by Jan Drexler
They laid down a foundation for the stack, using narrow logs Jonas had set aside. They laid the boards across this foundation, then laid another layer across the first one, running the opposite direction, keeping a couple inches between the boards in each layer. By the time they set the third layer in place, they had reached a rhythm in their work.
“This meeting we’re going to in Smithville,” Jonas said as he placed another board on the stack, “what is it going to be like? Have you ever attended one before?”
“There has never been one before, not like this. The idea has been talked about for years, ever since the Indiana congregations finally split almost ten years ago, but this is the first time one has ever been organized.”
“I think it’s a good idea. Instead of the ministers in Pennsylvania going one way and the ministers in Iowa going another, they can get together and decide what to do.”
Abraham grunted as he pushed a board onto the growing stack. “It isn’t just to make sure the churches are going the same direction, but to determine if they’re going God’s direction. The biggest question should be whether we are following the Scriptures or not.”
Jonas stopped, resting one hand on the stack of lumber. “Do you think the Walnut Creek church is following the Scriptures?”
“There is nothing in the Good Book about Sunday schools and meetinghouses.” Abraham wiped the sweat off his nose with his handkerchief.
“But isn’t the biggest issue about stream baptism?”
“As I understand it, that is one of the issues. We’ve always had house baptism, taking place during a worship service.”
“There is mention of stream baptism in the Scriptures, though. So why shouldn’t we do that?”
Abraham held Jonas’s gaze with his own. He didn’t have an answer, because Jonas was right. The folks who objected to stream baptism could only do so on the basis of tradition, not Scripture. “That is one thing I hope will be cleared up in this meeting. The ministers will come to an agreement on whether stream baptism is allowed or not. The other issues will be discussed as well. I hope it will be a good, godly time.”
“Do you think the war will come up?”
“They might discuss it, but the church’s response to war is clear and has been since the beginning. The teachings of Scripture are also clear. So I don’t think there will be any dissent on the matter.”
Jonas continued his work in silence. Abraham shifted another board onto the next stack, considering Jonas’s question. The ministers would never support the war and would probably go so far as to forbid any member’s participation in the army. But the subject seemed to be on Jonas’s mind, and since he wasn’t yet a member of the church, he wasn’t bound to what was decided at the meeting.
Abraham lifted another board, waiting for Jonas to place his on the stack. His son would make his own decision, but Abraham prayed that it would be the right one, in line with the teachings of the church.
JUNE 8
The first annual ministers’ meeting was held in the large barn of one of the many Schrock families near Smithville. Most of the participants had arrived on Saturday, and Sunday morning’s service was the largest one Jonas had ever attended.
With so many ministers present, the sermons were lengthy. Then each sermon was followed by many responses, where the other ministers added details in support of the sermon or correcting points of doctrine. The service dragged into the afternoon. Jonas listened to all the speakers, glad to hear the differing points of view. He had always thought Amish congregations were the same, whether the community was from Iowa or Pennsylvania, but each minister had his own style of preaching and his own slant on the Bible passages.
Datt, Gustav, and Jonas had set up their camp next to their wagon for the two or three nights they planned to be there, near Levi Beiler, his father, and the other men they knew from Holmes County. Bishop Lemuel Miller and the group from Walnut Creek were grouped together, a little bit away from the rest of them. Although Walnut Creek was one of the Holmes County congregations, their change-minded actions made them the topic of much discussion among the other churches in the county.
Gustav sat on an upturned log on Sunday evening, watching the Walnut Creek group.
“What do you think of that?” he asked Datt.
Datt followed the direction of Gustav’s gaze. “What do I think of what?”
“The Walnut Creek group, keeping to themselves like that. Do you think they’re conspiring to take control of the meeting?”
Chuckling at Gustav’s words, Datt buttered a slice of the bread Mamm had sent for their supper. “You’re seeing problems where they don’t exist. You could say we’re keeping to ourselves, also, here in our camp.”
Jonas grinned at Gustav’s frowning reaction.
“It isn’t the same, and you know it. We’re here with men from Millersburg, Berlin, and Holmesville,” Gustav said, pointing to the wagons camped around them.
“Don’t start looking for disunity where it doesn’t exist,” Datt said. “Let’s wait and see what the meeting brings when it begins tomorrow.”
On Monday morning, Jonas followed Datt into the lofty barn and took a seat next to Levi in the back row, right behind Datt and Gustav. The church benches had been arranged in a U shape, and the front rows were filled with ordained ministers from across the country. Nearly every Amish settlement was represented by the seventy-two ministers. Onlookers, like Jonas, were welcome to attend, and the crowd packed the barn. Jonas saw young boys and a few girls in the haymow, ready to watch the proceedings.
Levi rubbed his hands together, as if he expected a banquet to be served. “I’m glad you’re here, Jonas.”
“Why?”
Lowering his voice, Levi said, “Then you and I can discuss what goes on.”
“Won’t you talk it over with your father?” Amos Beiler was one of the ministers present, sitting in the second row.
“He never discusses such things with me.”
