Just Like Nothing (else) on Earth: Hillsboro United Methodist Church

By Tim Jon

Not to start a story off with a double negative, but my advice is: don’t enter a graveyard if you don’t want to bring home some of the ghosts. Now, while I hesitate to believe I have free-ranging spirits floating around in my house, I will say that I’ve felt a bit of pressure in contemplating this little tale (maybe just from myself) to give proper honor and homage to the eternal counterparts of the remains that lie in the Hillsboro United Methodist Cemetery. 

So, let’s begin: I vividly remember the cold, overcast morning I visited the churchyard, and its adjacent house of worship, just off Route Nine, Charles Town Pike nestled between the hills of Western Loudoun County, Virginia. Did I say cold? I recall taking photos as fast as my fingers would allow, looking for excuses to stand in one place for multiple shots, rather than moving around and allowing any more frigid air between my limbs. 

I also remember feeling an unseen atmosphere—like a supreme weight placed on my shoulders—while inside those walls; maybe that’s what made me feel hurried. Now, I’d noticed that the sign on the stone wall of the graveyard listed the Year 1839 as the establishment of this plot; without much investigation, we can infer that the remains of those loyal to each side of the American Civil War lie in these grounds. 

The Church also maintains a separate burial site just east of the walled-in acreage (also set up in 1839) designated for “the African American Community.” Not knowing exactly how these individual graves were laid out, I just took a few shots from the steps, to avoid stepping on, and dishonoring, any of those passed. I’ve read since that visit that plans are in the works to conduct more research on the identities of these interments, with, and for, proper respect for their families. 

It struck me, though, that morning, how (and why) the two burial grounds were separated; following the ‘logic’ of this ‘segregation,’ did the religious leaders at that time believe that the division would continue in the afterlife? And, do any of today’s ‘spiritual gurus’ believe in this kind of set-up for eternity? I’m not about to push my own vision of the hereafter on anyone, but I know when I’m being hoodwinked. And, I’m imagining that the ‘Big Preacher in the Sky’ had a few thoughts about such doings, and other acts much more flagrant. As I intimated earlier, I had seemed to have stumbled upon some weighty subjects that morning, as I strolled around the Churchyard. 

And they were most persistent in remaining with me, for days, particularly in the overnight hours prior to jumping into the writing of this story. I had originally meant this piece (prior to stepping into the cemetery) to be a simple, historic perspective on the worship space at Hillsboro United Methodist—an historic facility in its own right—but (after my ‘night of souls’ experience) I felt a greater spiritual connection with those interred in the burial grounds on the church acreage; as I came to terms with the responsibilities in this task, admitting to myself that ‘they’ were the story, I actually felt some of that weight from my visit take flight. A bit like Scrooge on Christmas morning, as it were. 

Now, in my story, these twin cemetery plots represent, in microcosm—the opposing sides in the American Civil War, as well as those caught in the middle. Now, their battles are long over; we, the living, often find ourselves amidst seemingly overwhelming struggles, impasses and tribulations. 

I think I can safely say that my worst life moments would pale in comparison to those faced by those whose remains lie at Hillsboro United Methodist. Sifting things a bit further, would these souls conduct themselves—if given the chance— in the same manners, having nearly two hundred years’ hindsight? Are we collectively learning, or collectively regressing? 

When others walk this and other, similar historic burial grounds, do they feel—on behalf of the memory of those whose remains lie beneath their feet—any ‘weight of responsibility’ to strive for the improvement of life for those still around us? 

And, what about me? Have I done enough? I guess I’ll obtain at least part of my answer as I face the spirits of those who ‘followed me home’ from Arnold Grove Cemetery. I’d like them to be at peace with the present as well as the past. And, in reference to my first sentence of this story, I guess that was actually a triple negative. Ya gotta watch those artistic types.