Kornwolf (15 page)

The
Vorsinger
's lead had been shifted from Pratt to Josef Hertzler, who was droning his way through “
S Lobg”sang
, The Hymn of Praise. Hertzler signaled to Jonathan now. In a clear, ringing falsetto, Jonathan took the lead. He guided the assembly through the
Loblieb
's final verse.

Like many an auctioneer, he'd been attending church for years without having been baptized. This was common practice in honing the voice, the tool of his trade, to perfection. There was no greater training than worship, and no greater challenge than leading this hymn, in particular.

After a while, the ordained men filed back into the room from the stairs, to the right. They walked to their chairs, to the left of center, as the
Loblieb
wound to its burdensome conclusion.

From the moment she spotted him, Grizelda felt certain her brother would never hold his peace. The feeling took root and wouldn't abate throughout the hours of worship to follow. Only the closing hymn would settle it. And that was a long way off at the moment.

Presently, Minister Zook got up, came forward and turned to the congregation. Upon his signal, everyone sat. Folding his hands
beneath his beard, he commenced with the
Anfang
, the opening sermon. Beginning in a low, subdued mumble, his voice attained to coherence gradually, rhythmically dipping from English to Pennsyltucky Dutch to High German.

He bade the assembly good morning and wished it the power of God and the Holy Ghost. In times of abundance, as these, he claimed, man needed to offer special thanks unto Him, our creator and life eternal—as man's harvest was God's blessing. The coming days would attest to as much. As written in the Book of Ezekiel (34:25): “
And the tree of the field shall yield her fruit, and the earth shall yield her increase, and they shall be safe in their land, and shall know that I am the Lord
.”

He went on to praise God's mercy by quoting the Book of Isaiah, from 44:6: “
Thus saith the Lord, the king of Israel, and his redeemer, the Lord of hosts; I am the first, and I am the last, and beside me, there is no God
.”

The room was unusually warm, for some reason. Already, foreheads were starting to glisten. The house felt stuffy, stale and unventilated. Marcelyn Kachel sealed the stove in the kitchen and quietly opened a window.

Never appearing to notice, Zook continued by stressing the importance of family, tradition, community, respect of one's elders, humility and hard, honest work. His sermon ran for twenty-five minutes, toward the end of which he offered an apology for weakness.

He hadn't intended to infringe on the morning's
Es Schwer Deel
, the main sermon. He would ask everyone present to pray for Bishop Schnaeder in his coming delivery.

He closed by admonishing the congregation to “
Work out your own salvation with fear and trembling
” Philippians 2:12.

“If you're all agreed, let us pray.”

Everyone knelt. Muffled coughing disrupted the moment of silence to follow. By the time Minister Zook signaled to rise from prayer, his collar was damp with sweat.

Calmly, he turned and walked to his seat.

The assembly remained on its feet as, sluggishly, Deacon Byars hobbled forth to deliver a selected reading from the Bible. The passage had been determined already. The register of scriptures began every Christmas with the birth of Jesus and ran through the year, service by service, to the Book of Revelations. The date being October 17th meant the Epistle of James was slated for delivery. Byars, a portrait of mental deterioration, assumed position before the assembly and, after a silence, commenced in a high-pitched, quasi-melodic chant: “
Ye adulterers and adulteresses, know ye not that friendship of the world in enmity with God? Whosoever therefore will be a friend of the world is an enemy of God … Submit yourselves, therefore, to God … Resist the devil and he will flee from you … Cleanse your hands, ye sinners, and purify your hearts, ye double-minded … Be afflicted and mourn and weep. Let your laughter be turned to mourning, and your joy to heaviness … Humble yourselves in the might of the Lord, and
…”

At which point the Deacon, having already skipped four chapters (twenty minutes' worth of reading), looked up from his text in sudden distraction. His nostrils flared. He seemed confused.

Losing his spot in the scripture, he grimaced, then stumbled back to his seat in a daze.

Were it not for the fact that the congregation had long been accustomed to similar lapses, the sudden wash of an odor, like solvents and dung, to which Byars had been responding, might have caused an embarrassing stir.

