Secret Sabbaths in Aargau TSB04

In Ted’s Sunday blog 02, I started exploring my ancestors on the Dettweiler (Dätwyler) side, based on documentation that I photographed of geneological records kept by the Swiss Reformed Church in Schoeftland starting in the year 1624 and my memories and photos of exploring Witwill and Staffelbach, Aargau (where the Dätwylers lived until the early 18th century).

Today, in preparing this Ted’s Sunday Blog on what a Sunday would have been like for Melchior & Maria, or for son, Samuel, I browsed pages in the Mennonite encyclopedia, read in French in the online Swiss Historical Encyclopedia and found other articles on the Ausbund (one of the earliest hymnals used by Anabaptists in Switzerland and in America).  Did Mennonites have a Bible?  Probably.  By the time of Melchior & Maria, the Luther (German) Bible had been available for over 100 years.  But let’s leave all that aside and contemplate what meeting in secret does to your faith.

Why did Swiss Anabaptists need to meet in secret?

The Swiss movement of the Anabaptists (a name their persecutors gave to them) began in 1525 in Zurich.  At the beginning of the movement, there were many of the Anabaptist leaders who were imprisoned or executed by drowning or asked to recant their beliefs under duress.  The last execution of an Anabaptist leader in Switzerland took place in 1571 in the canton of Bern, when Hans Haslibacher was beheaded.  In September of that year, Haslibacher’s son, though being of the Swiss Reformed faith, was fined heavily just for harbouring his father, a preacher who had been active in the faith since 1532.

Our family is fortunate to have been living in one of the last known areas in Switzerland where Mennonites were actively proselytizing.  A large number of Anabaptists left Switzerland in mass emigrations in 1711.  That probably included Samuel and Maria and their 12 year old son.

Anabaptists, because of the continued persecution that made it illegal to listen to Anabaptist teaching, met in secret in the wooded hills or in caves.  I saw one cave with a rock overhang at only a short distance from Wittwil.  I could imagine that such a cave could be used quite well for worship and teaching, allowing shelter from the rain and an acoustic environment for the singing and speaking.  Surely meeting in secret was never something done out of habit or duty.  The hymns that were likely sung were written by earlier Anabaptists during their times of imprisonment.  No doubt this would lead these secret followers to count the cost of their discipleship.  The bonds of fellowship with others would of necessity be tight as each one who gathered would be liable to arrest if their membership in this group was made known to authorities.  Personally, I have always appreciated church buildings that are bright with natural lighting.  This may be inherited from my spiritual ancestors who met in broad daylight in forests and caves.

In my era, many of my generation who grew up in churches that were active in spreading the good news of Jesus have now toned down the way they share their faith with others.  I want to continue to strongly identify with evangelicals even when we are accused of being simplistic in the beliefs we espouse.  Is Jesus really the answer for everyone?  Somewhere in our family history in Switzerland, another risked their life to spread what they believed to my family.  What a ride that put them on.

Leaving Switzerland before that country was formerly organized as a confederation, we arrived in America before that country had its formative revolution against the British.  Then in 1810, while Canada was still a British colony, soon to be at war (War of 1812), Rudolph Dettweiler moves with other settlers from Pennsylvania to German Company Tract land in Waterloo Township bringing his not-quite 3 year-old son, Rudolph.  All of this movement was largely for religious freedoms, including freedom of conscience with regards to war.

Now let’s go back to Europe where this faith was formed:  If Melchior & Maria were exposed to Anabaptist teaching in 1668 when their son, Samuel, was born they must have kept it secret by continuing to frequent the Swiss Reformed church where their marriage and the birth of their children, and their own births were recorded by the priest.  Perhaps living at a distance from the Reformed Church meant they could do that without being noticed, or it is possible that the conversion to the Anabaptist faith did not happen until their son’s generation.  Samuel married a Maria Dudli some time before 1699 when their son, Melchior, was born.  It is this Melchior who travels with others to America, landing according to ship records in Philadelphia in 1736.  Since we don’t have a birth record for Maria Dudli (a possible sign that her parents identified with the Anabaptists) she may well be the link to the Anabaptist teaching that lead our family to identify with Mennonites, ultimately to leave Switzerland because of religious persecution (probably to Alsace) and then to become fully identified with Mennonites when their son emigrates to Pennsylvania.

