From the Sanctuary to the Mountains: A Church That Sent Healers

BT Team in 2004. Megan is second from the right.

 

Megan Pieniazak Dove came to Baptist Temple as a child, joining the congregation with her family while she was in the fourth grade. From the beginning, the church became a formative space for her spiritual and personal development. She was immersed in the rhythms of congregational life—Sunday school, choir, GAs, and especially Acteens, a ministry she later described as central to her growth in faith. Looking back on those years, Dove recalled feeling so “bubble wrapped with love and assurance that she could dream big,” an environment that nurtured both confidence and calling.

With the encouragement of Pastor Mark Newton, she enrolled at Baylor University, where was active in the Baptist Student Ministry and deepened her sense of vocation. It was also at Baylor that she met her future husband, Stephen.

Dove’s time at Baylor included two semesters in Mexico, undertaken to strengthen her Spanish language skills. Experiences that would later prove essential. 

After completing her education, she returned to Baptist Temple in 2002, at just twenty years old, to serve as minister of children and youth, later just focusing on children.

In 2003, Megan and Stephen responded to a call to missions, relocating to Chiapas, Mexico for a year, to serve at Clínica Peña de Horeb, an eye clinic established by Good News Friends to bring medical care to some of southern Mexico’s most impoverished and geographically isolated communities. Dove’s earlier language training enabled her to work effectively with patients. She and Stephen assumed responsibility for the clinic’s administrative operations, coordinating medical teams, staffing, and daily logistics. 

The clinic’s work unfolded through three primary avenues: periodic medical campaigns during which U.S. physicians provided free ophthalmological surgeries; year-round eye exams and distribution of donated glasses; and regular outreach trips to remote villages scattered across the mountains. “Stephen and I would go on at least one or two remote trips a month to deliver glasses,” said Dove.

BT sent several mission teams to the clinic beginning in the late nineties. In 2002, BT prepared 5000 pairs of donated glasses to take to the clinic. 

Kirby Follis, BT Music and Missions at the time, recalled one trip to the clinic when the mission team combined medical care with pastoral presence. Physicians, nurses, and specialists treated many types of eye conditions, while others offered what Follis, described as “spiritual triage”—praying with patients, listening to their stories, and offering encouragement alongside physical care. “The need was immense” said Follis, “People walked for miles—sometimes for days—descending from remote mountain villages to wait in long lines, hoping for the chance to see a doctor.”

Melissa Baxter contributed to this article.


 

When the Church Becomes the Community

The Brunnemann Building at Baptist Temple carries more than a name. It carries a story. 

Kay Richardson remembers why it matters.

The building was named for her father, Max—someone who grew up in the church and spent his life helping it search for ways to connect with the surrounding neighborhood.

Once a store owned by her grandfather, the structure went through numerous changes before becoming a center of activity where food and fellowship, clothing and care, and haircuts and hugs are shared.

By the time Richardson’s father was honored with the building that bears his name, he was already deep into his illness. He never lived to see what would finally emerge there.

“I think about how thrilled he would be to see what’s happening now,” Richardson said. “The thrift store. The food pantry. The Tuesday night meals. They’re bringing in the community the way it always should have been.”

On Tuesday evenings, the church cafeteria is filled with people enjoying a free meal. For some it’s the only hot meal they get all week, for others it is a chance to sit with their family. For one working mother with five small children, it ‘s a welcome break. Volunteers bring the meals and help with the kids.

Volunteers prepare food and greet guests, but the room itself belongs to the community. On a recent Tuesday night, Richardson looked around the room and noticed something striking.

“Almost everyone there was from the community,” she said. “Not church members—except the volunteers. Just people. Some homeless. Some not. But all enjoying the food, the fellowship, and the space.”

And sometimes, something deeper happens.

That same night, a man who had suffered a stroke—unable to speak—kept pointing across the room. Richardson followed his gaze and approached the other man.

“I think this man knows you,” she said.

The recognition was immediate. The two men had been patients in the same rehabilitation facility, both recovering from strokes. They were reunited unexpectedly over a shared meal.

“These little connections keep happening,” Richardson said. “That’s when you realize what this space really is.”

The question of whether these relationships lead people to church—or to faith—is never far from the surface. Richardson speaks about it candidly.

“Yes, it matters,” Richardson said. “But we also know this is a slow process.”

The priority, she explained, is trust. For now, the work is simple and steady: Listening, trust-building, and offering unconditional love.

“We ask how we can pray for them. We read a short scripture. We invite them to services,” she said. “Sometimes they come. Some people from the community have even joined the church this year. But mostly, we’re focused on showing love—one week at a time.”

