When Tommy Kelly was a 23-year-old seminary student, his life turned upside down after his father died from a heart attack.
Kelly’s father, a strong Christian man, had been a deacon and church treasurer. He also served as the magistrate where the family lived. Kelly got a kick hearing local lawyers, who had vastly more education than did his father, refer to him as “judge.”
Besides his father’s commitment to Christ, he was also very patriotic and served in the Army right after the Korean War. “His military experience had a tremendous impact on him,” Kelly said. “I came along about 10 years after he enlisted. We were very close.” Kelly’s father supported his son’s decision to enter vocational ministry.
“There was a big void in my life when he died,” Kelly said.
At the church he then served, Kelly began to cultivate relationships with men who were about his father’s age and who were veterans. “My Heavenly Father showed me how He was going to help fill that void,” Kelly said of the veterans. “A lot of those men have taken the place of my father.”
For the past 21 years, Kelly, who is currently serving as president of the South Carolina Baptist Convention, has continued to develop relationships with veterans at First Baptist Church in Varnville, where he serves as pastor.
Ministry in the Lowcountry
On May 1, 1994, when Kelly began serving as a pastor in the Lowcountry, the Varnville church averaged about 75 in attendance. Today, the attendance has more than doubled.
The pace of life is slow in Hampton County, where the population density is 37 people per square mile. Varnville’s population of 2,437 is second only to Hampton, the county seat.
Retirees at First Baptist Church were the first generation to come off the farm, Kelly said. Two major factories created most of the jobs there for years, but both are now closed. “Even with industry closed down, there’s still a need for the church,” Kelly said. “They need it more in times of despair than in times of prosperity.”
The church has raised nearly $800,000 for a new family life center and has nearly doubled its staff since 1994.
While Kelly can enjoy the successes, relationships matter the most to him.
“About 15 years ago, I had been in the office and was riding up town about 9:30 a.m., when most restaurants would quit serving breakfast,” Kelly said. “I found some men who were veterans drinking coffee. It became a habit to leave and go drink coffee periodically. Through that relationship, I found out what was going on all over town.”
The relationships grew into friendships that included hunting and fishing together. The life experiences of the coffee-drinking veterans, many of whom were not members of his church, were such that they would often use expressions that Kelly hadn’t heard since his father had said the same. When Kelly asked the veterans for advice, there was no lack of opinions.
His relationships with veterans in his church grew particularly deep. Lloyd “Tootie” Griffith was a veteran who in recent years had become a Southern Baptist disaster relief volunteer. “At his funeral, I just broke down and wept,” Kelly said. “He was very close to me.”
Other veterans remain close to him today.
Marvin Kinard, 89, World War II
Kinard volunteered to serve in the Navy in 1943 when he was 17. During his two years, six months, 28 days, and three hours of military service, Kinard showed his independence as he volunteered for a host of duties. His responsibilities were mostly stateside administrative tasks.
“I am still somewhat living back there,” Kinard says of his military service.
He married Sarah, his sweetheart, in January 1945 and left the Navy about a year later. They returned home, where Kinard worked in his father’s grocery store before opening one of his own and eventually going into wholesale food sales. Upon his return, Kinard engaged in church at First Baptist, Hampton, where he mostly taught children. His commitment to his local church ran deep.
“In 1952, the store that I had opened, one Sunday morning it caught fire and burnt,” Kinard said. “I did not have any insurance. I just went to church. The merchants in Hampton came together and built it back in three weeks.”
About 12 years ago, Kinard and his wife moved their membership to First Baptist, Varnville, where again they became active. Sarah died in February 2014. Kinard, now 89, though not as active as in the past, still attends regularly.
“The church means everything to me now,” he said. “I go there to worship, for that reason alone.”
“Tommy is an inspiration to me,” Kinard said of his pastor.
Frank McClure, 85, Korea
When Frank McClure attended college at Clemson University, it was his first time away from First Baptist, Varnville, where he’s attended since birth. He studied electrical engineering and then spent 42 years as a banker.
McClure reported for military duty with the Army on his 22nd birthday. Soon, he was in Korea near the 38th parallel, providing communications support for commanders.
One night as the Chinese were aiming for the headquarters compound with 88-mm high-velocity cannons, McClure rolled out of bed into a communications trench, which he said was not deep.
“I had left my helmet in my jeep, which was parked in the headquarters’ tent,” McClure said. “Shrapnel and bullets were flying by my head. That was the closest I came to being shot.”
He married upon his return and began attending First Baptist, Varnville, which was a “part-time” church then (worship services in town rotated between several churches).
After Varnville called its first full-time pastor, McClure’s involvement grew. He joined the choir and continues today.
“I love to sing,” he said.
His admiration for Kelly is clear. “I don’t know if I’ve ever met a man who was more sincere in doing what the Lord wanted us to do,” McClure said.
When Kelly called McClure once for advice about a pressing matter, his advice was simple. “A knee-jerk action is bad action,” he told Kelly. “Sleep on it. Don’t rush into anything.”
Phil Stanley, 71, Vietnam
Serving with the 25th infantry division, Phil Stanley was in the main fighting area of the Tet Offensive during his entire time in Vietnam. Huey helicopters would deliver him and other troops on search-and-destroy missions.
“I always sat on the floor with my feet resting on the running board,” Stanley said. “I always liked to be the first one out. Just wanted to hit the ground first.”
On July 2, 1967, the helicopter dropped his crew in the wrong landing zone. They were in the middle of a Viet Cong camp.
“A rifle grenade hit my close friend and exploded,” Stanley said. “I ended up getting shrapnel from it.”
The Army awarded him the Purple Heart. The physical wound didn’t compare to the emotional wounds. “It really hurt me when we came back and our country was spitting at us and throwing rocks at us,” Stanley said of his arrival at Fort Ord in California. “When I got home to Hampton County, it was a lot different from that. I got a wonderful welcome.”
Without his friends and church, Stanley’s transition back into civilian life would have been “impossible.”
“You have those nightmares, which I still have some,” he said. And he went through stages of suicidal depression.
“I can’t survive without our church,” said Stanley, who spent his career in retail. “We all have some rough times. They are there when you need them.”
Stanley and his wife have remained active at First Baptist, Varnville, having fulfilled multiple roles through the year. And he loves his pastor.
“He’s just wonderful,” Stanley said. “He’s a brother in Christ.”
Lessons Learned
Finding surrogate fathers among veterans has served Kelly well.
“By sitting at the feet of these men, I have learned a great deal that I would never have learned in a seminary classroom,” Kelly said.
He admires the character quality of loyalty the veterans show toward their country, community, jobs and families. “They were very much like my father in their commitment to their country and their Lord,” Kelly said.
Much of the teaching has happened over morning coffee at a local fast-food restaurant. In jest, the gathered men call themselves the “Hampton Mafia” because they “put a hit out on somebody every day.” Those “hits” can turn into visits, baptisms, weddings and funerals.
“The strength of the church is not what happens on Sunday morning when the doors are open,” said Kelly. “It’s what happens in the community and the world when the door is closed.”
And, sometimes, it happens over a cup of coffee.
— Jim Burton is a photojournalist and writer based in Atlanta.