That is a capsule history of my Dettweiler roots, as contemplated on a Sunday afternoon.

 

 

 

Creator in Cana



Above is a screen shot of just one (of four) scripture readings for me on October 7, 2015.  Sometimes I can get in the habit of treating the Bible as a book that preachers use to make their point. This reading snaps me out of that sort of unfortunate thinking.

A sceptic might say that the early church got together and insured their institution’s future by writing these gospels – accounts of Jesus’ life. But this doesn’t read like something approved by a committee.  The simpler, non-conspiracy theory explanation for these accounts of Jesus is that individuals who had been with Jesus wrote down what happened. That’s how I’m reading this.

Jesus’ mother obviously knew that she had much more than an exceptional child.  He’s now a man and she is more than proud, she’s experienced God’s favour to have a mother-son relationship with the creator of the universe.

Jesus, his mom and some of the disciples are at a wedding, kind of like I’m going to a wedding out of town this weekend. There will be real things, maybe something I could blog about, that will happen while I’m at Gabrielle and Christian’s wedding in Sherbrooke, just like there was eating and drinking and maybe some dancing at this wedding in Cana.

So I might use my talents and make a blog posting based on my experience this Saturday. John was at a wedding in Cana with the Creator and his mother. Definitely worth writing about. I once missed a funeral, because I was in Ottawa and the action was in Montreal, where the pall-bearers included a former American president and a Cuban dictator.  That happened. This wedding in Cana had much more, the Creator and his mother. That happened as well. They just don’t make this stuff up.

What does John write of what happened between the Creator, his mom and the various wedding people?  [Take time to read my screen shot above]

If I was looking for a creative twist for how to teach this story to my grade 2/3 Sunday school class (back in the day) I might decide that we were going to make wine.  I do have wine-making equipment stored in a closet somewhere and if I got some grape juice and a fermenting agent, well, we could pretend. My kids would not be wine connaisseurs, not like the master of the banquet and while I really think that Jesus might just show up (in spirit) in my Sunday School class it would be more to laugh in the background at my creative effort than to rock our worlds by transforming grape juice (me, of little faith) into wine in a half-an-hour’s time.  Most of the time God allows faith to grow normally through Sunday School teachers and other people who are simply good examples – he is the ultimate delegator that way.

But for Biblical occasions, the Creator gets “hands-on”.  Well, he doesn’t actually DO anything, he is just present and he gives orders.  “Fill the jars with water” and “draw some out and take it to the master of the banquet”. Everybody did as Jesus requested. Jesus humours his mother. Everyone’s blessed by the Creator.

The Creator is not limited by time and space anymore.  Greater things than these…to those who believe.

Lives enabled pure

It is a Saturday morning and I am so well situated on a wooden lounger next to a most elegant lake and it is quiet except for the hum of traffic on Rue de la Parc Lafontaine and the footsteps of the occasional jogger.

CarreSaintLouisVectorTomorrow at this time I’ll be singing “I am souled out”, for that is the song that Jireh uses as Julien balances the individual mike levels and then the section levels. Tomorrow is work, at the “Lanaudière” festival, and the pleasure of performing, but today, in a swap for Sunday, is reflection and satisfaction in God’s blessings.

I read scripture daily and this morning, instead of the usual breakfast table or living room setting, I took the Bible down Prince Arthur to Carré Saint-Louis, that most Français of Montreal parks and sat next to the two-tiered fountain and opened the Psalms. I have a fountain psalm – one of my very favourites, Psalm 87, but this morning I stuck with where I am in the structure of my read-in-a-year program: Psalm 140; and then Solomon dedicating the temple (and preaching a really good sermon) in 2 Chronicles 6 and 7; and Jesus teaching a lawyer the meaning of the word “neighbour” in Luke 10; and Paul, about controlling my body in 1 Thessalonians 4:7-8 (NIV). “For God did not call us to be impure, but to live a holy life. Therefore, he who rejects this instruction does not reject man but God, who gives you his Holy Spirit.” All of that – all 4 readings and the Psalm that sprang to my heart in view of the fountain that says “we belong” – spoke to me this morning. God gives us his Holy Spirit. Being holy is my calling, and it looks entirely like Jesus. “Pure” is my word of reflection for this year et, le voilà, there it is, just like that, God’s Holy Spirit, teaching me what pure looks like in all 4 readings. His Holy Spirit, convicting me and showing me the better way.