Jonas caught a glimpse of Preacher Amos across the way, watching Levi with a frown. Levi had told him he wasn’t close to his father, but that frown made him think that Amos didn’t want Levi here at all.
Bishop Jonathan Yoder from Pennsylvania brought the meeting to order. After an opening prayer and song, the meeting was under way. The first discussion had to do with the long-festering difficulties between the Elkhart County and LaGrange County congregations in Indiana, and Jonas’s attention flagged.
He studied the faces of the men sitting in the front row of the benches facing him. Most listened intently, standing to indicate when they wanted to add their thoughts to the discussion. The deliberation lasted most of the morning, until the moderator finally assigned a committee of six bishops to examine the problem and bring a report back to the meeting later.
The reading of a letter from a Pennsylvania congregation requesting a written report of the meeting was the next item of business. Once it was read and agreed to, the meeting broke for dinner.
The women of the Smithville church had provided dinner for the ministers, but Datt and Gustav had brought food for the three of them to share near their wagon. With close to three hundred laymen and observers attending, Datt had said they shouldn’t expect others to provide food for them and their horses.
So Jonas tended to the team while Datt built a fire and cooked some bacon to go with the bread and dried apples they had brought. At the end of the noon hour, a clanging bell called everyone back to the meeting.
Almost before the moderator had finished calling the afternoon session to order, Bishop Levi Yoder from a neighboring church in Holmes County stood.
“Uh-oh,” Gustav said. His voice carried to the folks sitting nearest to him.
Jonas knew what he meant. Bishop Levi could be a bit tactless when he was impassioned about a subject, and from his stance and the way he regarded the men sitting around him, he was ready to dive into his subject with as much zeal as Jonas had ever seen him exhibit.
He started out by repeating the history of the calling of this meeting, beginning with the idea that had been proposed by Bishop David Beiler of Lancaster County several years before.
“I was in support of that proposal,” Bishop Levi continued, but then indicated the gathered ministers with a sweep of his hand, “however, this meeting wasn’t called by the majority of the churches but by a few change-minded bishops who are intent on forcing the rest of us to accept their progressive ways.”
With that statement, many of the assembled ministers started talking at once, some of them shouting to make themselves heard over the tumult.
Jonas scooted forward so he could hear as Datt and Gustav leaned their heads toward each other.
“I told you there might be trouble,” Gustav said, watching the scene in the center of the barn.
“This is terrible,” Datt said as he shook his head. “Where is the unity of the church?”
“Thrown out the window. Those change-minded men won’t stop to consider what they’re doing. They would rather tear the church apart than listen to reason.”
The moderator called for order, and the shouting voices quieted. Finally, the ministers settled back in their seats, and Bishop Levi continued. He went on to bring up the Walnut Creek congregation by name, listing the new things that the church had adopted, accepting such innovations as photography, lightning rods, insurance policies, and large church buildings.
“The lack of unity between the four conservative churches in Holmes County and the change-minded one isn’t because of the issue of stream baptism, as some have reported,” Bishop Levi continued, “but because the change-minded leaders continue to bring these new things into the church without discussion among the neighboring congregations, and we can’t tolerate them.”
Then Bishop Lemuel from the Walnut Creek church stood, and the gathered assembly was silent, waiting to hear what he would say. Jonas leaned forward to see him better.
“Let me say first that I am unaware of any Walnut Creek members who have had pictures made using photography.”
This brought some scattered laughter from the crowd.
Levi leaned toward Jonas. “Bishop Lemuel always knows how to entertain a crowd.”
Jonas smothered a chuckle as Bishop Lemuel held up his hand to silence them before he continued.
“These things that Brother Levi has mentioned played no part in the division between the Walnut Creek church and the rest of the Holmes County churches,” he said, starting with a calm and clear voice. “But the division has come about because of the refusal of some conservative church leaders to even talk about the possibility of adopting new innovations that would benefit everyone.”
At those words from his uncle, Bishop Moses rose, his hand raised to gain recognition from the moderator. At the nod from Bishop Jonathan Yoder, he faced the assembled ministers.
“I agree with Brother Levi. The stream baptism is no hindrance to unity among the churches, but the insistence of one church to force the rest of us to accept their progressive ways and still expect us to remain in fellowship with them is. If those who have accepted these new things will not dispense with them, I cannot be in agreement with them.”
Bishop Jonathan asked, “What would satisfy you? What would bring unity and peace to Holmes County?”
Bishop Moses turned to his uncle. “I would be satisfied if all five churches would submit to the old order.”
Another man rose and said, “The same thing would heal the division between LaGrange County and Elkhart County in Indiana. We have more new things that the change-minded have accepted than have been named here, and they must be given up. Only submission to the old ways will bring unity.”
The response from the other bishops and ministers was drowned out in another heated exchange of words. Jonas sat back as the moderator banged a hammer on his desk. Datt had bowed his head, his lips moving in silent prayer.
As the voices quieted once again, Bishop Jonathan spoke. “I remind my fellow ministers that we must not seek to judge each other in matters of conscience. This discussion is closed. We will continue to the next item of business, the report from the committee that has been considering the Elkhart and LaGrange problem.”
