As Highway 27 descends the Sundre hill, all traffic decelerates quickly to 50 kilometres per hour. The road immediately becomes a residential-industrial mix. Years back, the Youth for Christ (YFC) centre sat along the main road, back from the street. It was on a large lot with space for parking in front and behind.
It was a mid-sized building, creating a hall with room for over 200 in attendance. The local churches often joined forces on Sunday evenings or for special services. Prior to the opening of the YFC centre, I seem to recall a few services in the Sundre United Church, as their sanctuary was larger; perhaps the school gymnasium was the locale on occasion. I do remember it being in use for funerals of revered, well-known local folks.
When our rural Mennonite Church closed, we began attending the Bergen Missionary Church, a tiny facility at the time. Bergen didn’t have evening services so we often went to McDougal Flats Missionary. That church was in an ongoing building program and was meeting in the basement. At the time both churches were being served by the same pastor, although later each location had its own pastor. The Nazarene Church was tiny, as was the Pentecostal Church.
Youth for Christ was a Christian organization aimed at introducing teens to Christ and Christian values. There were chapters in rural and urban centres. Youth activities invited young people to come and bring friends; camping events, hiking, singalongs, Bible quizzes and gym activities were a good draw, as well as special speakers.
In the early years we met for special evangelistic services at the Nazarene Church, crushed shoulder to shoulder, seated on chairs in the aisles. I remember at least one gospel service being held in the Elks Hall but that too was quite small. When we moved into the YFC centre we had row upon row of chairs, movable, stackable.
For the most part the platform was located at the south end of the hall with chairs arranged in rows and a centre aisle. We had an upright piano to the left of the platform. Other musicians sat on the front row behind the piano.
My brother Marvin played guitar. We tried to arrive early to give him time to warm up and get the guitar back in tune. I can imagine him hurrying through chores: milking and feeding the cows, washing up, taming his hair. It had the coarse texture with a tendency to stand up, just like dad’s hair. Dad’s was reddish; Marvin’s a sun-bleached straw colour.
He would have arrived breathless, enthused. The tuning of the guitar gave him time to centre himself, to focus.
It was there that we had special speaker John Hutchinson, an evangelist who shared the way of the gospel. During the week of meetings I was in a choir directed by Wayne Arthur. We arrived early to practise prior to the meeting. It required commitment on the part of everyone. Most were farmers with chores to complete, so arriving nightly took focus and effort.
Marvin died the summer of 1966. Mom and dad chose to hold the funeral at the YFC centre, where he had been so involved. That was likely one of the largest services held there. We learned later that two of the local ladies hauled hot water across the street and scrubbed the wooden floors prior to the funeral. There were no services in the facility and their efforts were greatly appreciated.
- Joyce Hoey is a longtime Gazette columnist
