Relocating to a new area and a new culture typically brings feelings of loneliness and isolation, which I’ve experienced so many times. God created us for relationship and made provision for it through His body, the Church. In my long cultural and religious Mennonite Brethren heritage, the gathering of believers is central to life. Though religion itself never saved anyone, it set for me a foundational precedent.

• My roots go back to German-Dutch Anabaptists who left Holland because of religious persecution. They settled in West Prussia for about 250 years until the Prussian government eliminated exemption from military service on religious grounds.
  When Catherine the Great of Russia issued a Manifesto in 1763 to invite Europeans to settle in Russia and granted Mennonites exemption from military service for twenty years, they accepted the invitation and established colonies that produced 6% of all Russian wheat.
  Some who strongly believed in repentance and acceptance of Christ as a personal Savior, as well as discipline, prayer, and Bible study, formally broke with the main church in 1860 to become the Mennonite Brethren.
  In 1870 a Russification plan ended all special privileges. The Mennonites had ten years to conform or leave Russia. The loss of exemption from military service and their right to use the German language in their schools, started a migration to the Americas. My grandmother Quiring came from Alexanderthal, South Russia at nineteen years old. Though there is no Russian in them, all my great grandparents were born in Russia and migrated to Minnesota or Saskatchewan.

With that kind of heritage, we never even considered not attending church. Someone told us of a Mennonite church south of town, so we went. When we walked in, no one said anything to us until one man told Daddy, “In this church, men and women do not sit together.” Then he asked, “Kounst du auch Deutch?” Daddy told him, yes, he knew German. Mommy and I sat on the ladies’ side. Mommy felt very lonely since our move. She tried to make friends with a lady with little children, but the lady wasn’t interested. I recognized a girl from school but even she didn’t talk to me. We sat through Sunday School and the church service, then walked out very slowly, hoping somebody would talk to us, but nobody did. Outside the church, we found Daddy with Dicky. Mommy asked, “Doesn’t anyone want to talk with you either?”

He said, “No.” When we got into the car he added, “Well, we have been here twice. The first time and the last time.”

We noticed a building on Main Street in Carrot River called The Gospel Mission. The shabby white Mission with storefront windows was tightly sandwiched between two other old buildings. A sign in the window gave the service times. The next Sunday we arrived on time but nobody else came. Someone later told the preacher we moved there so he came to visit us. Daddy told him we had been to the church but the door was locked. He said that was a sign from last year, but they never bothered taking it out when they changed the time because new people didn’t come anyway. He said he would invite us to church but because of some trouble, they were closing the church down. We decided to visit anyway.

Just a few people came, very few—maybe fifteen. An elderly man from the Salvation Army whom everyone called “Dad Little” played an old pump organ, was happy, and sang heartily. We joined in with gusto! Perhaps the addition of a new family was the encouragement they needed. It didn’t take long and more people began to come. Pretty soon we had thirty and forty people coming and it continued to grow. We enjoyed the people, were friendly, and they came to know us. When we sang, I remember feeling a bit embarrassed because my Mother sang louder than anyone else. She was used to good, strong Mennonite music. She took the junior high and high school girls under her wing and held a Bible class for them on Wednesday nights. As the body of believers continued to grow, they hired a preacher and purchased an existing building from the country, which they moved onto a lot in town.

Many Mennonites hold strongly to their religious and cultural roots. Attending the Gospel Mission with people without Mennonite roots, I learned early that roots in a religious system mean nothing compared to a relationship with Jesus Christ and with His people. What matters is that God gave His only begotten Son to die in my place to pay for my sins, that He physically rose again to intercede for me at the Father’s right hand, that He sent His Holy Spirit to indwell all who receive that free gift of salvation, and to strengthen them to live by God’s grace and power to love each other.

His body—The Church—serves to fill that inherent longing for love, acceptance, and oneness. Of course, Satan hates the Church, but Jesus said He would build His church and the gates of hell would not prevail against it (Matt. 16:18). Through my years, I’ve seen church battles, splits, and hurt, but also victories, grace, and love. God knows the hearts of those who belong to Him and He loves His Bride! I deeply value my roots of theological and biblical conviction, of ancestors who sacrificially forged their way to religious freedom and grandparents and parents who prayed for me. Yet religious roots or pedigree without relationship is dead. It cannot compare with a personal relationship with Jesus Himself. Peter tells us, “Though you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy (1Peter 1:8).