The Cowboy Church of Lee County — plain and simple — is a church for cowboys.
Sitting just off Highway 280, its congregation leisurely makes its way from the dirt and gravel parking lot, through the double doors to a bar with donuts and coffee.
Leather Bibles in-hand, smiling men tip their hats in greeting. Each grabs one of the black folding chairs facing the unfinished pine stage and wait for the worship to begin.
One of those men is Bo Smith, the student pastor. Smith towers over most of the congregation, tall and full of passion for his church. His father, the first member of the church, hadn’t always believed. Smith prayed for his father to be saved, and one day, his father came to him with a proposition of sorts.
“If a cowboy church ever comes around here, I might actually go to it,” he said.
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Smith prayed for a cowboy church, and three years later, Gary, the founding pastor of the church showed up on the Smith’s farm looking for a place to stay while he founded the church. The church started right there on the Smith’s family farm.
Smith has been to many other churches, working with youth and fostering relationships around the community but has found a home at The Cowboy Church. For many members, The Cowboy Church is the only place of worship they’d consider stepping a boot in.
Smith said there
They can come with their trailers still hooked to their trucks and no one will bat an eye.
“It’s acceptable,” Smith said. “It’s normal for this group of people.”
The stage mocks the front of an old pine home — something out of a Lincoln Logs catalog — with a rigid tin awning, a faded emerald green chair
The pastor, Jim Strickland, opens up with announcements of the Boston-Butt sale and the Ladies’ Bible Study. Requesting another round of applause for the worship team, Strickland leads the congregation to crack their Bibles and jump into the scripture.
The worship team unplugs — a young man on bass and the lead on acoustic guitar.
“I may do an Alabama song or Randy Travis or George Jones or something like that — something people can walk in and relate to,” said David Slocum, worship leader. “The music is different. The atmosphere is different.”
In his creme-colored cowboy hat and boots, Slocum led the singing of “How Great Thou Art,” as the teen to his left picked at the bass’ strings.
Slocum said the church has come a long way from first meeting out in a barn. Once they began to grow, they constructed the start of what they now worship in. With help from those able and willing in the congregation, the church found a sliver of land for the church services and are currently working toward an arena addition down the hill. Stickland said the arena will be a place for activity and events.
At the end of the service, two young men in faded jeans, boots and hats practice their roping to the side of the stage. The target is a multi-colored, wooden mock-up of a cow.
Cain Mitchell, 19, has grown up in cowboy church. He said his uniformed
Before moving to Opelika, Mitchell’s family started a Cowboy Church in north Alabama. The atmosphere is exactly what he has always wanted, he said. Mitchell is a team roper, but he said anyone can come to the church and feel welcomed.
“We don’t have Cowboy Church so we can all dress up cowboy. It’s for the people that go to church and aren’t exactly accepted for who they are,” Mitchell said. “We accept them here. We love them here.”
Ed Allen has felt the love and support. Gathered up around a hay bale, Allen said they found a home when The Cowboy Church was founded.
Seven years ago this April, the Allens were hit by a storm that took out their entire neighborhood. They had overwhelming support from The Cowboy Church and others, as over 250 people came to their need and assisted in the clean-up process.
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“I was in awe and amazement of how the good Lord worked through these people,” Allen said. “I saw the friendship, the camaraderie and the willingness to help and serve. I felt like it was the place to be a part of.”
Just to the left of the stage sits an off-kilter cart and directly across is the aluminum stock tank where baptisms take place. A ring of barbed wire hangs directly above it and the preacher stands smack-dab in the middle of the stage behind a lectern adorned with a horseshoe cross.
Strickland’s sermon jumps from Hebrews to Exodus, as he moves back and forth in the pulpit. Pages rustle as those listening flip to find the verses he’s referencing. His handlebar mustache dances as his voice
Strickland is new to the Lee County church. He was raised in the cowboy culture, and his passion rests in tearing down boundaries that keep people from worship.
“The heart of [The Cowboy Church] is a very simple, non-judgemental approach to trying to reach a culture of people with the gospel of Christ,” Strickland said. “We let people know that no matter who you are or where you are or what you have been into, just come on.”
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