90s03 German Lutherans

My parents went to church regularly most of their lives. As I have said before, Mom is from a Quaker background and Dad was from a Mennonite family. About the only thing that could keep Dad from church was a trip out to Merrimac arrowhead hunting.

As I have also said before, those trips were like a guided tour of that area of the county. One Sunday morning as we drove, well, I should say “wandered “up towards Walnut Creek to some of Dad’s choice spots we went a slightly different way. That route took us by the German Lutheran Church. It was an ancient structure along the road. Dad had talked many times about the Lutherans and how some of them were related to us.

He talked, too, about how many of the immigrants never learned English. The debate today about immigrents learning English has really been going on for generations. He remembered some of the old timers and could still tell stories about many of them.

I have been in that church at least twice in my life. Once when I was a young kid and then again, years later when Dad wanted to stop and go in. It was an old pioneer wooden structure that looked to be right out of an old photo album. The old structures have a sound of their own, as if all of the songs, all of the lives, all of the stories are still reverberating there.

So, on that Sunday morning, when we had skipped church, there just happened to be a service going on in that church. We didn’t go in. We were dressed in our hunting attire and it was hardly appropriate for church.

It was a warm and sunny April morning so the car windows were down. Dad, never one to drive fast, was driving slower than ever as if we were sneaking up on someone. As we got near the church we could clearly hear the singing in the old church. Dad stopped the car in the middle of the road.

“I love to tell the story”

The sound reverberated off the floor and walls of the old church and out the open windows. We just sat there in the middle of the road listening. I was a little nervous and looked back behind us to make sure someone wasn’t coming up on us. Dad just looked over at the church and listened.

“‘twill be my theme in glory,”

At the heart of any religion are the stories they tell and my father grew up knowing the power of stories. He delighted in hearing, as well as telling, the stories of the community and it’s people.

“to tell the old, old story”

Dad wasn’t someone who talked about his faith a lot. Both of my parents were that way. You knew about their faith by their actions and the stories they told. They were stories of honesty, hard work and the goodness of others. To this day I am amazed at my parent’s ability to not only not judge others but to expect the best of everyone.

“of Jesus and his love.”

After the song was over we drove off towards our destination and he started telling a story about an old German Lutheran woman who had been kind to him.