richardson reports that the first official church records appear in the form of meeting notes in 1883 and then, in August 1899, a land deed documents the transfer of a half-acre of land from Henry Hampton, a former slave, to the Riverhill congregation. It is on this half-acre that Riverhill church was built. 

In 2024, Riverhill was honored for recognition by Virginia’s Department of Historic Resources. A church service and luncheon were held to celebrate the occasion of the installation of their historical registry sign on August 29, 2025. Richardson spoke with Barn Raiser about Riverhill’s Easter celebrations and how the church has found a way to thrive and carry forward its more than 150 year history.

Tell me about your church’s traditions.

Our baptisms are still old school. We go down to the river. We still do that. We’ve had conversations about maybe going to another church that has a baptismal pool. But we’re usually down by the river and we’re singing hymns on the riverbank.

Holy Week and Easter traditions have changed over the years. Prior to the pandemic, our standing tradition, like so many churches, was Sunrise Service followed by breakfast. This was a particularly special tradition, because we would fellowship with our neighboring church—it’s literally next door—Mount Olive. (A smaller church, whose congregation began at Riverhill.) We would host one year and the next year they would host. It was always a special time. Following Sunrise Service and breakfast, we’d have our regular Sunday service.

What was the message on Easter Sunday?

Bishop Barry Early [Richardson’s uncle] preached a wonderful message titled “He decided to die just for me!” The message was a wonderful reminder of Jesus’ sacrifice and that while he died for the sins of the whole world, he would have still gone to the cross even if it had only been me. What an awesome love!

What is Riverhill’s history with music?

Well, I think our church has always kind of been known for having some good singers. My mom loves to sing. My Uncle Johnny loves to sing, and my Aunt Joan stands beside him sometimes and has to pull his coattail because she wants him to be quiet. But he loves to sing. There’s just a freedom when it comes to worship. It’s not anything that’s forced or conjured up. People come to worship and they worship through song. They do it through the preached word of course, but song is their expression of worship. And it’s true and it’s genuine. It reflects the lives they live outside of church, and when they come to church they bring that with them. Music has just always been a core part of our church expression.

When the congregation sings hymns, I noticed that you didn’t use hymnals. And then during church I realized I didn’t need them.

Yes.

It’s like a call…

And response. It is. It is a call and response. And it was funny because we were out here before Homecoming [a church reunion for a consortium of historically Black churches in this region] to make sure everything’s nice and tidy like when you’ve got company coming, and I’m going through all the pews and all these hymnals are there, and I thought, I’m 42 years old and we never use these hymnals. So, I cleared out all those hymnals, and they’re back in the storage room. I told everybody, if you guys can’t find the hymnals, they’re in the back (in storage). Because we never use them!

During church when it was time to sing, I noticed that Jeff, Riverhill’s pianist, asked one of the women during church, “What do you want to sing next?” And she started singing, and he just started playing.

Yes. He plays it all by ear. He’s never had lessons. He does not read music. That is just his God-given talent and skill. And so when they sing, it’s whatever the Lord puts on their heart that day to sing. Typically, they may not get through an entire song. It might just be a particular verse that speaks to them that day, and they might just get stuck on one or two verses of a song. But that’s how music is integral here.

What other kinds of gatherings do you have?

So our big thing is Homecoming. Homecoming is the first Sunday in August. In the New Covenant Baptist Association, which Riverhill is a part of, it was a time for fellowship and gathering. All the churches in the association would close and then you would go and visit the other churches on their set Sunday. Every church had a Sunday. Ours was the first Sunday in August. They would come; they would bring their lunches; and you would have dinner out here on the ground. There would be the sermon, the regular church service on Sunday and they would come back for evening service. Today, we don’t really do the evening service so much anymore.

For Homecoming, we also used to do communion and foot washing on Friday nights.  We haven’t done that now in several years. They did that up until I was an adult. So this has only probably been within like the last five to 10 years that they’ve not done it. You would come on Friday night, it’s a much smaller group, and they would do communion and foot washing. The women would always sit on one side and the men on the other side. The women would wash each other’s feet, and the men would wash the men’s. So we’d have the basins and the towels and we would do communion. For some people, that would be their favorite part of the Homecoming tradition; that intimate communion. It’s what Jesus modeled at the Last Supper (John 13).

What does the history of Riverhill and its land mean to you?

For generations, I can trace my family back here. From my mom’s side, her family lineage is directly from the Hamptons. The Hamptons—the white Hamptons—were some of the first settlers in Grayson County. So when I say my family roots are here, I can go all the way back. I can look in the census records or different historical records. I can find the white man who owned my ancestors. I know their descendants today and so I have that connection that not a lot of people have.

Who are the Hamptons?

When you come up to the church off Highway 58 entering Galax, you notice there’s a sign that says “Hampton Valley.” Those are the Hamptons and they owned some of my ancestors. There’s a little log cabin on our road that was owned by the Hamptons and one of their descendants lives in that house today. He actually lived and worked in northern Virginia, in Arlington, for years and retired and moved back. He restored that property. And he comes to our church and does Bible study with us on Tuesdays. I was looking through photos with him, and we can talk about our shared ancestry. I showed him a picture of my great-great-grandfather, Lewis, and he said, “Yeah, I can see the Hampton there.” Like, we can have these conversations.

So he’s a descendant of the slaver family?

Yes.

And you’re the descendant of the enslaved and the slaver family.

Yes.

And you can talk about these things?

Yes. It’s just … it’s natural because it’s just understood.

