Psalm 121 is a Psalm of ascents, thought to be sung by Jewish pilgrims on their way up to Jerusalem for annual festivals. Jerusalem stands on a hill between the coastal plain and the Jordan River valley, so traveling from any direction toward Jerusalem required looking up to the hills.Read More
Author: Don Clymer
We drove past Langnau in the Emmental region of central Switzerland till we reached Trubschachen. There we turned left on a country road winding through a valley with majestically tall fir trees lining both sides of the road, typical for the Emmental Valley. We were looking for the “Täuferversteck” (Anabaptist Hideout). We drove through Trub and then turned left at Fankhus (the well-known name Funkhauser is a variation on this place, and means a person from Fankhus).
The road became one-lane, with pull offs to allow cars to go both ways. The fir trees were closer to the road, and there were only a few farmhouses dotting the landscape. The address “Hinter Hütten” could not be found on our GPS. We passed a sign for “Schwarzentrub,” where the Mennonite name “Swartzentruber” come from, but we couldn’t find our destination. Whenever we met a car, we stopped them and asked them if they knew where the “Täuferversteck” was, and they all replied in the affirmative. They tried to explain to us were it was. Their best directions couldn’t help us find the location because all the farm lanes that led anywhere looked the same, and there were no signs to show the way.
Supposedly there were two parking places along the road, which was to signal the entrance to Hinter Hütten. We must have driven past the entranceway several times. Somehow we found the place where we were to enter. The parking “lot” turned out to be a pull off that had space for no more than two cars. I couldn’t imagine how tour buses could park there.
|The Fankhauser home, location of the Täuferversteck|
We climbed the steeply inclined dirt lane until we reached a farmhouse. It looked like a normal Swiss farmhouse until we saw an unassuming sign announcing that we had arrived at the “Täuferversteck.” We were confronted by a farmer, apparently the owner of the farmhouse. He had returned from the fields for lunch. We did not realize that we were to arrange with the family to be able to see the mini-museum located in their living quarters.
“You can’t just walk in like you own the place,” he said to me in Swiss German. “This is a family home.” I apologized profusely, saying that I didn’t realize this. When he detected an accent in my Swiss dialect, he asked where we were from. I told him I was showing my brother and wife from the USA around Switzerland, and that we were Mennonites wanting to see important places from our heritage. With that information he softened up and let us look around.
Simon Fankhauser, the farmer who confronted us, is the 12thgeneration of Fankhausers living on the property. Some three hundred years ago, Christen Fankhauser, his ancestor, became an Anabaptist. It was the period of time in Switzerland when the authorities of the Canton of Bern pursued Anabaptists relentlessly. This was when hundreds, if not thousands of Anabaptists, including my own ancestors, left Switzerland, going for a time to Germany before emigrating to the USA.
Those who stayed risked being imprisoned, tortured, killed or sent to the Roman galleys to provide hard labor. The Bernese authorities not only wanted to erase these “heretics” from the region, but also from the collective memory of the Swiss people. There were Anabaptist hunters who roamed the back countryside of the Emmental where the movement was especially prolific. The Anabaptists developed an elaborate warning system to let neighbors know when the Anabaptist hunters were seen. It would allow them time to find a place to hide.
The only known hiding place still in existence is the “Täuferversteck” located at the Fankhauser
|The trapdoor leading to the hidden chamber|
During the past decade, the Zwinglian Reformed Church of Switzerland, and the Mennonites (Anabaptists) have been working on reconciliation. I heard a Reformed pastor say that Mennonites should be considered “siblings of the Reformation” instead of heretics. Since these movements of reconciliation, there has been renewed interest in Anabaptist history in Switzerland. Two historical novels, “Die Furgge” which traces the history of the Hershey family, and “Das Ketzerweib” (The heretic woman) have sold hundreds of copies. Non-Mennonite as well as Mennonite Anabaptist historians are in high demand for seminars and talks. What was for three hundred years erased from history is now in back vogue.
