What the Bishop Saw

by Vannetta Chapman

  Henry was thinking on that when he joined Abe and Clyde and Leroy. They met in Daniel’s office. As they closed the door to the small room, Henry glanced out and saw Rebecca Yoder leading the women into the area where the benches had been placed. The men were already seated on the right side, and Rebecca made her way to the front of the left side. As the oldest among the women, it was her place to lead them inside, and though she walked slightly bent, with an arthritic hand clutching her cane, Henry thought he’d never seen a finer leader. Verses from Proverbs 31 popped into his mind.

  She selects wool and flax and works with eager hands.

  She opens her arms to the poor and extends her hands to the needy.

  She is clothed with strength and dignity.

  Yes, those words described Rebecca, and he was grateful she was with them.

  Turning back into the room, Henry saw Clyde, Abe, and Leroy were seated, elbows on knees, eyes closed or cast down.

  “It is gut to be gathered together, ya?”

  Murmurs of agreement, but he could tell they were troubled.

  “Two weeks ago, when we held our last service, Vernon was still among us.”

  “Tragedy had not yet touched our small community.” Abe remained staring at the floor, his shoulders hunched.

  “It is tragic, indeed.”

  “Gotte does not promise us a rose-strewn path,” Leroy said.

  Clyde looked up, glancing at each of the other elders before settling his gaze on Henry. “And yet we are to ‘trust in the steadfast love of God forever and ever.’ ”

  “Indeed we are. I have no doubt that recent events have taken a toll on our members. As the leaders of this church, we are each responsible for more than ensuring the physical health of our congregation. We are responsible for their spiritual health as well. We are, after all, charged with tending the flock, though of course Christ is our ultimate shepherd.”

  The men nodded in agreement, and some of the despair fell away from them.

  “I’d like to preach the first sermon today, and I’d like for Clyde to preach the second.”

  All three men nodded again. They each prepared during the week to speak a good word in case they were called upon, but it was Henry’s decision to make. He depended on God’s guidance in that regard. This morning he felt strongly moved that Clyde would have the words of truth and encouragement their families needed to hear.

  “Abe will share Scripture, and, Leroy, I would appreciate it if you would assist with closing out the service. Now, before we join the others, let’s pray together.”

  They prayed silently for a few moments, and then Henry led them, reminding them of God’s protection, His provision, His immeasurable love.

  When they’d finished praying, Henry motioned toward the door.

  Leroy led the way, his usual scowling expression in place. Well, every Christian wasn’t blessed with a sunny disposition. Henry reminded himself that Leroy was a good man. He’d learned long ago that for Leroy life was a serious affair, a series of obstacles to carefully maneuver around.

  Abe followed Leroy. He met Henry’s gaze, nodded once, and stepped out into the main room of the barn.

  Clyde offered him a weak smile. Though he’d been selected as one of their preachers four years ago, he still dealt with feelings of inadequacy, especially when preaching. He sometimes became tongue-tied, but their congregation was patient. God often spoke a good word through Clyde, and it was because of that Henry had chosen him to preach. Today, they needed words of comfort and truth. They needed to be reminded of their Christian duty to uphold one another. They needed to find a solid footing, and that footing would come from Scripture. He could count on Clyde to provide those things, and if the man stuttered and stumbled occasionally, then so be it. God had once used an ass to speak His word.

  Henry didn’t doubt for a moment that a God who could speak through a donkey could speak through him or through Clyde Fisher.

  Twenty-Nine

  The congregation was beginning the fourth verse of the Loblied when Henry, Abe, Clyde, and Leroy took their places with the men, on the right side of the room.

  Thine only be the glory, O Lord,

  Likeness all might and power.

  That we praise Thee in our assembly

  And feel grateful every hour.

  It never failed to move Henry when he heard an entire community’s voice raised as one, joining in worship and singing praise to God. Added to that, he was aware that every other Amish community was singing this same song at their service. Many aspects of worship varied from place to place, but the Loblied was one thing that united them in their faith and their worship. It spoke eloquently of God’s grace and glory and might and power and presence.

  Henry had doubted his ability to lead plenty of times, but he’d never doubted God’s ability to watch over them. He’d been born with that certainty, born with a strong faith, his mamm often said. It didn’t seem that way to Henry. To him, believing in God was the same as believing the sun would continue to rise. Why would he question such a thing when it had been true every day of his life?

  The song ended, and Henry stepped forward.

  He hadn’t planned exactly what he would say. It wasn’t their way to do so. They studied—sure. Each man wanted to be prepared if called on to share God’s Word, but they didn’t write out an outline or try to work through a specific set of talking points. Instead, they shared what God had put on their heart through prayer and Bible study.

  “Gotte is gut. He was gut to Adam and Eve even after He cast them out of the garden. He was gut during the exodus from Egypt, feeding and leading the people.” He easily found his rhythm, a melodic, half-sung, half-spoken manner in the Pennsylvania German dialect. It was the type of preaching he’d heard all his life. He felt the presence of his grandfather then, a bishop for more than sixty years and someone Henry had grown up listening to each Sunday.