When we had the dedication for the historical marker, there was a gentleman here and he was talking about my great-grandfather, Troy Hampton and he said, “I remember Troy.” He said, “Troy would hire his horse out to sire, and he would ride through town telling people, ‘I have Hampton blood in my veins just like you do.’ ” Like it was known and it was understood that this is just the way it was.

On the day of the dedication, there was an elderly couple that said they lived right around here. They were white, and they were talking about the history of Riverhill. They said that the white Baptists in this area helped make it so that this church could be here. Is that true?

Immediately following the Civil War, the political strain bled over into religious life. You had people who supported the Union and then you had those who were anti-Union. At one point everyone went to church together and then they had these stark differences and they decided we can’t be in church together anymore. We can’t commune together anymore. So they formed the Union Baptist Association; they were pro-Union. When it came to the war effort, the Union Baptist Association called for a group of African Americans to then go out and form churches of their own and so that’s how we ended up getting Riverhill. Union Baptist ministers went out and Riverhill was one of the churches that was supported by them. So yeah, that’s very much part of the story.

So white people who were sympathetic with the Union advocated for the establishment of Black churches so that African Americans could safely worship together and be established as part of the infrastructure of southwest Virginia?

Yes. And they ordained Black ministers who were responsible for organizing churches in the Black community, and Riverhill happened to be one of those. We were one of the first churches to establish what’s called the New Covenant Baptist Association and that is still alive today. Riverhill is no longer part of the association but it’s still going.

When was the New Covenant started?

The New Covenant started by 1873.

Was this congregation active with the Civil Rights movement at all?

You know what, it’s funny. I don’t have a lot of history about it, but one thing is interesting. So the association [New Covenant] that we were a part of, they have an annual meeting in September. At the end of that meeting they prepare a booklet with all the meeting notes. And so I found one of these booklets from the 1920s or 30s, where Riverhill had been the host for that year. And it said, “We want to thank Riverhill and the white members of the community for how well they treated us.” Something to that effect. That really stood out to me because, again, this is the 1920s or 30s and they specifically noted the harmony, you know, the hospitality they received not just from Riverhill, but the white people in the community as well, and I took note. I thought that spoke so much of what the dynamic must have been here. Even when they were rebuilding this church in the 1940s there was a lot of help that we got from the local whites in the area, so I think there was a lot of harmony.

That said, one interesting piece—and I only learned of this a couple weeks ago—my cousin’s dad, Matthew Goins, was very instrumental in the integration of the local schools here. His children were among the first that were to integrate at Galax. And so, obviously, because he was involved with integration he became a target for hostility—they said that hostility came from the Ku Klux Klan. I don’t know if it was officially the Klan. In either case, there was a group that came through and they burned down cousin Matthew’s home.

Just to make sure I understand, you’re describing a gentleness in this area as evident in the meeting notes from the 1920s or 30s.

Very much so.

At the same time, there is the violence that your cousin had gone through when he worked to integrate Galax Schools in the 1960s.

Exactly. And even today, that contrast is one of the things that’s so striking to me.

What does your church mean to you?

Riverhill for me is something that people have to experience. I think it’s just a sweet spirit. And for me, having moved away, I will come out here when I’m home and just sit on the church steps because I can come here and it’s peaceful.It’s just stillness. And when I’m sitting there, I can think about the history and I’m like, this is my people. These are my roots.

I think about the old oak tree near the front of the church, and I go and get my blanket and sit under the tree. I’m like, this is where my ancestors are. For those first Sundays in August, during the Riverhill Homecoming, my ancestors have done this for over 150 years. I can walk down the road and the cemetery, and they’re buried right down the road. So this is home. This is my center. Like I can come here and I can just be at peace.

There was one year when I came home for homecoming. I came out here early, got the key, and had to bring some things. At this point it had been a couple of months since I had been home, and when I walked through the church it was just still and it was quiet. I could feel a smile broadening on my face because this is home. A lot of people have always talked about how they just feel loved and welcomed when they come here. And that’s why I told you when you come, you’re only a visitor once. You are always welcome to come here.

Do you think that there are roots of your ancestors’ faith that carries down through the generations?

Absolutely. Their prayers have definitely carried us and kept us. That’s a foundation for my mom and my aunts. And for their dad and their grandmother, you know, going to church was their foundation. And it’s their foundation that I’m now building from.

What can you bring to family or friends of Riverhill who come out of this diaspora? What can you offer them?

Hopefully I can offer them a glimpse into the sweet spirit and all that this place is. When I connected with Diane (a distant relative in Philadelphia who has never been to Riverhill) a couple of months ago it was just sharing for her my everyday experiences—things that we can often take for granted were, for her, a treasure. The idea that growing up you could just walk to church, and that you can just go down and just sit on the steps and you have this history. To her, that was just something she couldn’t even begin to grasp. And for me, it’s my normal.

Sometimes it’s not until you talk to other people that you realize that you do have something really great here. I will say Reverend Houston [pastor of a nearby majority white congregation in Grayson County] was instrumental in opening my eyes to how special my history here is. He was the one who pursued the historical recognition for Riverhill. At first, I thought there’s no way we were going to be approved for a highway marker because, even though I know this place is special, I wasn’t sure how that translated outside of my personal family connection.

When you think about your ancestors who were enslaved do you think they ever imagined someone like you and all that you’ve done in your life?

No. I can’t, and again, it’s not lost on me that when I’m traveling these roads, I think this is the same road that they traveled. Our homes are built on land that was passed down for generations and it’s all of my history. It’s family and it’s connection. I can’t imagine what my family would have thought that 150 some years later this church is still standing. This church. And it’s not just standing; it’s thriving. That’s the thing.