But for now, the assembly sat calmly perturbed. Somebody opened a second window. A gentle draft rolled over the floor. The heat and the odor began to subside.

Sighing, Bishop Schnaeder stood and signaled the congregation to sit. He walked to position as everyone sat, then turned to face them, nodding humbly.

“Grace be with you, and peace from God, our father,” he said.

The sermon had begun.

In opening, he posed a reminder as to the importance of obedience to the Bible and our elders, as designated by the vows of
baptism. He praised
Das alt Gebrauch
, the old way of life, the
Regel and Ordnung
, the rules of the church, and the idea of pilgrims in a hostile world.

The preface extended for several minutes.

In delivering the sermon, the Bishop's voice would also attain to a chantlike rhythm. Reflecting first on the Old Testament, his pitch would rise in a plaintive sustain, then abruptly drop at the end of each phrase. After several phrases, a silence would settle. Then, trembling, the Bishop would continue.

So proceeded the
Es Schwer Deel
.

For the next two hours, the assembly sat motionless. Save for an occasional disturbance from the kitchen, where mothers were quietly suckling infants, no sound went up from the congregation. And gone was the unexplainable smell. Discomfort was now the biggest concern. The backless benches would only grow harder and more unforgiving throughout the morning. Parents and children alike would shift on their seats, flexing their aching shoulders.

As Schnaeder proceeded from the Old to the New Testament, beginning with the story of John the Baptist and moving toward Paul's Missionary Journeys, the room began to feel stuffy and heated again. The children were growing restless. Marcelyn Kachel passed a tray of cookies and crackers down the aisle. This was followed by several glasses of water, including a glass for the Bishop.

Pausing to lean on a chair, Schnaeder drank. He dabbed his gleaming brow with a handkerchief, then continued with Paul's journeys.

At last, the sermon came to an end, at which point the Bishop redirected the assembly's attention back to the Epistle of James, as Deacon Byars had scarcely touched on the text. From the beginning, he read through the exhortations of chapter one, through disseminating faith without works in two, then halting at three to remark at length against strife and envy (3:13), followed by four, an exhortation to patience, and five, on the power of prayer, by the end of which Schnaeder's overall intensity was starting to
lag and wane in the heat. With a sigh, he ended by calling for
Zeugnis
, the testimonies of the ordained men: general corrections or comments regarding the Bishop's delivery of the
Es Schwer Deel
.

This was the point at which Grizelda sat up in her seat, squirming, tensely expectant. She drifted through Minister Zook's innocuous commentary on Paul's journeys. She ignored the corrections by Minister Grabers, then endured Deacon Byars's mumbling.

Finally, after a minor eternity, the moment she had been dreading arrived: Benedictus favored one leg to the front of the room, then slowly turned around. Unsmiling, he faced the congregation in silence, scanning every row. His expression was stern and what was beginning to feel inappropriately overextended.

Before even speaking a word, he had exceeded his given role in
Zeugnis
. The assembly had never been
stared
down. Even Grizelda was taken aback.

He began in a level, somber tone by commending Bishop Schnaeder's delivery. Little fault could be found in his lengthy accounts of the Old and New Testaments. Likewise, his reading of James had been flawless. Along with the subsequent commentary. He, the Minister, took no exception to any point that the Bishop had stressed. In particular, given the season, thoughts on wisdom and righteousness were appropriate. No one could fault his presentation for what it succeeded in bringing to light. Contrarily, he could think of just one other passage that hadn't been emphasized fully.

Stopping to clear his throat, he scanned the assembly again. The room was still.

He resumed: the passage of which he spoke concerned faith without works. The Epistle of James, chapter 2, verse 20: (He raised his hand in exhortation):

“
But wilt thou know, O vain man, that faith without works is dead? 21. Was not Abraham our father justified by works, when he had offered Isaac his son upon the altar? 22. Seest thou how faith wrought with his works, and by works was faith made perfect? 23. And the scripture was fulfilled which saith, Abraham believed God, and it was imputed unto
him for righteousness: and he was called the friend of God. 24. Ye see then how that by works a man is justified, and not by faith only. 26. For as the body without spirit is dead, so faith without works is dead also
…”

He folded his hands behind his back, turned to the right and, in weighted silence, walked a slow, deliberate circle around the single chair beside him.

