Preserving a space they all worship: Clay Sink Baptist Church

Vera Boyett, church matriarch, can relax now that her family's Florida legacy is back in their own hands.

By Erin Sullivan, Times Staff Writer
Published August 3, 2007

Boyett stood up to a pastor who thought the family had too much control of the church. He wanted to expand the church. She wanted a historic designation. He's now gone. Previous coverage: Salvation vs. preservation
	[Lance Aram Rothstein | Times]

CLAY SINK - Vera is 91, and still makes chicken dumplings in the same pot her mother used. She looks like she can still dispatch a wayward snake without a shudder or, if she sees you doing wrong, might whop you upside the head.

Vera Boyett still drives and is in good health, except for a wonky hip and an old pacemaker. She lives in the same house she grew up in, the one her dad built.

Everything in it is an antique.

"Including me," she says.

She is surrounded by heirlooms. "I live for my family," she says, meaning the living and the dead. She never guessed, this late in life, how much fighting she'd have to do for them.

This time last year, Vera was afraid she'd die rootless, disconnected from her home and locked out of her church.

Vera is the matriarch of Clay Sink Baptist Church, Cemetery and Schoolhouse, a plot of land in eastern Pasco County her pioneering relatives carved out of the Withlacoochee State Forest more than 100 years ago. She knows the names and stories of the 500 people buried in the cemetery. She knows where she will be buried, at a lovely spot in the back. She reared her family in the church. Their chores were polishing pews and sweeping.

Conflicting visions

For decades, the Boyetts have spent several days a week at Clay Sink; for church, prayer groups, cemetery cleanup, birthdays, anniversaries, funerals. They might have moved houses, changed jobs, married, left town, come back - but Clay Sink was always their first home.

That is, until a few years ago. A new pastor, the Rev. Jerry McDaniel, wanted to expand the church. Vera and her family wanted the buildings and grounds to receive a historic designation from the county. That would mean the church building had to stay small.

It got nasty. The pastor thought the Boyetts had too much control. The Boyetts felt like he was leading a coup. The law was called on one occasion, when a 74-year-old nephew of Vera's was accused of pushing the pastor. The nephew denied the charge but, when questioned by a deputy, he said his arm might have "slightly nudged him."

Some Boyetts and other parishioners were banned from the church. Others boycotted. This went on for months.

Now, the pastor is gone. Last fall, the place got a historical marker from the Pasco County Historical Preservation Committee, like Vera wanted.

No one wants to talk about how the feud ended or when, because it hurt so much.

Relatively normal

People who left the church are slowly coming back. Vera and her family have keys to the church again. Her daughter, Betsy, is back playing the church piano. Her son, Henry, is singing. Her grandchildren and great-grandchildren are there, as well as cousins and every other kind of relation you can think of, bustling and laughing, grandbabies on a hip, brewing coffee in the fellowship hall, uncovering casseroles and making sure newcomers are hugged and fed.

Some Sundays ago, Vera asked to say something during the service. If her husband, Merle, had still been alive, that day would have been their 74th wedding anniversary. She stood up slowly.

"I've had a good life," Vera said. "I've let God have his way in my life."

She turned to look at the few dozen parishioners - all of whom were related to her except four, and two of those included the temporary pastor and his wife.

"I'm proud of my family," she said and then she was about to cry.

"I'm sorry," she said, and then sat back down in the third-row seat she's always sat in. The pastor went on talking about Joshua 14, which is about inheritance nearly lost and perseverance and faith and ends with "the land had rest from war."

Erin Sullivan can be reached at (813) 909-4609 or esullivan@sptimes.com

[Last modified August 1, 2007, 17:32:28]