With that, Jonas left the barn. He had witnessed enough discord among these ministers to fill many days of meetings. If the church couldn’t agree on these simple things, how would they ever achieve the peace and unity they desired?
JUNE 10
Five days. Jonas had been gone for five days.
Katie took another cooked and cooled beet from the pan on the table. Mama had roasted the vegetables in the oven while she cooked breakfast that morning before the day grew warm. Now Katie’s job was to peel and slice them so they could be pickled in the crock sitting at her feet. After roasting, the peel came off easily, but slicing the slippery red orb was tricky. As much as she tried to prevent it, her hands were stained bright red, and so was her apron. She was glad she had remembered to wear her oldest clothes this morning.
This task was as endless as waiting to see Jonas again. Once he was home, she should make him promise to never be gone for more than a day. She couldn’t live without seeing him for so long.
Of course, Papa was gone to the ministers’ meeting too, but Mama didn’t seem to miss him at all.
She peered at Mama, who was working across the table from her. Sitting with the box shredder balanced over the biggest stoneware crock, Mama was slicing cabbages. They had picked two dozen heads of fresh cabbage early that morning, and Mama was making sauerkraut. Katie wrinkled her nose. As much as she disliked slicing beets, the process of making sauerkraut was much more tedious. Mama would shred some cabbage into the crock, then sprinkle salt on top, then shred more cabbage. Her arms ached to think of it.
Just like her arms ached to think of all the work they had done to harvest these cabbages and beets. Mama had planted the seeds in trays back in March, letting the little plants sprout and grow in the sunshine coming in the south window in the front room. They had planted the seedlings in their kitchen garden in April, and now the vegetables were ready, just in time to plant a second crop of lettuce in their place.
When Katie finally got to the end of the pan of beets, she slid the last of the red slices into her crock, and dumped the peels and stem ends into the old dishpan they used for kitchen scraps.
“Should I take the peelings to the pigs now, or do you want me to wait until you’ve finished the cabbages?”
Mama looked up from the cabbage shredder. “You’re done already?”
“Already? I’ve been slicing beets since breakfast, and it is nearly dinnertime.”
Rising from her chair, Mama stretched and flexed her fingers. “No wonder my hands are so stiff. Time gets away from me when I’m working.” She looked out the window toward the road, just as Katie had done many times in the last five days. “I thought your papa might be home in time for dinner today, but they must have stayed in Smithville last night too.”
“I thought they were coming home yesterday.” Katie sliced a loaf of bread for their lettuce and bacon sandwiches. Since the weather was warm and Papa was away, they had been having light dinners that didn’t take much preparation. Mama had cooked the bacon in the morning while the stove was hot, then put out the fire to keep the house cooler.
Mama put the plate of cold bacon on the table along with the lettuce they had picked and cleaned that morning. Katie missed having tomatoes in their sandwiches, but that treat would have to wait until the tomatoes ripened in a few weeks. She moved the rest of the cabbages to the side of the table, and she and Mama sat in their chairs.
When Katie opened her eyes after the prayer, she couldn’t help giggling at the sight of a cabbage in Papa’s place.
“Look! Papa has a green head.”
Mama smiled, but at the same time her eyes filled with tears. Katie froze, staring at her. Mama never cried.
“What’s wrong? Mama?”
“Nothing.” M
ama shook her head. “It’s nothing. Just . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“What?”
Patting her hand, Mama sniffed, and the tears were gone. “Never mind. You’ll understand when you’re older.”
“I’m not a child. I’m a grown woman.” Katie blinked. “Well, nearly grown.”
Mama looked at her, staring as if she had never seen her before. “You are, aren’t you?” She shook her head as she leaned back. “You have always been in such a hurry to grow up, and now it’s happened. Where have the years gone?”
“They’ve gone very slowly for me.” Katie took a bite of bacon. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”
Mama made her sandwich in silence, as if she was considering what she should tell Katie.
“It’s just that your papa is later than he should be. I keep telling myself that the gathering must have lasted longer than he thought it would, or they took a longer road home for some reason.” Mama stared at her sandwich, but made no move to pick it up.
“You’re worried about him?”
“I shouldn’t be, should I?” She frowned at her sandwich, but then her face twisted as if she would hold her tears back by the force of her will. “But I don’t know what I would do if something happened to him.”
Katie grasped her hand. Mama had always been strong and unyielding. A force to push against, to set the boundaries that were so frustrating. A solid wall. But Mama’s hand was thin and fragile, with age spots dotting crepe-like skin. When was the last time she had held her mother’s hand?
With a start, Katie realized that she wasn’t the only one who had gotten older as time had flown by. The world shifted beneath her feet. The days had been long, but the years . . . The years had gone, and no one could bring them back.
She grasped at her childhood, fluttering just beyond her sight, but it was fading. With Mama’s admission of her frailty, she shrunk before Katie’s eyes. No longer the unbending ruler of the household, Mama became a woman, sitting at the kitchen table with Katie. A woman with fears just like her own.