As hard as it was for us to find the “Täuferversteck,” it made the perfect hideout for my ancestors. I wonder if any of my relatives spent time in this hideout.Read More
(Originally published in Purpose Magazine, July 2015 edition)
I was driving home from a quick visit to Pennsylvania trying to make it in time for an evening concert at Eastern Mennonite University. A number of my students were performing and I wanted to be there for them. The traffic was heavy. I had to drive a bit above the speed limit, hoping not to be stopped for speeding.
In order to keep up my speed, I had to weave frantically in and out of traffic, something I normally wouldn’t do. My shoulders tensed up and I found myself gripping the steering wheel harder. I was a bundle of nerves by the time I finally arrived home. I made it in time to enjoy the concert.
Did I say “enjoy” the concert? Eventually I did, but I continually felt my body tensing up as I tried to relax and savor the beauty of Handel’s Messiah featured at the concert. The wild and furious ride from Souderton to Harrisonburg had left me physically and emotionally exhausted.
During the concert, in spite of the glorious sounds I was hearing, I had to remind myself to breathe in deeply, then breathe out slowly, and let my shoulders droop. It was like I was present physically but my soul was still somewhere on the interstate trying to catch up with the rest of me.
This is a perfect picture of the hectic lives that most of us lead. We run frantically from one activity to another, whether church, work, or play; seldom allowing time for our souls to catch up with the rest of us. We are human doings rather than human beings.
“Be still and know that I am God,” declares Psalm 46:10, reassuring us that God is in charge in spite much that causes fear. “Stand still,” Moses tells the fearful Children of Israel as the Red Sea stood between them and the pursuing Egyptian army according to Exodus 14:13. During a hectic time in his ministry, Jesus said to his disciples, “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while,” Mark 6: 31.
Jesus modeled for us the need to be still. He withdrew numerous times to pray and to let his soul catch up with the rest of him (Matt. 14:13, Mk. 3:7, Lk. 15:6, Jn. 6:15). How do we follow his example?
First we need to be intentional. It has to become part of our daily routine. I try to spend 20-30 minutes on our back porch every day. Then we need a spiritual practice. Centering Prayer is the practice I frequently use (see: http://www.centeringprayer.com/for a more comprehensive discussion on the subject).
I like to begin by breathing intentionally. I call it “sacred breathing.” I breathe in deeply saying the word “grace.” Then I breathe out slowly saying the word “gratitude.” Eventually, as my mind settles, the breathing becomes automatic and I can let go of the words. When my mind strays, I return to my word(s). My pulse slows, I can feel my blood pressure lowering, my body relaxes. I am at peace with the world and with myself. I feel a deep sense of God’s presence. My soul is open for a word from God.
When I first began this daily practice, I dreaded it. I had to force myself to do it. But as I continued the practice, and continued to experience a deep peace, I looked forward to this daily routine. I find that reserving those few minutes a day, instead of robbing me of precious time, actually make me more productive. Instead of the frantic feeling at the concert after my hectic drive home, I feel a peace and a calm. People experience me more as a non-anxious presence than a bitter, stressed-out bundle of nerves.
There are many other spiritual practices we could use. The book The Spacious Heart: Room forSpiritual Awakening, written by my sister and me, deals exclusively with this subject.
Instead of frantically driving down the highway of life without time to catch our breath, we need to deliberately find times to be still and let our souls catch up with the rest of us.Read More
We were invited by Swiss friends to eat in an exclusive restaurant during our last weekend in Switzerland. As we got settled around the table, my friend asked me: “Are you comfortable with speaking Swiss German, or should we speak English?”
There were four of us at the table and I was the only native speaker of English. All the others were native speakers of Swiss German. Even though the others could speak English, we were in Switzerland. Why would I force three others to struggle to accommodate me?
|Being present during a table conversation in Swiss German|
Truth be told, the lazy side of me wanted to speak English. Each speaker at the table had a slightly different dialect of Swiss German, and one of them spoke so rapidly I had to strain to catch every nuance.
Two days later, I was at a church service. The worship leader spoke in High German, the music director in the dialect of Bern, and the sermon was given in a mixture of High German and the dialect of Zürich. The Bible was read or quoted in High German, some of the songs were sung in High German and some in the Swiss dialect. I had to concentrate very carefully to worship and to understand.
