Peace Shall Destroy Many (9 page)

“You are wrong,” Block’s voice was cold. “Brother Rempel tells me he understood nothing of what you said. Only later was it explained to him.”

“Why, yes—,” it was the first time that Joseph had stumbled, even slightly, for everyone knew that Rempel understood very little English. Joseph paused, as if understanding the gravity of the situation for the first time. Of the older people, only Block knew English to speak it with comprehension. Wiens had explained to Thom years before, “If one man knows the English, that is enough. He can handle matters with the government. You children learn English if you must, but we will remain German here anyway, so why should we bother? That’s the way they did it in Russia.” Everyone understood a little, but only the younger people spoke to the breeds at lengt
h; when they whipped their jaded horses into a Mennonite yard to buy eggs or a few sacks of seed grain, there were always youngsters to interpret. Old Lamont stumbled through Low German and all his store wares were labelled by a half Low German, half English jargon anyway. Now, with all the older people gone except Rempel, and he the man who, of them all, understood English the least, to hold a meeting in English for the young people could easily appear a well-planned accident. And what Joseph had said could, depending
on the reporter, have various meanings. Or perhaps any meaning! Tension tightened over the church: “Just give the young people an inch!” Despite his concern, Thom found himself strangely elated when the peering suspicion about him retreated to the defensive as Joseph spoke:

“I addressed
the young
people in English for only one reason: at least four in the group could understand no word of German. Since I was speaking on non-resistance and believe it to be based on the love the Christian has received from God, Franz was persuaded that my using English would benefit them also. How can we dare keep the gospel to ourselves? This church has sent David Wiens and his wife as mission workers to India, but if we are concerned that those half-way around the world hear the gospel yet allow no syllable to escape to unbelievers living beside us, then I wonder if Wapiti Church is concerned with spreading God’s Word or having the record in the conference yearbook of being the smallest church in Canada to support a missionary couple.”

For an instant there was no stir. Then, as if compelled by unbelief, one by one the congregation turned t
o look back at Joseph. Even from the teacher, Thom could not quite believe it. He had moved his head only slightly when his glance crossed with Rempel. Beyond the surprised indignity of the older man’s gaze there stirred pain. One could not doubt his sincerity. Thom twisted to stare at the pulpit, torn.

The chairman spoke into the silence, discomfort edging his voice, “Well, brethren? Time is passing.”

The rustle of turning to study the clock on the wall eased the hush. Then the Deacon rose to face them, grimly handsome, his body pushing broad against the shiny suit. Thom glanced sideways at Pete; his face was set like his father’s, but
staring at the bench-back. As, in the years of their growing up together, Thom had comprehended the difference between their fathers, how he had envied Pete. Prompt, accurate decisions, always perfectly confident of direction and purpose: small wonder Pete could be so rock-like in his belief; there would be only one way for Joseph when the Deacon was through. Yet now, for the first time in the three years he had been a church member, Thom was not certain he was about to agree with all.

“When, by the grace of God alone, we were able to escape the terror of Russia and come to Canada, we were as destitute as it is possible to be. We had nothing—only debts. Yet despite the Depression years, I know no one doubted but God would see us through. We all believed that the faith of our fathers which had carried them across lands and seas was with us still. There is not one here whom the Lord has not prospered. Our travel debt has been paid to the
CPR;
we own our land; we have enough to eat. And all of us agree that our children know the Bible and the tra
ditions of our fathers because we have been separated from the worldly influences which bother many other Mennonite churches. We also know that much of this separation has been brought about because we have held to the German language in both church and home. Our church depends upon these young people; if we who remember the old home in Russia grow lax, we will quickly find that we no longer care to come to church. ‘We can stay at home and listen to the radio as well.’ Soon the young people, tired of our simple ways, will want to go work in the towns where there are no Mennonite churches. Then, ‘The English churches are just as good—I can just as well go there. And besides, I can do anything I want and still remain a good member in their records.’
Only too well do we remember with an aching heart those young men who once confessed Christ in this church and who have since gone the way of sin because the world offered new enticing things. If their example teaches us anything, it is that we
must
hold to
everything
we have ever believed! We can drop no iota! Especially in these days when the war madness grips this good country that has given us shelter.
If we are to have a witness in the land we must remain firm in the ways of our fathers!
You young people will ruin the work that God has given us if you neglect the teachings of your elders.”

