When my dad was in his medical residency program in Charleston, S.C., our family attended First Baptist Church of Charleston. I was about 6 years old at the time, and I recall the experience vividly. John Hamrick was pastor at that time, and I recollect him being tall and dignified. Of course, as a 6-year-old, I don’t remember a word he ever preached, but I am certain that the Word did not return empty or void but was planted in fertile soil. What I do remember most clearly was the squeaky doors at the end of each pew. If you’ve ever been to First Baptist Church of Charleston, you would have seen the little white wooden doors affixed to either end of each pew as was customary in many churches built in the early 1800s. Now rather than paying attention to the sermon, my little mind was fascinated by the challenge of opening that door without making it squeak, which, of course, would disturb the polite silence of the auditorium and bring annoyed glances from adults.