Vernon Liverette sees it from another angle. People may not realize how many hands it takes to make the ministry work: unloading food trucks, organizing shelves, sorting clothes, helping families shop, brewing coffee, welcoming strangers.
“It takes all of us,” he said. “And when we work together, that’s when we make an impact.”

For many who come through the pantry doors, Baptist Temple is not simply a church—it is the church.

“Some of them tell us, ‘You’re the only ones who care. You’re like my family,’” Liverette said. “And for some, we may be the only church they have contact with at all.”

Those served include grandparents raising grandchildren, families under financial strain, and people just needing a place to sit for a while. Everyone is met the same way—with dignity, food, and presence.

“That doesn’t happen without volunteers. No matter your role, your contribution matters. It makes a real difference,” said Liverette addressing a group at the annual volunteer Christmas party.

He paused, then smiled.

“And you should all give yourselves a round of applause.”
After years of uncertainty, Baptist Temple did not reinvent itself through strategy alone. It changed by showing up consistently—feeding people, learning names, listening to stories, and allowing the church to become part of the community it had long hoped to serve.

And in the Brunnemann Building, a legacy finally found its fulfillment.

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2025: The year in review

THE YEAR IN PICTURES 

It was a year marked by need—and faithfulness.

Across San Antonio, rising food insecurity pressed itself into daily life. Baptist Temple felt that weight not as an abstraction, but as faces, names, and empty hands. With the help of our hunger fighting partners, the church responded. Over the course of the year, more than seven hundred homeless meal bags were distributed, groceries were provided to over 3,500 families, and more than 4,000 hot meals were served. Each number represented a conversation, a prayer, a quiet act of dignity restored. God provided and the number of volunteers increased, as did the number of food sources—clear signs of God’s grace.

Hunger relief efforts intersected with learning, laughter, and shared life. Community events filled the calendar and the campus with energy: the Dollars and Sense seminar led by George Long offered practical guidance; the Charity Ball Association children’s party transformed the grounds with clowns, inflatables, pony rides, and a petting zoo; and the Boo Bash, cosponsored by the Early Learning Center and Respite Care, welcomed families into a safe and festive celebration. Even Vacation Bible School bore fruit, as two children made decisions to follow Christ—small moments that carried eternal weight.

The year was also marked by transition—hellos and goodbyes that reshaped the rhythm of congregational life. God’s Will Ministry began gathering for Sunday worship at 3:00 p.m. in the chapel adding to the five congregations already worshiping on the BT Campus. Divine Women expanded their services and relocated to the Long House. Respite Care launched a parent’s day out program on campus, offering rest to weary caregivers of special needs kids. At the same time, the Henry Ford Academy did not reopen in the fall, closing a chapter that had once held promise and purpose.

Worship remained the steady center. The sanctuary echoed with special services and sacred moments: the Southern Plainsmen worship concert, Adult and Teen Challenge leading worship with testimony and song on two occasions, and musical presentations on Palm Sunday and during Advent. Easter was celebrated with the flowering of the cross, a visible sign of resurrection hope. The Early Learning Center presented its strongest Christmas program to date, and Christmas Eve was marked not by spectacle but by simplicity—scripture read, songs sung, Christ remembered. In a moment of affirmation and gratitude for faithful service, Linda Moos was ordained as a deacon.

Life together mattered, too. Game day fellowships and shared meals created space for laughter and conversation. Valentine’s Day brought “A Night of Romance,” featuring great entertainment, laughter, and a catered dinner. Eighteen members walked together in the San Antonio Hunger Walk, embodying in public what they practiced daily. Homecoming stood above the rest—a celebration of the church’s 114th birthday, the largest worship attendance of the year, and an even larger gathering afterward at Comanche Park, where former members and staff returned from near and far to reminisce about the past and to rejoice about the present.

The year also witnessed new life in Christ. Baptisms marked turning points and testimonies of grace: Manuel; Kelsie; Elijah; Thomas; the Estrada family—George, Ana, Mia, and Fabian; Ralph; and Adelina. Their stories joined the long stream of faith that has shaped Baptist Temple for generations.
The year carried loss. We mourn and give thanks for lives of: Louise Stuteville, George Martin, Mary Lee Shelton, Ken Muenzler, and Robert Newman. Their absence was felt, their memory honored, their faith remembered with gratitude and hope.

Looking back, 2025 was a year marked by faithfulness—by hands extended, tables shared, voices lifted in worship, and lives changed. In the face of need, the church did what it has always done: it stepped up.