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The idea of
holding a Sunday church service at the summit of Enchanted
Rock came to Rev. Moore one day after reading Matthew 16:18,
"And I tell you that you are Peter, and upon this rock I will build
my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it."
Even simple country folk got the symbolism.
Contemporary sources describe Rev. Moore as "an old settler in the
Willow city area" and "the Old Cowboy Preacher." He raised goats,
cattle and horses, but he had a higher calling. Members of his flock
remembered him as "small in stature with a red face and white hair."
Enchanted Rock and the area around it played a big part in Rev.
Moore's life long before he preached there. As a young man he almost
died there.
In February 1870, on a trip from Willow
City to Llano,
Dan Moore (not yet a minister) rode in an ox wagon with his brother-in-law
Riley Walker. Hostile Natives attacked the men near Bell Mountain.
Riley Walker died in the attack. Dan Moore, twice wounded, escaped
on foot and ran to safety at the Moss Ranch headquarters near Enchanted
Rock.
That near-death experience may have inspired Moore to go into the
ministry. The Baptist church ordained him in 1876.
Rev.
Moore preached in several country churches, but he is best known
for his yearly sermons on the top of Enchanted
Rock in the late 1800s.
On the last Sunday in August, people came from all over Llano
and Gillespie Counties
to hear Rev. Moore's sermon on the Rock.
"We were out of bed before dawn," Mrs. H. C. Kirk of Willow City
told the Fredericksburg Standard, "ready to begin our 15
mile journey via wagon through pastures on neighborhood roads, little
more than cow trails in places. Father kept the horses in the pen
overnight so they could be fed, watered, curried and harnessed,
ready to begin the journey at sunrise."
"At early dawn father placed the boxes of food in the wagon and
prepared a place for us to sit."
"Upon arriving at Enchanted Rock we (the children) were carefully
checked, hats tied on because of the strong wind, handkerchiefs
in pockets, shoes tied."
Some people rode their horses to the summit. Others walked.
With no pews, chairs or cushions, accommodations at the top were
spartan to say the least. "We sat on the granite ledge surrounding
the circular depression atop Enchanted Rock," Mrs. Kirk remembered.
Conditions at the summit were not ideal for a formal church service.
A stiff breeze mussed hair and sent hats and bonnets flying into
the next county. Sometimes the whistle of the wind drowned out the
sermon.
Still, worshippers persevered. They sang hymns, heard the sermon,
passed the collection plate and enjoyed the spectacular scenery.
After the closing prayer, everyone descended to the pleasant shade
of the trees along Sandy Creek at the base of the Rock and ate fried
chicken, potato salad, pinto beans, homemade bread, pies and cakes.
The Sermon on the Rock drew a crowd for a time but soon lost its
appeal. The seating at the summit was uncomfortable. The strong
winds mussed hair and carried away hats and umbrellas. Just getting
up there had its challenges.
After a few short years attendance dropped. Then Rev. Moore said
the final benediction.
The sermon is history, but the Rock never lost its charm for people
with a desire to schmooze with mother-nature and rub elbows with
the man upstairs. Climbing
Enchanted Rock, like hearing a good sermon, still touches the
soul and stirs the spirit.
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