And there’s even more in store – God speaks through nature and I have Annie Dillard along as an interpreter of that. I have 3 fruits, bought on the way, with me. A fig from the near East, framboises provenant du St-Joseph-du-Lac, and half of a dragon fruit from the Far East. May God’s fruit which comes from lives-enabled-pure be in evidence here in Québec and throughout the whole earth. Selah.

so I could worship

Do you know the Scripture where Jesus passes by a fig tree, somewhere near Bethany, if my memory is correct? [Matthew 21:18-22. We do fact check our blog so as not to lead the Internet-gullible astray.] There are a whole range of trees mentioned in the Bible and while many of the references are figurative, some are literal trees, like the oak or terebinth trees of Moreh (where Abram built an altar) and then his living place for a long time became the oak trees belonging to an ally, Mamre.

Nothing roots a story in history, so much as a tree. I guess it is because trees outlive the humans who live near them. If I am a Canadian who knows something about sycamore trees, it’s not only because I’ve been reading Annie Dillard, “Pilgrim at Tinker Creek”, but because, as every Sunday School kid can tell you, Zaccheus was in that kind of tree and he was destined to meet Jesus.

This infamous fig tree in Matthew 21:18-22, however, was not mentioned because of what it bore, but because it did not bear any figs. So Jesus cursed it; the disciples heard him doing this, saw the result and reported it in Scripture; and almost 2000 years later, one Saturday night, I’m Googling “fig trees” so I can make sense of the story to my grade 2-3 Sunday school class. You might say like I did, “Do we have to incorporate in our Sunday school curriculum stories like these that are placed among the difficult-sayings-of-Jesus?”. But it was right there in the middle of the lesson plan with a Sunday school moral like, “Be fruitful, or else…” attached to it. As a responsible grade 2-3 Sunday school teacher I felt I had to give the kids something more than this, so I delved into fig tree research.

I learned many things about fig trees and when they should bear fruit and all, but the thing that sticks with me that has me writing this blog today was about a particular variety of fig tree that has male and female trees or flowers or something (don’t make me do the research again) and there is this one particular type of wasp that hangs around the male tree long enough to get pollen on the feet and then flies into the female flower and dies there. The wasp gets incorporated into the fruit, the fig, and it is only by this wasp that the tree can produce figs at all. Now don’t worry, adults, I was discrete in how I passed on this VERY interesting bit of fig info along. The author who put this info on the internet made it clear that it was only one particular type of rare fig variety that had these male / female trees and associated wasps. This wasn’t something I used to explain Jesus cursing the tree as it is highly unlikely that the type of fig tree between Bethany and Jerusalem operated like that. This was treated as bonus info for a grade 2 / 3 Sunday School teacher who has a keen interest in nature but, who, unfortunately already had enough science credits in high school so he never took biology [sad, but true].

Right after the fig tree lesson we served up the name brand Christie Fig Newtons which I had splurged on since my kids deserve only the best. There was a higher than normal amount of half-finished cookies that day, which I put down at the time to “kids-these-days” but, now that I think of it, might also have been accounted for by a certain wasp-like crunchiness to that snack.

Now that I’ve raised this difficult-saying of Jesus in a blog, some of you might want to know why Jesus, indeed, did this. Was the fig tree symbolic of Israel? Maybe, but I wasn’t using that with my grade 2 / 3 kids. Don’t want no part in raising more miss-guided anti-Semitics. Here’s what I take from this story: Jesus, knowing that this would be reported in Scripture, taught in church (and even in some Sunday school curriculums), and studied by teachers, wanted to create a special “wink-of-the-eye” to me and my kin in the 21st century who would delve deeper and learn something of the intricacies of creation as it pertains to figs. I don’t write this tongue-in-cheek, as my reaction at the moment that I read about the wasps was nothing more or less than throwing up my hands to creator-God and Lord of all trees in WORSHIP. He knows my name. He knows how I hang out on my terrace garden at watering time happy that my flowers have created an urban environment for bugs and bees. He knows each tear that falls and, believe me, my tears are all about God’s goodness.

