The Pastor vs. The Quarry

How Cody Gilliam Became the Voice of Belle Mina

A Church Built on Faith — and Ice Cream

In 1894, the people of Belle Mina decided they needed a church of their own. They didn’t have much money — just faith, determination, and a sweet idea. They hosted ice cream socials, selling scoops to raise enough to buy lumber, nails, and pews.

That small act of unity built something sacred: the Belle Mina Methodist Church, a white wooden chapel that still stands today — leaning just slightly after 130 years of storms, sermons, and seasons of change.

When asked about it, Pastor Cody Gilliam often smiles and says,

“It leans a little — but it’s not broken.”

And somehow, that’s become the perfect reflection of Belle Mina itself — a little worn, but standing strong.

When the Ground Began to Shake

For generations, Belle Mina has been a quiet corner of Limestone County — where front porches are gathering places and Sunday mornings begin with hymns that drift across Limestone Creek.

But that peace was interrupted when a 199-acre rock quarry was quietly approved near the community. The explosions soon followed — loud, jarring, and close. Some homes sit just 25 feet from the blasting zone.

Residents say their pictures rattle on the walls, cracks have formed in their homes, and what used to be stillness now feels like an earthquake waiting to happen.

“They’ve actually had china break in their cabinets,” Gilliam said. “No one should live like that.”

The Watchdogs Who Sounded the Alarm

The Belle Mina community might never have known what was coming if not for a local watchdog group that has been vigilantly monitoring land-use and industrial zoning proposals across Limestone County.

This group, made up of residents and advocates from surrounding communities, had already seen how large corporations and developers often slip projects through quietly, counting on small towns not to notice until it’s too late.

When they discovered the quarry proposal, they reached out to Pastor Gilliam and local residents, warning that the plans were already advancing. Their early alerts gave Belle Mina just enough time to rally, organize, and push back before the blasting began.

Without that call — and the courage to act on it — the town’s story might have ended before it began.

The Courage to Stand

When fear and frustration began to spread, Pastor Gilliam did what shepherds do — he stood with his people. He hosted community meetings, united neighboring churches, and spoke out at every public hearing he could attend.

He doesn’t call himself an activist. He calls himself a pastor doing what’s right.

“We are called to care for creation and for one another,” Gilliam said. “That’s not political — that’s biblical.”

Under his leadership, the local churches filed a lawsuit to stop quarry operations, arguing that the blasting, dust, and runoff threaten homes, water, and the very fabric of the community.

It wasn’t an easy fight. But courage rarely is.

Faith Under Fire

In August, the quarry developers struck back with a $1.6 million SLAPP lawsuit — a legal attempt to silence Gilliam, Belle Mina Methodist, and others who dared to speak out.

For some, that kind of pressure would have been enough to stop everything. But for Pastor Gilliam and his congregation, it only confirmed why this fight mattered.

“When faith leaders speak for their people, they shouldn’t be punished,” said one attorney representing the churches. “Courage doesn’t silence itself just because it’s sued.”

And so, in that little leaning church built from scoops of ice cream and stubborn hope, the people of Belle Mina keep gathering — unbroken, unafraid, and unwavering.

Faith Built This Church. Courage Is Keeping It Standing.

The same courage that built Belle Mina Methodist in 1894 is the same courage holding it together today.

Gilliam often reminds his congregation that faith laid the foundation — but courage is what keeps it from falling. The church may lean, but it refuses to break. Just like its people.

This isn’t simply about zoning or noise; it’s about preserving the soul of a community. It’s about choosing principle over profit, and courage over silence.

Courage Is Contagious

Courage doesn’t always shout. Sometimes it just stands up — a pastor in a small Alabama church, saying “enough.” It’s the mother who still brings her children to service even though the ground shakes. It’s the neighbors who show up to every meeting, every prayer, every rally — because they know what’s at stake. And it’s the watchdogs, the volunteers, and the everyday citizens who refuse to look away when something isn’t right. Because courage isn’t just a word — it’s a chain reaction.

And right now, we need more of the courageous.

*This article represents the author’s opinion based on public information and firsthand community accounts. Readers are encouraged to review available records and form their own conclusions.