Chapter Three -- "Church for the Mennonites"

One of the things we had not concerned ourselves with while planning for the move was where we would go to church.  We felt confident that no matter where we lived, we’d be able to find a good Christian church to plug into, and it didn’t necessarily have to be Mennonite.  That would have been our preference of course, but the only Mennonite church in Gallia County was a conservative one – eighteen miles away.  That really didn’t seem like an option for us.  Oh, I was sure we’d visit from time to time, and see some of my relatives there, but we wanted a church closer to our home, and more like the style we were used to.

For the first couple weeks, we simply stayed home on Sunday morning and rested - and spent some time reading the Bible.  One such morning we were sitting outside in the sun, soaking up the warmth and enjoying a little time of relaxation.  Out across the broad river-bottom fields, flowed the great Ohio River.  Closer - and parallel to the river - ran State Route 7.  

As we let our eyes drift out across the landscape we saw a man walking slowly along the highway, a pack on his back, and a walking stick in his hand.  He stopped at the end of our long driveway, then turned in and made his way towards us. I began to feel a little uneasy, and wondered what he might want.  As he neared, it appeared that he was about forty years old, with ragged beard and long, straggly hair.  He paused a few feet from us, and we eyed him nervously.  I thought to myself, ‘It’s a good thing we didn’t go to church, this chap might’ve just walked into the house and helped himself.’  

Pulling myself together, I greeted him.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning,” he responded, “Do you know Jesus?”

The question was so direct, it took us completely by surprise.

“Why yes…We do.”

I suppose he wondered why were we sitting out here in our yard at 11 AM on a Sunday morning if we knew Jesus.  But he went on, “I’m glad to hear it.  I wonder if you could spare me a drink of water?”

“Sure, I’ll get you some,” said Juanita.

The man continued speaking to me.  “The Lord has sent me to the highways and byways to tell people about Jesus.”

“Well that’s great!”   What else could I say?  I was still kind of in shock.

“Where are you from?” I asked.

“My home is in Belpre.  But right now I’m living on the road.  My wife wants a divorce, but I don’t believe in it.  Before I met the Lord I gave her enough reasons to hate me.  She’ll probably never take me back.”

As I sat there listening, I felt a little nudge inside me saying to invite him to sit a spell.  This had the makings of an interesting morning.

“What did you say your name is?”

“John Percy.” (Name changed for this story.)

“Well John, why don’t you sit down and rest a little.  I’d like to hear more about your journey.”

So John pulled the pack from his back and sat down on the lawn chair beside me, his eyes looked troubled as he continued.

“I really love my wife.  I hope and pray every day that she’ll take me back.  I believe the Bible teaches that marriage is forever.  Do you believe in divorce?”

Well that was another direct question, and one that I still wrestled with.  The answer wasn’t quite as easy as ‘Yes’ or ‘No.’

I answered in the best way I knew how. "The Bible says God hates divorce, but in some circumstances it seems to allow for it.  I don’t know, it’s a tough question.  I believe marriage is for life too.  There seems to be some room in the Bible for divorce when adultery is involved.  And sometimes people are in danger from abuse, and need to get out for their own safety.”

“Yeah, I know.”  There was a faraway look in his eyes. “I don’t know what to do but wait and hope.  For right now, I’m just walking down the road stopping at every house, telling people about Jesus.  I don’t know where I will end up or how long I’ll be traveling.  The police have questioned me twice already.”

“Oh yeah?  What’s wrong with walking down the road?”

“Nothing, as long as I have money.   And I have money right now, but I’m going to run out, and when I do, they will consider me a vagrant.  Then they can arrest me.”

I had never heard of such a thing, but in a way it made sense.  When John ran out of money he would have to beg I suppose, and maybe there were laws about such things.  I didn’t know.

“How did the Lord tell you to do this?”  I really wanted to know.  After all this was a pretty unusual undertaking.  And besides, I didn’t hear such clear commands from the Lord myself.

“He spoke to me in a dream,” said John.  “He told me to get up and walk the highways and byways, and tell people about Jesus.  It was so real, I just had to do it.  I know it sounds crazy.”

“Well John, if the Lord sent you on this journey, he’ll take care of you.”