Picture of a half-eaten fig

Winter

Viewfrom_theCross

When winter weather reports talk about ‘miserable’ weather, snow storms and adverse conditions, it is all so much given a negative slant.  The real disaster for me is never ‘more snow’ but rather when the snow gets soggy and rain falls to destroy it.  We get less of those mid-winter thaws in Montreal – a good thing in my books.  New snowfall means I’m out skiing – a run up Mount Royal – in the company of so many other joggers, skiers, snowshoe-ers, tobogannists and dog-walkers – the cream of Montreal society.  Hang with the positive people.  Let the car-driving commuters commiserate sourly about the weather – I’m among those that know what to do with snow.

Ted_WinterPaintbyNumber

Felt quite stiff in the bones after a hard-day’s work packaging sausage yesterday, but I followed through on the previous night’s good intentions of going up-mountain and got out of the house before 8am for the couple blocks walk to the park where I put on my skis and rejoin (I think this is a French usage) the ski-trail along Olmstead Way.   I can see the elevation that I am going to climb, but the grade on Olmstead Way makes it the best of X-country skiing experiences. In about an hour I’m at the cross – la meillure oeuvre de la Société Saint-Jean-Baptiste, érigé en 1924.  This is the best place to take my small collation (snack).  This morning it is half a dried fig and the water that is left in my small water bottle.  Whether it is nuts, chocolate, raisins, dried blueberries or cranberries nothing ever tastes so good and yet just a bit is all I need.

From the cross – everything is down-hill and very fun-going. On est gaté ici dans une ville faite pour les sportifs d’hiver.  Jésus, soit loué.  Tes oeuvres sont magnifique.

The following is Psalm 86:10 from ‘The Message’:

Ready to put your beauty on display,
parading your greatness,
And the great things you do–
God, you’re the one, there’s no one but you!

For immediate use

Yesterday’s shopping being put into use immediately:

At the art supply store, DeSerres, I considered many possible Apples of Goldcreative pursuits and then just bought A Really Useful Box™ that I put into use before our party guests arrived to tame the chaos which was our bottom shelf near the door where we put all manner of keys and chargers and my cell phone etc. AND I bought a two-pack of the smallest possible Moleskin notebook. 56 pages, the size of an oversize business card – my rational for its existence with me was that I would write verses that I encounter during my read-through-the-Bible year in it and when I have a spare moment – while the Zamboni makes its final rounds and I’m stuck standing blade to rubber waiting (for example) – I will redeem the moment with God’s Word.

 

In the Moleskin, I wrote my first ‘apples-of-gold-in-settings-of-silver’ scripture: Revelation 7:17. “For the Lamb on the throne will be their Shepherd. He will lead them to springs of life-giving water. And God will wipe every tear from their eyes.”

One of the women in Montreal Gospel Choir who accepted Carol’s invitation to come to our church on a baptism Sunday and subsequently put up her hand to indicate that she was a “brebis égaree” when our pastor preached about the shepherd and the lost sheep was at our party last night (for MGC). Each time I think of this verse – when I see it in the Moleskin – it will be a prayer for her spiritual well-being based on a promise. I’ll claim it for myself as well.

This morning I woke up and the sore throat which I hoped was from too much talking at last night’s party was accompanied by a stuffed up nose in need of Royale tissues and tea. I am sitting writing this blog, which interrupted my Bible-reading when I made the mistake of reading Revelation first instead of after Job, Amos and John. Once I tell you about the tea, then I can go back to God’s word. (After I feed you the trivial, I’ll feast on the eternal – read between my lines).

I think I’ve found a new tea supplier. Asiatica is only two blocks from my home and I went there yesterday for their wealth of teapots and other infusing devices, hoping to find the appropriate such thing to fill out a tea-gift that Carol needed for two someones. I like shopping, especially in downtown Montreal, Carol doesn’t. At Asiatica the owner served up his depth of knowledge on the teapots and subsequently on the teas that I asked about. The lemony smell and memories of Myrtos beach in Cephalonia (and Myrtiés in Kálymnos) led me to buy some myrtle tea, which is treating my cold right now. I really had no need of more tea as I already have up to a dozen varieties of loose teas and herbal infusions confined in various containers around the kitchen. It was the knowledgeable owner’s patiently explaining things of which I had only the beginnings of knowledge that lead me to buy his excellent product. Next time the line up at the psalm-writer’s tea store gets too long, I highly recommend Asiatica to you.

There’s more to say – like the fine 800 ml of myrtle tea that I got from 1 teaspoon (the instructions said 1-2 teaspoons would yield 1 litre) but this cold is driving me back to bed to complete sleep too soon interrupted.