  “He established the twelve tribes of Israel and brought Abraham into the land of Canaan. Our Gotte hast always provided.”

  As he spoke, he flipped through his well-worn Bible, reading verses from it in High German.

  “His promise to Joshua is the same promise He offers to you and to me. ‘I will never leave you nor forsake you… Be strong and courageous… Be careful to obey all the law my servant Moses gave you; do not turn from it to the right or to the left.’ ”

  He reminded them of Ruth and Samuel and Ezra and Nehemiah. Sweat poured down his face, but he wiped it away and plunged into the trials of Esther and Job. “Always Gotte is faithful. Always He cares for His children. We can know with complete certainty that He will care for you and for me.”

  When he was finished, he saw many heads bowed, others nodding in agreement, and a few wiping tears from their cheeks.

  Henry sat down, accepted the cup of water passed to him, and waited.

  Abe stood and read from Matthew, Mark, and Luke. Promises from the lips of the Son of God. Words of truth and hope. Words to sustain them.

  As one they knelt in silent prayer. The sound of a hundred and fifty men, women, and children sinking to their knees sent a ripple through Henry’s soul. How he loved these people. How he prayed God’s protection over them. He understood in that moment that this terrible thing that had happened could strengthen their faith and draw them together, or it could tear them apart.

  Clyde had sat with his head bowed while Henry preached and Abe spoke, his Bible clutched in his right hand. Now he stood, walked to the front of the benches, and boldly began to proclaim the gospel of Christ.

  He glanced around the room. Walked from the left side to the right and back again. “Paul…”

  He stared down at his Bible, closed his eyes for a moment, and then he began again. “Paul says… he says… ‘My God will meet all your needs according to the riches of His glory in Christ Jesus.’ ”

  With the words from the apostle, his hesitancy vanished.

  “John reminds us of Christ’s words. ‘You di
d not choose me, but I chose you.’ ”

  The group was riveted by Clyde’s preaching—not that he was polished or used fancy words. No, Henry understood that it was the man’s sincerity and his ability to speak to the concerns of their hearts. The members of their church connected with Clyde because his hands, like theirs, were sporting blisters from a week of plowing. And yet he stood before them, claiming the promises of God.

  Christ’s call to follow Him. His admonition to fear not. To be strong. To love their neighbors.

  As Clyde spoke, a child would occasionally dart across the middle aisle, seeking their father’s lap rather than their mother’s or vice versa. Abe’s wife, Susan, walked their youngest child to the side, where snacks and cups of water had been set up. Rebecca’s daughter, Mary, helped her mother-in-law to the back, where she stood for a moment. No doubt her legs were cramping again.

  All normal activity during a church service, but this morning few noticed. The eyes of every man, woman, and teenager were trained on Clyde, listening, drawing comfort from the promises of Scripture.

  Henry could practically see the tension drain from their faces as they remembered they were in the care of the Savior.

  When he was done, Clyde said, “Is it so?”

  “It is,” Daniel allowed.

  “Have I shared the gospel correctly?”

  “You have,” Abe assured him.

  “Then I would call for testimonies of Gotte’s grace and goodness among us.”

  Elmer Bontrager stood, pulled off his hat, and said, “My crops are in, and there’s forecast of rain.”

  Everyone laughed, and then there were shouts of “Amen!” sprinkled throughout their midst.

  “My mother remains to bless our lives,” Chester Yoder said, and all eyes turned to seek out Rebecca, smile her direction, and whisper words of thanksgiving.

  One after another, members stood to tell of the ways God had provided in their lives. Their words, their confessions, brought home the scriptures Abe had shared with them.

  Abe stood, his Bible open in his hand. “Gotte’s provision stretches back into our faith’s past as far as it stretches into our future. David wrote, ‘Taste and see that the Lord is good; blessed is the one who takes refuge in Him.’ ”

  Leroy heaved himself to his feet. He still didn’t smile, and for a moment Henry worried that he would contradict Clyde’s message of provision—perhaps focus on the Israelites being lost for forty years. Although that was certainly true, it probably wasn’t what their families needed to hear this morning.

  But Leroy surprised him. “We are reminded to give no thought to what we eat or how we’re clothed…”

  Finally, they once again knelt in silent prayer, and then they stood for their closing hymns. The service had gone a little longer than usual. Having started at eight, Henry wasn’t too surprised to glance at his watch and see that it was close to noon.

  But it had been a good morning, a peaceful one. Henry prayed with all his heart that it was a peace that would endure and see them through the days ahead.

  Thirty

  Emma made sure the sandwich plates remained full as the men passed through the line, followed by the women, who were usually helping the younger children. Youngies brought up the rear of the line. It was good that the teens went last, as they tended to eat more than a herd of cattle. By the time the gangly boys and giggling girls began to fill their plates, the men were done—gathering up their dishes and making room at the tables for their families.

  She’d been encouraged by Clyde’s sermon as well as Henry’s. She’d needed to hear an encouraging word. It seemed their lives had been full of trouble and toil the last two weeks. Sunday was providing a welcome respite from that. Or so she thought, until she heard an argument escalating at the youngies’ table.

  “What do you know of it?”

