The Friendly Voice

By Beth Yarbrough

The voice of an old friend never loses its song. You know the ones. Weeks, months, even years can pass, but the two of you pick back up as if that last laugh you shared was only a moment ago.

This little chapel does that for me. As many times as I pass through the small South Carolina fishing village of McClellanville, the conversation with this place never goes stale. Years ago on my first visit here, St. James Santee Episcopal was a serendipitous discovery. I had gone to McClellanville in search of great old Low Country houses (and had found them in abundance) when, on a whim as I was leaving the village, I decided to explore one last street. If I told you I sat down in the middle of the road and cried when this chapel came into view, it would not be that far off the mark.

The photo I took that day appears at the end of this post. It has since graced the cover of one of my calendars, and has played a starring role in my book on Southern Churches, but each new visit brings something fresh that I can never resist.

The chapel was built in 1890 by a formerly enslaved man named Paul B. Drayton. Its presence here is made even more remarkable by that fact that McClellanville itself by all rights shouldn’t even be here today. Hurricane Hugo came calling in 1989 and landed a direct blow. Shrimp boats stood upended and overturned in front yards, water had the town submerged, and much of what was left once the residents began digging out was buried under a stench of oozing mud.

Still, they survived. And not only that, they have continued to thrive. The old oaks stood firm, anchoring what was left. Their shade today covers the survivors in a lovely light, as if to eternally remind us all that life goes on. And the little chapel continues to sing.