From Reimer’s glance, Thom knew that Joseph must have raised his hand, but the Deacon remained standing. They had all heard the decisive summing up in other situations, but more than ever Thom felt the uneasiness. As Block continued, he found, surprised, that now he felt it for the Deacon.

“The brother tells us that he spoke
in English that all might understand. We want to believe his good motives. Would he tell us what he said?”

“Gladly. I have my notes here—I worked them out in German anyway—and the young people can bear me out. Being of military age myself, my attitude towards war has caused me a great deal of thought. I outlined my ideas in the form of questions. First: what is the basic force in the Christian’s life? Using Scripture, I tried to give the answer as Love—Love given us by God to reveal itself towards Him and towards all our fellow men. Second: how has this Love been expressed in the past? Its followers have not asserted their own rights; they have always been ready to give up what they possess, even their life, for the sake of their faith or their neighbours. History shows that Mennonites have not hesitated to back their faith with their lives.

“Then the final question: how are we today expressing this Love in the comfort of Canada? We can in no way assert our rights against our neighbours by any means, violent or otherwise, yet what if our neighbours molest our country? Can a country then continue to exist, a majority of its people being non-participants in war? If we have followed the War that is ripping the world now, I think we know the answer. Given a war situation, we Mennonites can practise our belief in Canada only because other Canadians are kind enough to fight for our right to our belief. The godless man then dies for the belief of the Christian! Further, is it even possible for us
not
to participate today? Ultimately, even the farmer works for the War because he produces the food that makes fighting possible. Mere refusal will not do: positive actio
n alone is possible. But we as a church have gone on in the traditional ways of reacting to war, not considering that the world has changed, even since World War One. Our church—”

“Brother Dueck!” The Deacon’s voice overwhelmed all, steel eyes flaming. Joseph’s voice was snuffed; the sound and the look a bolt to blast everyone.

“You criticized the church before
that
group? You took pains to speak a language they could all understand to slander our church?”

The silence was deafening. Only the hiss of the lamp—and that seemed part of the waiting. No one could plunge into the abyss of speech after that thunderous question. Stupidly, Thom noticed a moth frantically circling the glowing mantles, fiercely attracted by the light and as fiercely repelled by the heat.

“I was not concerned if what I said made the church look fine or not. I wanted everyone to know our only concern is to
find the Truth. If the Truth is unflattering, then we know what to do.” Joseph’s voice washed gently against the rage still twitching the Deacon’s face. Block’s voice hit like a hammer.

“Can one even grasp how unbelievable it is that anyone in this church should make such accusations before—Indians?” In his pause, Thom sat numb. At the lake, these ideas had gripped them all, yet now Joseph alone bore the brunt, as if, having been told formally that these ideas were wrong, they could all wash their hands in silence. The older faces before him were set in rigid rightness. “How could you so tear the unity of the church—”

“Was it so wrong,” Joseph cut in, “to tell those ‘half-breeds and Indians,’ as you call them, what they already know for themselves? They know that when war was declared, we all, on the instant, professed a love for our fellow men, men thousands of miles away whom we had never seen, a love which they, living beside us for fourteen years, had never felt. How can they believe us? Was it wrong to tell them we realized our failure—”

“You,” charged the Deacon, the scar at his right temple a dull red, “having lived here nine months—”

Thom surged to his feet. “He is a member of this church and can speak! Every person who heard at the lake was convinced that we should do—”

“Brother Wiens,” Block slit Thom’s speech, “after your tantrum at the ball game, it we
re best you remained inconspicuous.”

“Brethren, brethren!” Reimer interjected.

