The group of boys in the front
rows sat spellbound as the man behind the pulpit held up the
spike in his left hand and then carefully placed it in the
center of a short plank, which lay across the pulpit in
front of him. With his right hand he raised the hammer, and
with flawless accuracy hit the big nail squarely on the
head. He followed this with several more blows and the nail
was securely driven into the board. We were astounded. How
could it be that a blind man could drove a nail home with
such force and do it without bending the nail, or worse yet,
smashing his thumb?
This, and other, similar
demonstrations, kept our undivided attention, and kept us
coming back to the church every night for two weeks. Even if
our parents had wanted to miss an evening, they would have
been hard put to keep us away. What was the event that kept
us coming every night for two weeks? It was the annual
Spring revival, and, while the intention was to bring
spiritual awakening to the community, it was also a
significant social event. Not only was this a Spring event,
but often another "series of meetings" would be held in the
Fall of the year. If the evangelist were not the blind man,
there would be another preacher with oratorical skills
adequate to keep an audience interested and entertained, and
theological credentials, which would assure doctrinal
acceptability.
To be present at these services
was exciting. There was always singing. The gospel songs
were familiar, and people sang for the shear joy of singing.
The choristers were enthusiastic young men, who, like
cheerleaders at an athletic event, prepared the audience for
the events of the evening. The simple four part harmonies
echoed and re-echoed, as song followed song. There was a
sense of solidarity, and people felt safe and secure as they
crowded into the white church out on the prairie.
It was hoped that the preaching
would be for the edification of all that attended, but the
targeted audience was generally the young people who were
expected to be baptized and join the church. Sometimes there
were those among this group, who, knowing that the preaching
was aimed right at them, resolved to be present at every
meeting but not yield to the pressure to "come forward." The
obvious result was that as the last nights of the meetings
drew near, tremendous pressure began to build, and it became
a dramatic battle of wills. The preacher's sermons increased
in intensity, and dwelt mostly on the themes of the Second
Coming and hell. Stories were told of people on their
deathbeds, pleading for mercy, and dying in terrible agony.
Stories were told of young people whose lives were suddenly
taken in an accident. When the invitation hymns were sung,
emotional tension would build. It was like an electrical
current surging through the congregation. Often the
evangelist would heighten the tension by asking for just one
more verse. And as verse followed verse, he made it clear
that this could very well be the very last opportunity for
those who dared to resist. Often, even though the
unrepentant ones hung on to the backs of the pew in front of
them, they were at last compelled to come to the altar.
This, of course, brought great rejoicing to the community.
Sinners had been redeemed, and the community belief system
had again been corroborated.
For small boys, these were
indeed traumatic experiences. Suddenly our world did not
seem so secure after all. The sermons were meant to scare
people, and they certainly achieved this. All the signs, we
were told, pointed to the eminent demise of our world. While
the music and the stories were great fun, we dreaded the
awful descriptions of what would happen to those who were
not prepared for the Second Coming. Hell was a place to be
avoided. The best way to do this was to walk down the aisle
and declare to all that you wanted Jesus to come into your
heart.
This resulted in warm feelings
of relief, and for some the question seemed to be settled.
By the time the next revival came along, many of us wondered
about the veracity of our experience. Again we heard the
dire warnings, and it became clear that if Jesus would
return, we might be left behind. Again we would go forward
and seek this assurance which we were told we must find.
Who were these prophets who
came to us with such authority? What gave them the right to
speak so harshly and so ominously? Were they themselves so
secure that they could judge another's status with God? Did
they sometimes tremble to think that what they said might be
wrong? Why did themes of wrath and judgment hold preeminence
over love and acceptance in their theology?
The ways and beliefs of these
Mennonite survivors reflected the hardships and struggles
that they had endured. They had come to this land, broken
out the soil, labored to make it productive, and then
watched it blow away in the horrible dust storms of the
thirties. Life had been difficult for their ancestors as
well, and perhaps a basic fear of what the future might hold
was ever present in their minds. It was important to
emphasize the absolutes which permeated their beliefs, and
to make certain that everyone was brought into the fold.
They truly believed that this world was not their home and
that be ready for the next was of utmost importance.
In our postmodern world, we tend to see this as a rather
quaint and old-fashioned way of expressing faith. It may be
well to remember that to effect revival or renewal should be
a positive action. I t may be that their ways were a bit
direct and possibly even crude, but maybe these itinerant
preachers were on to something that we should not entirely
forget. Maybe it is true, after all, that we cannot live by
bread alone.
(copyright Vern Zielke)
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