UNINCORPORATED TARRANT COUNTY, Texas — Along a once-rural stretch of road, a small white sign nailed to an old tree greets churchgoers.
In cursive lettering, the sign simply reads: Church of Peace and Quiet.
Standing in his gravel driveway on a recent morning, newly online-ordained minister Neil Foreman glanced across the street at Joe Dirt’s, a bright yellow fireworks stand. Near the stand, a pay-to-pop spot — where paying customers can explode their own fireworks — is planned.
Distraught over the possibility of nonstop booms and bangs, Foreman and his neighbors looked for a way to prevent the pyrotechnics. They found one in Texas law, which forbids the shooting of fireworks within 600 feet of a church.
“This is madness. We would have fireworks going off in the heart of our neighborhood,” said Foreman, a 48-year-old diesel mechanic who lives with his wife and two sons. “So we looked for help, and we found a bit of faith in the Lord.”
Nearby, Jay Hasbrouck, 70, a semi-retired real-estate agent who describes himself as deeply religious, started a second church, Faith United Cowboy Church.
Tension over fireworks is nothing new. Each year around July 4, Texas cities field thousands of complaints reporting illegal fireworks. Still, starting a church might be one of the more dramatic measures taken to prevent them.
Unlike in nearly all cities in North Texas, fireworks are permitted in unincorporated Tarrant County, which has far-less-stringent zoning laws and regulations than cities.
Joe Sterling, who owns the fireworks stand and surrounding property outside Mansfield, said he envisioned the pay-to-pop site as a way to give people a safe, legal place to shoot fireworks and celebrate outside the city.
The business owner’s dispute with neighbors extends beyond fireworks. Sterling also operates a commercial truck parking facility, and neighbors have complained to county officials about bright lights and noise.
“It’s unimaginable that someone would start a fake church to try to stop me from running a legitimate business,” Sterling said. “That’s blasphemy.”
But the neighbors say their churches are quite real, even if born out of desperation.
Neither Texas nor the federal government has a strict definition of church. For tax exemption status, the state comptroller defines a church as an “organized, established group of people regularly meeting at a designated location to hold religious worship services.”
Neither the Church of Peace and Quiet or Faith United Cowboy Church plan to apply for tax-exempt status.
Meanwhile, the IRS is even less precise. “Given the variety of religious practice, the determination of what constitutes a church is inherently unquantifiable,” the agency says.
A district court judge has granted the neighbors a temporary restraining order to block the shooting of fireworks, with a hearing scheduled later this month. Joe Dirt’s fireworks stand — and hundreds of others in Texas — was set to open Saturday, as allowed by state law.
Citing the lawsuit, an official with the Tarrant County fire marshal’s office, which conducts safety checks and issues permits for fireworks stands and displays, declined to comment on the dispute.
If the pay-to-pop site is permitted, neighbors are particularly worried about fire hazard and the safety of their animals, including dogs, horses, chickens and cattle, with fireworks into the wee hours of the night, said Kate Zimmerman, a veterinarian who lives next to Foreman.
Zimmerman estimates roughly 170 homes are within a half-mile or so of the Joe Dirt’s property.
“We started churches to protect ourselves and our families,” Zimmerman said. “Church should be a place where people feel safe and protected. This is about people coming together.”
An attorney for the neighbors, Frank Hill, said the dispute highlights the need for state legislation and reasonable restrictions to protect residents who live in unincorporated, residential areas.
Near a barb-wire fence that separates the two properties, Hasbrouck, who started Faith United Cowboy Church, is painting and erecting three large white crosses.
Hasbrouck said he long considered starting a church, and doing so to help neighbors felt like a sign. Faith United Cowboy plans to meet for regular Sunday-morning services.
“I pray for the strength and wisdom to follow God,” he said. ”He’s driving the car, and I’m just the passenger.”
At the Church of Peace and Quiet, the tenets are simple: neighborliness, community, and, yes, peace and quiet.
On a recent Saturday morning, a dozen or so neighbors turned into the church’s long gravel driveway, strolled into the backyard and found a spot under a metal awning, just next to the above-ground swimming pool.
Formalities were few, if any. People wore shorts and sandals and pulled up extra lawn chairs. They took turns petting Benji, a rescued racehorse who romps in the adjacent pasture.
The group sang along to Cat Stevens’ rendition of “Morning Has Broken” before bowing their heads to pray, in silence.
