Quest for the Brethren.

Sometimes a quest must take a bold turn. Not too many days ago I discovered that there was in fact a group which calls itself Mennonite in the region. After a bit of research I could see that getting there would require some extra effort. I called and asked if anyone from Münster drove there to Sunday worship only to find out that the German verb for "drive" actually means "ride" and yes, there was one woman who occasionally took the train out to Warendorf, home of the "Mennoniten-Brudergemeinde" congregation. Then, after a very embarrassing second phone call during which I said I would come to Wolbeck by train and was reminded that they are not in Wolbeck but in Warendorf, I hung up, totally ready to abandon the whole effort. A few days later it seemed like it might be time to put the key into the car and take a little ride. Sunday promised to be a good day for my first driving excursion since arriving in Germany, 103 days ago. Mapquest came through with accurate directions with an estimated travel time of 34 minutes and a distance of 17.73 miles. Once in the saddle everything seemed fine until I glanced at the fuel level. Oh well, hopefully gas stations are open in Germany on Sundays, even if most other shops aren't. Upon arriving at the church I was impressed with the number of cars streaming into the parking lot. A gentleman in a black suit showed me to a seat among women roughly my age. Only then did I notice that I was fully inappropriately dressed. Oh my God! Would they throw me out? I was the only female of any age in trousers. I also had an exposed head. Only unmarried younger women, men and babies had their hair on display as I did. This house of prayer was equipped quite differently from the typical church I had been in up to this point. There was no cross, no statuary, and no organ. The centrally featured piece of art was a large Bible painted on the wall. In huge letters, written across the front of the worship space was a verse from Jerimiah about "the Word". Seated in a large bleacher like area facing the congregants was a huge mixed choir of 50 and a separate group of 11 men who turned out to be preachers, worship leaders, etc. There was no printed program nor page numbers for songs mounted on the walls. Most folks around me weren't using the song books anyway. Could they read German? All the rows in the front half of the church were reserved for young people. A young married couple walked in together and split up so that he could sit in a row of men and she with the women. Some very young children were with one parent or the other. Right behind me were several babies and a number of pregnant women. The first preacher seemed to have an accent but he held my attention. Preacher number two was definitely repeating himself and had very little to say. Soon, congregants began exiting to use the toilet, one at a time, and I began to worry. Was this a sign that the service was just getting started? Every time the choir sang the piano played and it was truly beautiful but a style I couldn't identify. Then two saxafone players did a song with the piano. The only women I saw up front were musicians. When preacher number three got up, I too, suddenly had to go out. It was enough. Any more preaching would have put me over the top! The same gentleman in black suit was kind enough to accompany me to the door. He answered a few of my questions. I was somewhat surprised to learn that the entire church is made up of Russians who had migrated back to Germany from whence they had originally come, but had forgotten their German language. It is all very complicated but in fact it all rather made sense. Every seat was taken. Another worship with communion was to take place at 5pm. This is a community which prays together and stays together. At one point in the service a young man, probably about 25, got up to tell the story. He said that instead of a story he would introduce us to the nine boys he had worked with during a summer camp back in Russia. The narrative was truly moving; each boy had come from a home where love and care were lacking and the church had stepped in to provide support. Coincidentally we are learning about the Amish in English class grade 8 right now at school and I have been researching their practice of "rumspringa", where 16 year olds are given a year to go off and try out the "real world". Something about the church I visited today felt a little "amish". This much I know, I have a lot more research to do before I understand the origins and the historical development of the Mennonites and the Brethren. Today I barely began.