He nodded, “Yeah, I know.  I trust Him, even if I end up in jail.”

I felt another nudge inside me, and asked John if he had plans for lunch.

“No, I don’t."

“Would you care to eat with us?”

“Oh no, I should be on my way.”

“I really mean it, we’d be glad to have you.”   The hour was moving towards noon, and it seemed this was a way that we could help him a little.  It was such a unique thing he was doing - even bizarre in a way - but I felt he was sincere, and we should do what we could for him.

He hesitated a little before replying.  “I don’t want to be a bother.  I can buy my lunch. It’s awful nice of you to ask though.  Other good people have given me food too, and my money will last a lot longer than I expected.”

“Okay John, I want you to eat with us.  Will you stay?”

He gave in then, and Juanita prepared a fine country meal while John and I sat in the lawn chairs.  It seemed he was hungry for fellowship.

“People ask me questions that I can’t answer.  I wish I knew the Bible better.”

“I’m no expert myself," I said, "but when the questions come, its okay to say you don’t know.   Then when you have time, search the scriptures for the answers.  Do you have a Bible with you?”

“Yeah, I sure do.”  He pulled a well-worn copy from his backpack, and rubbed his hand over it lovingly.  “I read it every chance I get.”

My mind was searching for some way that I could assist him, and I remembered a little booklet that I carried in my Bible.

“John, I have something I think will help.  It’s a little booklet from the American Bible Society that gives scripture references for nearly every event or emotion of life.  It lists ready references for just about any question you may have.   Would you like to have it?”

“Sure. That would be great.”

We continued talking through lunch, and then John said he needed to hit the road.  So we said a prayer for safety in his travels, and prayed that his marriage could be mended.  Then he walked slowly out our driveway, turned south, and disappeared from sight.  That was the last we ever heard of him.

I’ve often wondered where his journey took him – if he ever got back with his wife.  I suppose we’ll never know, but I do know this one thing – I will never forget the “church” we had there on the front lawn of our farm home – with the warm rays of sunshine beaming down on us, and a cool May breeze whispering gently.  The thought occurred to me that we had visited with an unlikely angel.  May God bless us all with a heart of obedience like that of John.  

Another week or two went by before we ventured out to find a church.  Jay and Donna invited us to go with them to the Elizabeth Chapel Church.   We visited there a couple times and it seemed like a good Bible-believing group of people, but a little larger than we were hoping for.  There was really no reason we couldn’t have fit in, but we wanted to check out some more.

We had heard of a church way out in the sticks called Kings Chapel Church.   It was back in some holler, and although we were given detailed directions, it was difficult to find.  We meandered from road to road – all of them dirt - and finally pulled up to a small frame building in a clearing.  We were a little late, and almost decided to just turn around and go home.  But it had taken a while to find it, and we were here now, so there was no turning back.  We entered the building during the singing, and found a bench near the back.  It seemed as if every head turned to gawk at the strangers, and we smiled feebly, and nodded a little.  A few smiled back.  I'm not sure why, but I was feeling mighty uncomfortable, and a glance at my family indicated that I was not alone.  The singing went on for a while, in the typical country style – old familiar gospel songs that we knew.  This was nothing like Mennonite singing though – not even close.  And these good people seemed like regular country folks – not dressed fancy at all.  At least we fit into that part of the scene.  

Then came the Sunday School hour.  What we didn’t know at the time, was that a lot of these country churches had Sunday School in the mornings and preaching service in the evenings.  In our experience, we had both in the morning.  

The teacher led a good lesson, and as I recall it was faithful to the word of God as we knew it.  Then it was time to pray.  The leader announced that we should kneel for prayer.  I saw people getting up and turning around to kneel over the benches like we had done when we were children.  I kind of liked this posture.  It best reflects the way we feel towards God.  Then to my great surprise, everyone in the church began praying loudly at the same time.  This was a first for me.  I could understand absolutely nothing at all.  I felt like I should join in, and opened my mouth to try.  But nothing came out.  The cacophony surrounding me, and vibrating through me, managed to shut my thought process down completely.  I glanced at my ten-year-old son who was kneeling beside me, and his eyes were wide as he stared at the back of the bench.  A look of disbelief clouded his face.  He noticed me looking, so I gave him a little grin and shrugged my shoulders.  The prayers went on for quite some time until one by one people finished.  Soon only three or four were still praying, then it was down to one.  This gentleman, probably the preacher, implored the Lord in a loud voice for a while longer, until he too was finished.  

