‘Salvation on Sand Mountain:’ Snake Handling and the Absurdity of the American South
Dennis Covington’s book reminds us that the South is as complicated as it is flawed
A quick Google search for “Alabama” brings up a Wikipedia page, the state’s official website, the webpage for the University of Alabama, and then several articles about the recent Senate special election. That election, which prompted an almost-unheard-of Democratic victory by Doug Jones, is still in the headlines due to one candidate’s refusal to concede. Perhaps more importantly though, it showed the general ugliness of Southern politics and how contentious nearly anything can be in Alabama. These are all important stories, and the fate of Alabama in late 2017 has much to say about the fate of the United States as a whole.
An Alabama special election in 2017 has little to do with Dennis Covington’s seminal work, Salvation on Sand Mountain at first glance. Covington wrote about obscure religious sects in rural parts of the state, and published his findings more than 20 years ago. I bring up the election to underscore the main point of what I want to say in this quasi-review of Covington’s work: there are weird, borderline-crazy, and beautiful parts of the South that will never make the front page of national publications. Salvation on Sand Mountain does a masterful job of showing parts of Alabama (and the entire region) that are worth showing and remembering.
Salvation on Sand Mountain is an in-depth exploration of snake-handling churches in the American South. These churches incorporate snakes into worship services out of reference and obedience to New Testament verses that mention giving disciples power over such creatures. Luke 10:19 for example, states: I have given you authority to trample on snakes and scorpions and to overcome all the power of the enemy; nothing will harm you (NIV). People in the churches that Covington visited took poisonous snakes out of cages and handled them without using any form of protection during services. The power of God, these people reasoned, would protect them from harm.
Snake-handling churches, aside from handling venomous creatures, have much in common with modern-day Pentecostal services. There are rarely programs or strict schedules, and it’s common to have multiple sermons or messages in any given service. The sections of the service where snakes come out usually begin with live music, which crescendoes with people bringing snakes out to exercise their faith. Covington’s exploration of these events goes far beyond anything I can offer here, so for those more interested in the details of these services I highly recommend reading his book.
Covington began his journey because of the trial of Reverend Glenn Summerford. Summerford, a preacher at a prominent snake-handling church, had allegedly attempted to murder his wife by using the snakes usually reserved for church services. The details of the trial are scintillating on their own, but this event drew Covington into the circles of snake-handling churches across the Southeast, resulting in the publication of Salvation on Sand Mountain as he spent more and more time with various congregations.
Covington’s prose reads more like a narrative story than a profile of snake-handlers, with a definite beginning, middle, and end. Covington spends time with multiple churches, occasionally handling snakes himself, and eventually definitively broke ties with these churches at the end of the book. His story begins in Alabama, but progresses across the entire region and as far north as West Virginia. In many ways, this book — while functioning excellently as an introduction and exploration of Southern snake handling — is more about Covington’s personal religious experiences than anything else.
Covington is a fantastic writer, but this book’s greatest strength comes from his ability to connect with snake handlers without either blindly accepting or tossing aside their beliefs. Part of the reason that snake handling is such an interesting idea is because of its shock value. Many Americans (and probably most Christians) view this religious exercise as misguided and foolish, and even the most ardent handlers in Covington’s account acknowledge its inherent danger. People in these churches die every year, and almost all who have handled for a lifetime have suffered bites at some point. Compared to the more orderly services available in Southern metropolises (such as Covington’s native Birmingham), snake handling seems needlessly dangerous and quite possibly insane.
As Covington engages with snake handlers in Alabama and Georgia, he notes the inherent absurdity of their exercises. Crucially, he also notes how beautiful and unique these services are. It may be impossible for outsiders to understand what goes on in a snake-handling service (I certainly have no plans of attending one), but Covington’s book argues that there is something special and nearly indescribable in these rural churches. In many ways, what goes in on in these services is a vital part of Christianity. He writes, “Feeling after God is dangerous business. And Christianity without passion, danger, and mystery may not really be Christianity at all.”
Salvation on Sand Mountain is a fantastic book that I highly recommend, but there is more to its value than Covington’s skill as a writer. This book, since it’s more than 20 years old, is in many ways a work of history. Covington ties snake-handling traditions to the South’s history of Scottish and Irish immigrants, and his book now takes its place as part of the history of the evolving South. As the region becomes more and more urban and industrialized, it’s important to remember traditions like the snake-handling churches in this account.
Finally, Covington’s work is a reminder of how complex and weird the South can be. As someone who grew up in Atlanta and now lives in Birmingham, I am well aware of this region’s tortured history (and continuous inability to acknowledge that history). Snake-handling churches are less visible aspect of Southern history, and there are beautiful (if dangerous) traditions that may one day die out. How long will snake-handling churches survive? Will they still be part of the region in 50 years, or 100? Their demise, if it happens, will mean fewer deaths by snakebite every year, but it will also mean the loss of a long-valued Southern tradition.
In one particularly memorable section, Covington equates snakes to the ugly parts of the South. There are many beautiful historical narratives, such as the Civil Rights movement in Birmingham, but the uglier stories — like the KKK or slavery — are also plentiful. The South still needs redemption, as Covington writes:
What happened in Birmingham in 1963 not only redeemed the oppressed. It redeemed my people, although we haven’t been able to accept that yet. We haven’t taken that particular snake out and lifted it aloft in the light — the dangerous, unloved thing about us: where we came from, what we did, who we are.
