Dean Brusander looked out through the window; snow had fallen the whole day, it was still snowing, and drifts were beginning to form on the road outside the parsonage. With an expression of concern his eyes followed the wafting flakes: perhaps the heavy snowfall might keep distant parishioners from church on Sunday, and they would miss a sermon of the utmost importance to their spiritual welfare.
Brusander was the son of a peasant who had fed and brought up eighteen children in a little cottage with two windows. He thus sprang from the peasantry which made up his congregation. He was the eighteenth child, and his mother had died at his birth. Even in early childhood he felt a strong call to the ministry; he had studied under great hardship, with no financial aid from his poor father, who was barely able to provide him with food during his school years in Växiö. But the peasantry in these parts were flesh of his flesh and bone of his bone; he felt for these people as for his own children, and embraced them in fatherly love and devotion. He grieved over their vices and errors, their ignorance and drunkenness, their violence and whoring. But most of the parishioners were peace-loving, pious and devout, and hitherto subservient to their spiritual teachers and others who had fatherly power over them. Hitherto—he stopped short at that word; in these latter days, he had observed a dangerous sign of change.
At this time a great unrest was visiting all nations. The people were revolting, using force against their legal authorities, and many heretical teachings were spread and believed. The old and approved order was being thrown aside, the customs of forebears disregarded. The evil had its roots in disobedience to God’s Fourth Commandment, in the disintegration of the bonds between children and parents, between servants and masters, subjects and authority. Those holy bonds which, according to God’s ordinance, kept society united, and preserved order and security, had been attacked by gnawing, corroding evil.
Even in Ljuder Parish there had been signs of contempt for authority, and disobedience toward masters. Maids and farmhands left their employers in the middle of the service year, and had to be returned to their duty by the sheriff. In a few cases the authorities had been so lenient that the escaped servants were not returned to their service but had been allowed to go their way. Such happenings were spots of shame on a Christian church; such examples were dangerous. If the servant law were not obeyed by servants, society might sink into lawlessness, wildest disorder might ensue. Regard for laws and ordinances in force was based on the Fourth Commandment, tranquillity and security depended on that very commandment. God’s world order rested primarily on adherence to His Ten Commandments, and the servant law — being part of God’s world order — could not be set aside without setting aside the whole order; it was the covenant between masters and servants.
It became more and more apparent that literacy was, in the main, harmful to the common man who couldn’t use it wisely. As knowledge of reading spread, so also spread heresy, dissension, and insubordination. Simple folk made wrong use of their reading knowledge. Here the authorities ought to keep stricter supervision and inspection; if you gave to the people a new knowledge — useful in itself — then you must also see to it that this knowledge was not abused. This was the holy duty of the authorities; the people must feel the guiding paternal hand. And the first duty of a spiritual teacher was to impress upon the common man the enduring order, created after God’s will and not to be changed without His permission.
But the fundamental cornerstone of the community’s existence was unity in religion. One God, one church, one congregation which strove to be one soul — only when humanity reached this perfection would the kingdom of God be established on earth, for eternity.
The Åkians broke religious unity and tried to overthrow God’s church. And who was the Enemy insinuating himself with fair words and promises — to cause strife and dissension among them? Hotheaded but righteous men in the parish wanted forcibly to throw out the devil from Kärragärde. It was a method of simple folk, but their intent was Christian. God had been patient, and had waited, but now the time had come to defend the sanctity of the ministry and the purity of religion.
And the dean lost himself in new thoughts while preparing his sermon. He had much to say to his congregation next Sunday, deriving from Matthew 8:28.
He had also something to attend to today, something which could not wait. He sent for his servant and told him to pull out the sleigh and harness the fastest parsonage horse — he wished to drive to Sheriff Lönnegren in Ålebäck on an urgent matter.
Dean Brusander remained genial throughout. He was convinced he could take care of the Åkian heresy — with God’s help and through the assistance of the secular authorities.
— 2—
In the middle of the big room in Danjel Andreasson’s house stood a long table which Inga-Lena had put in order this evening. She had pulled out the extra leaves, she had polished two tall brass candlesticks until they shone, she had lit the candles and placed one candlestick on each end of the table. She had brought forth the tallest candles which they had made at Christmas. She had covered the large table with a newly woven cloth of whole linen, which she was using now for the first time; it was washed and ironed and white as the snow without. From her linen chest she brought forth her finest and most precious possessions, for tonight they expected the most important visitor a human being could receive in his house. Tonight their old table was the Lord’s table, their tallow candles were God’s altar candles, and Inga-Lena’s new linen cloth was God’s altar cloth: the Lord Jesus Christ would be their guest tonight.
In the center of the table, between the candlesticks, she had placed the earthen jug with wine, sweet wine from Karlshamn, and the cake plate with newly baked rye cookies; Inga-Lena had made the Communion breads in the shape of a cross.
The gathering around the Lord’s altar in Kärragärde was to take place one hour before midnight. The people from the neighboring farms, two married couples, had just arrived. They were stamping off the snow in the entrance hall, where they were met by Danjel, who bade them step inside and join the brethren in Christ’s body. Those already congregated consisted of the house folk and the lodgers. No more visitors were expected, and Danjel locked the door and bolted it. The only time he allowed locked doors in his house was when the Lord Himself made a call. From the storm and snow outside the neighbors stepped into the pleasant, intimate stillness which reigned in Danjel’s house. He asked his guests to find their places at the table. With his psalmodikon—a musical instrument with one string, resembling a violin — he himself took the seat at the upper end.
Danjel Andreasson was shorter than average, narrow-shouldered, and slenderly built. His face was covered by a light-brown, unkempt beard, and his thick, round-cut hair fell down to the collar of his jacket. The little peasant was gentle in manner, slow in movement, thoughtful and mild in speech. Under a broad protruding forehead his brown eyes had a look of peace in them. His lips parted often, as if about to smile.
At the table’s long side, to the right of the master, sat the house folk: dishonorably discharged soldier Severius Pihl, a tall man with a disfigured face, sunken and devastated by smallpox and brännvin; invalided servant maid Sissa Svensdotter, lame in her right arm and crippled in her left foot; and unmarried Ulrika of Västergöhl and her daughter Elin. This daughter was the only one surviving of the four children of unknown fathers whom Ulrika had borne. Elin was barely fifteen years of age and would tonight receive Holy Communion for the first time. Because of her immoral life, Ulrika of Västergöhl herself had for many years been denied the holy sacraments by the church. It seemed remarkable to all that her life in adultery had not left noticeable signs of corruption, but her face retained the innocent features of a pure maiden, showing hardly a wrinkle; her well-shaped body, with its full bosom, was still supple and well preserved. Elin resembled her mother when young. She was a delicate maiden with a fair face.