“In Jesus Name, Amen!” he said, and everyone got up, turned around and sat down.

The leader said it was time for the morning greeting and everyone got out of their benches and formed circles around the two sides of the church.  Then they began walking in opposite directions until each side had shaken the hand of everyone on the other side.  We sat there and did nothing.  We were so caught off guard, that we didn’t know if we should participate or not.  A few folks reached in and gave us a little smile and shook our hands, but I was relieved when everyone returned to their seats for the final song.

I really can’t remember how long we hung around after the service before making our escape, but it wasn’t too long.  I think it was obvious to all of us that this wasn’t going to be a good fit for our family.  We climbed into the car and started for home, and son Mike leaned forward between Juanita and me, and spoke earnestly with a tone of desperation in his voice.

“I never want to be seen in that church again!!”

That was just what we needed.  Mikes words brought a cleansing round of laughter to all of us.  

“I don’t think you need to worry Mike.  I’m sure they’re good people, but I don’t really want to go back there either.”

That experience set us back a little, and we waited another couple weeks before trying again.  In the meantime one of our neighbors invited us to his church.  Paul D. said he and Stephanie attend the Christ United Methodist Church up the road a couple miles.  A Methodist Church……..hmmmm.  I doubted if we would like it.  Our mistaken stereotype of United Methodists wouldn't fit our criteria, I thought.  Oh well, it wouldn’t hurt to give them a try; so on a Sunday in June we drove up Route 7 to Clipper Mills.  There beside the road sat a small white church.  It appeared to have been built in the 1800’s.  A small sign on the front said "Ohio Chapel."  We stepped inside and the old well-worn wooden floors creaked a welcome.  Friendly people who seemed genuinely interested, greeted us warmly.  We were ushered into a bench, and I noticed as we walked, the floor was sagging.  It felt like we were coasting into place, and wondered if the building would last the length of the service.  No doubt this church had been here for a long, long time.  A few seconds later Paul and Stephanie came in and sat near us. It was nice to see their familiar smiling faces.  

The old Ohio Chapel near Clipper Mills on Route 7 south of Gallipolis still stands.  The windows are boarded up now, and a family lives in the back rooms.  

The service began with singing, and I was delightfully surprised at how well the people sang – and did it with joyful enthusiasm.  Sunday school came next, and a small group of people about our own age gathered in a back room for a lesson.  Dave B. taught the class and led in a closing prayer.  It was remarkable the way he prayed so openly to a loving Father.  I can’t remember the text or topic of Sunday School, but the prayer was lesson enough.

More singing followed Sunday School and then the sermon.  Dean Bachelor, the pastor, looked to be about thirty years old.  He spoke articulately, and as he opened the Word, the message was simple yet profound.  By the time the service concluded, I thought maybe our search was over.  Dean and his wife Janet made their way to us following the service, and wanted to know where we were from, and what our church background was.  We explained that we were Mennonites, and had recently moved to Gallipolis.  Dean’s eyes lit up at that.  He knew enough about Mennonites to make a connection.

“You’re a pacifist then?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“So am I.  The Methodist church doesn’t particularly teach pacifism or non-resistance, but allows room for it.  You’ll hear me preaching on it some day.  We’d really like for you to come back.”

“I think we might.  This has been a good experience.”

And so it was that Christ United Methodist Church became our place of worship for the next several years.  It wasn't long after we began attending there that the congregation built a new church building a little further down Route 7.  The old Ohio Chapel  had served it's purpose well.  Many people had lived from birth to death, worshipping in the old clapboard structure, and now it was time to let the aged building rest.

As for the dear people of Christ United Methodist Church; we grew to love and appreciate them more and more as time went on.  There were some differences from our Mennonite experience, but it was all good.  Never had we felt so much warmth and acceptance anywhere as we did here.  Looking back, if it were possible to name one thing we took away from our time there, I would tell you without hesitation; they taught us how to love.  

Next week: "Neighboring - Farm Style"