  “I suppose I know plenty.”

  “You’re barely Amish.”

  “Barely Amish?”

  “You’re onkel is Englisch. Isn’t that so?”

  “Keep him out of this.”

  “He could even be the one responsible for the fires.”

  The word fire had barely escaped James Bontrager’s lips when Curtis Graber launched himself across the table. Dishes went flying. Girls squealed as their drinks splashed onto their aprons, and the teens instinctively formed a circle around the two boys, who were scuffling on the floor.

  Emma was slow to realize the men were gathered outside and couldn’t be counted on to break up the altercation. Most of the women were now standing, trying to see what the ruckus was about. Emma skirted the table, pushed her way through the circle of children, and pulled Curtis Graber off his schoolmate.

  He was sputtering, red in the face, and sporting an eye that was beginning to swell, whether from a well-landed punch or a wayward elbow, she didn’t know.

  “Stop it!” She had Curtis by the neck and pulled him back away from James.

  James started forward, thinking he still had a chance to win the brawl, when his mother stepped into the middle and ordered him out of the building.

  Emma was aware many Englischers thought they didn’t have to deal with typical teenage behavior. Emma knew better. Though scuffles were rare, they happened, and the boy shaking with anger and standing next to her was proof of that.

  Curtis’s mother, Susan, reached his side and gripped his arm hard enough to pull his attention away from his foe and toward her. “Come with me, Curtis,” she hissed as she marched him out of the barn’s wide-open doors.

  By this time, the men had caught wind of what was happening. They were walking toward the barn as Susan was marching out, Curtis still caught in her clutches. Emma glanced up in time to see Abe walk up to the boy. His expression was tight. Pained, if she had to put a word to it. He said something to the boy, who swiped at his face and hurried off in the opposite direction, toward the buggies.

  Emma turned back around and saw that Grace had exited out a side door with James.

  “All right, girls. Help me clean up this mess.”

  While they righted the tables and scooped plates and cups off the floor, no one spoke of what happened. They would, but not until their parents were out of earshot. The teens pretended they were full and scurried outside—to the ball field or the wraparound porch or the shade of a stand of cottonwood trees. Katie Ann gave her grandmother a small wave and then darted outside with her friends.

  “Just when things were finally beginning to feel normal again,” Rachel murmured.

  Following many a tsk-tsk, the women sighed and finished cleaning up the remains of the luncheon. It wasn’t until they, too, were seated, outside in the shade cast by the shadow of the barn, that anyone dared offer an explanation for what happened. Susan and Grace had returned and were sitting on opposite sides of the circle. Emma couldn’t tell if things were okay between the two women. She knew one could become protective of a child or grandchild when something like this happened.

  There was a natural inclination to place the blame on the other child. Hadn’t she felt that way herself when Clyde was young? He’d once charged the baseball mound when the pitcher hit him in the forearm with a fast pitch. She’d wanted to be impartial, but she’d heard the offending boy say Clyde “needed to be knocked down a peg now and then.” Even now those words scraped across her heart when she thought of them.

  Children could be cruel. That was for certain. Most grew out of it when the parents offered the correct raising, a firm hand, and a compassionate heart.

  The women spoke of the week’s work, letters they received from relatives, and who had finished planting their family gardens. Everyone stopped talking when Abe walked up with Curtis, and Elmer with James.

  “The boys have something to say to you,” Abe said.

  “Because they owe everyone here an apology.” Elmer crossed his arms and waited.

  “I’m sorry for ruining the dinner.” James stared at his shoes as he spoke. “Causing a mess, and…
and wasting food that was intended for us to eat.”

  “He’ll be skipping lunch for the next week to remind him food is a blessing and doesn’t belong on the ground.”

  Abe cleared his throat, indicating it was Curtis’s turn to speak.

  “And I’m sorry I lost my temper. It’s not in keeping with our Ordnung. I should have… I should have walked away.”

  “Curtis will also forgo lunch for a week.” Abe scanned the circle until his gaze fell upon his wife. “Both boys will stay inside and help with the serving and the cleanup at our next luncheon.”

  James’s mouth settled in a straight line, and Curtis’s ears turned bright red.

  Emma felt a moment of sympathy for them. She didn’t miss her own teenage years and all the conflicting emotions that came with them. She could still remember the confusion and how a hurt could linger for much too long.

  “You may go now,” Abe said to the boys, who scampered away.

  Abe and Elmer nodded to the women, and then they walked off to join the men.

  “They’re gut boys,” Rachel offered.

  “Indeed they are.” Susan smiled across at Grace. “I suppose we both remember being young and unable to control our emotions.”

  But Grace was having none of it. “We never lived under this type of pressure, Susan, and you know it. Back in Goshen we weren’t threatened by arsonists, looking at wanted posters, and wondering who could do such a thing.”

  “I suppose that’s true, but—”

  “Of course it’s true. This is unnatural is what it is, and the youngies are feeling the same anxiety we are.”

  Susan tossed a plea-for-help look toward Emma.

  “Today’s sermon was a nice reminder of Gotte’s provision and care,” Emma said. “Exactly what we—and the children—needed to hear.”