So what does that mean?
He posed the question. How did works of faith relay to everyday life in District Seven? And what could each of its members do to carry out the will of God?

Bontrager sighed, folding his hands, as though to say:
Allow me to be more specific
…

If
, he said, in these times of harvest, it came to pass one unfortunate day that a nuisance were plaguing the family orchard (he leveled his gaze on Jonas Tulk, whose tobacco field had been ravaged that week) or a virus had broken out in the flock (he turned to Aaron Ziegler, who'd lost a goat and two chickens the night before) or that a scavenger had raided the grain store (to Ethan Becker, whose silo had just been sabotaged under cover of the night)—then how, as a Christian, would God have expected his children to handle the situation?

Several district elders squirmed.

The Minister was broaching a previously unacknowledged subject in public worship.

Indeed, he continued, as any harvester worth his weight in salt understood: parasites, when left unchecked, only multiplied. Without proper diligence, labor and care, the orchard would be overrun very quickly—and a poorer man he who had stood idly by. As the Bible read:
There was a Time to Act
. And, just as the Bishop had quoted from the Epistle of James, “Faith without works is dead,” so it was equally true to say that “The Lord helps those who help themselves.” After all, there was also
a Time to Kill
…

The assembly rippled with consternation.

Bontrager circled the chair once more, his narrowed gaze running over the crowd, his hands locked tightly behind his back.

Had he really just called the assembly to arms?

Reactions varied across the room.

The Zieglers and Tulks, both having suffered no minor setback in recent losses, approved of the present address: if talking about it, no matter how poorly timed, meant saving the harvest, so be it: proceed.

Others appeared more apprehensive—those for whom the events of this season, as any that might have gone before it, were manifestations of God's displeasure with his people—a curse, of sorts, that could only be lifted through prayer and meditation.

Everyone else appeared overwhelmed with discomfort by Minister Bontrager's words, yet no more partial to standing by while the fruits of their labor were stripped to nothing.

“Amen!” cried Jonas Tulk. His voice carried over the room like a gunshot. Several cries of approval went up. But just as many of opposition.

In the midst of the uproar, the odor returned—and more pungent now, curdling into a haze of limburger, garbage and rotting entrails. Everyone choked in mid-sustain. Teary-eyed faces were buried in handkerchiefs.

Four aisles back, Jonas Tulk only added to matters with another announcement, this one submitted at top volume with no hypothetical pretense implied: volunteers for road patrols would assemble that evening on Kreiner Road. Traps would be set in surrounding fields. A nightly circuit would be determined.

A dozen assembly members stood and shouted.

Bishop Schnaeder got up, imploring the congregation to come to order—this matter could be discussed …

Benedictus, appearing grimly content with his work, returned to his chair.

Schnaeder was left at front and center, beseeching families not to walk out—and bearing the brunt of conflicting hostilities. He looked distraught to the point of mania.

After much resistance and shouting, the standing members reluctantly sat. Another minute went into restoring a semblance of order, along with attempting to filter in a breathable draft.

At length, the Bishop's imploring tone gave way to righteous indignation.

First
, he admonished the assembly—and specifically the Minister—to bear in careful mind the
Regel and Ordnung
's stance on violence. Christ had taught nonresistance to worldly enemies.

Someone shouted. “
Worldly
enemies?”

More yelling ensued.

The Bishop continued, overriding it: the road to salvation lay not in wrath, but in prayer and atonement and fear of God. Perhaps the Minister
did
have a point—insofar as the harvest itself was concerned. But metaphors hardly sustained his message. His message itself was utterly blasphemous. To stand before his own assembly in recruiting—and here, the Bishop chose his words carefully—a “pitchfork brigade” was to break with the faith irreconcilably. Moreover, quoting James to that end wasn't just misleading, it was false interpretation. The passage which Minister Bontrager held to justify the use of force preceded chapter three's conclusion: “
Righteousness comes by peace alone
.”