“What are we trying to do here?” a new voice sounded. Thom, sagging stunned, dazedly recognized the high voice of Aaron Martens. “Point fingers at personal failings? Then few
of us could do the pointing. And there is some truth in what Brother Dueck has said. We need some self-examination, not accusations.”

“I agree,” Herman Paetkau’s voice was strong. “What have we done for them?”

“Brethren,” the Pastor rose in calmness, but the lines of his face seemed more deeply scored, “such shouting and personal reprimands are most unbecoming to a
church meeting held among Christians. We w
ish to discuss this most serious matter, true; but in love, as Christ behooves us. We all, old as well as young, want to believe our brother that what he said at the lake he believed to be the truth. He acted impulsively, but who is perfect. I am sure that many good things were said at that meeting. If the brother will apologize for some of the unwise statements he made that
night, and heed himself to be more judicious in the future, I’m sure we are all ready to forgive and forget.”

Block was firm: “I ask pardon for my impulsive words. And I gladly and wholly agree with Brother Lepp. It is getting late. What harm has been done cannot be helped now.”

There was a rustle as Joseph arose for the last time. Beyond his own numbed incapacity, there welled in Thom the overwhelming feeling that something of immense value was being abused here. As if Joseph’s beliefs were being used to coerce him into the virtue of asking forgiveness where there was nothing to forgive. Only two, from the back benches, had supported the teacher; there was no further sound now. The leading men Thom could see before him, erect and half-turned to Joseph, waiting: Rempel’s face ham-like, Block’s sharp and clean as a knife, Reimer’s gleaming head, Pa hopeful, pen poised; the younger men, Ernst, young Franz, Pete,
the Rempel twins beyond, had their eyes hard on their shoes. Across the aisle only Annamarie’s head was erect among the girls. Despite his personal shame, Thom stared fiercely at the front of the pulpit as Joseph spoke:

“How can I think that my saying two words, words I could not ever mean, would make all well? How ca
n two words of mine erase all that has been done in Wapiti for fourteen years? How can man’s
words
ever change anything?

“This year has meant a great deal to me. Personally, the warmth of your welcome—all of you—could not have been more Christ-like. But we Mennonites, every one of us, are not better than other men. There can be no other reason for our being spared war duty and possible death on the battlefield than that we are to be so much better witnesses to Christ here at home. Understanding the truth only brings with it greater responsibility of action.

“I had not planned to say any more, but since we are apparently at the point where we must separate, let me clarify my position. I hope someone will be willing to carry on the Sunday afternoon Bible class that I began with the non-Mennonite children in school, for my army call, which was postponed during last winter because of teaching—as was explained to the School Board when I came, I was really only ‘on loan’ from the draft—my call has come again and I must leave on June 30. I will go into training in the Restricted Medical Corps. As a Christian I must
do
something about the misery in the world, even though there are aspects about the Medical Corps none of us like. I find I cannot—lose myself behind bush and pretend the misery is not here. I cannot talk of giving a bit of my time when others are giving so much more. I am sorry if I have appeared ungrateful after all your kindness.”

Joseph had told no one. The furore this calm statement roused ebbed about Thom. He cared nothing for the concluding efforts of the Pastor and the c
hairman, or Block’s heavy silence. Everyone in Wapiti knew and agreed with the Deacon’s strong stand against the medical corps service, but it had been ratified by the Canadian Conference despite the opposition. But now Thom cared nothing for what amounted to Joseph’s final drastic break with Block’s concepts. It seemed to Thom he staggered alone where guide-posts bearing the same legend pointed over horizonless dunes in opposing directions. Where could one go?

He arose, obedient to Reimer’s gesture for closing prayer, but he heard no word. Quite irrelevantly, he noticed the duller glow of the left mantle above the pulpit. The moth was gone now. From the blue flame spurting from the mantle he knew it had finally dared all for the light that drew it and now lay, a tiny cinder, on the bottom of the ruptured sack of ashes that that still hung, giving less light now, but more heat.