Many years ago, in a seminary class, Lawrence Yoder remarked offhandedly, “Learning another language is a spiritual discipline.” He didn’t explain what he meant; he just let it hang in the air for us to try to make sense of it. As a teacher of languages for more than 35 years, that statement resonated with me, even if I couldn’t explain why.
The two recent experiences that I describe above may begin to give an indication of what he meant. In the first instance, my attention was completely focused on what my friends were saying. My mind was not wondering off to other places nor was I trying to form an answer before they finished speaking. I was fully present to them. It was “deep listening,” a practice so infrequently used in our everyday conversations that seminars and books have arisen to teach this practice. Being fully present to the other recognizes their worth as someone made in the “image and likeness of God.” It is a spiritual discipline.
In the second example, my attention was wholly focused on every part of the worship service. So often when I am in an English service, my mind wonders in and out of what’s going on. When I’m listening in English, I take my ability to understand everything for granted. In contrast, when I’m listening to a worship service in a language other than my native tongue, I need to be much more attentive. I can’t take my understanding everything for granted. This attentiveness brings me closer to the essence of the service and to hearing God’s message. Much writing on spirituality focuses on attentiveness and awareness. Learning another language facilitates this need to be attentive and present. They are spiritual disciplines.
Our culture is one of much distraction by so many different media and personal obsessions. Because of these distractions, it is difficult to be totally preset and totally aware. They clog our ears and blind our eyes. Yet these are spiritual qualities that even secular writers affirm. Jesus recognizes our need to be attentive and present to when he explains why he teaches in parables: “The reason I speak to them in parables is that ‘seeing they do not perceive, and hearing they do not listen, nor do they understand’” (Matt. 13:13).
While we should develop awareness and presence in whatever our cultural or linguistic circumstances, learning another language helps us to expedite developing such qualities. Learning another language is a spiritual discipline.
Some twenty odd years ago, while working as the director of communications for Virginia Mennonite Conference and Missions, I began our monthly newsletter with a short devotional titled “Klymer Klatsch.” It was a takeoff on the German word/phrase “Kaffeeklatsch” which means a conversation over coffee. I simply changed the first letter of my name to form an alliteration.
|The old city hall in Affoltern am Albis, Switzerland|
When I began to write a blog a few years later, it was only natural for me to resurrect the name Klymer Klatsch for the title. I’ve had numerous conversations about this title; most people are bemused by my choice.
While here in Switzerland, I’ve enjoyed doing some work on my ancestry, particularly looking into the origins of my father’s name Clymer, and my mother’s, Horst.
The immigrant from whom I descend arrived in Philadelphia with the name Henrich Clemmer. He had been Klemmer in Germany before he made the cross-oceanic voyage. My great-grandfather changed our name from Clemmer to Clymer.
Through email exchanges with Mennonite historian John Ruth, I discovered that the Klemmer name originated in Affoltern am Albis, a region southeast of Zürich. He also told me that there were variants of the name in the same region: Klimer, Klimmer, and Kleiner. So I searched websites related to the region and found another interesting variation of the name: KLYMER. Yes, the same name as I use in my alliterative blog title!
But it gets even more interesting. I kept finding all sorts twists and turns on the Clemmers’ migration to the USA with genealogical experts presenting contrasting views. So when I discovered a website MennoSearch.com, I was lured by the statement, “Research your Swiss, German, or Mennonite Ancestry,” including information on the Clemmers, I sprung for it.
I excitedly opened the PDF file on the Clemmer genealogy and the very first entry at the top of
|The region Am Albis, near Zürich, where Klymer comes from|
I planned an excursion to Affoltern, the area of my ancestors. Since there was no graveyard near the train station, I started out on foot, looking for variations of my name on the mailboxes of apartment complexes. I must have looked at some 100 mailboxes without any success. Instead I found all sorts of other Swiss-Mennonite surnames: Huber, Good, Eberly, Lichty, Noll, Siegrist, Gautsche, Bergey, Mischler, Hess, Eby and Baer. I even found the name of some Honduran Anabaptists multiple times: Machado!
Not to be deterred, I began asking people on the street if they had a schoolmate or acquaintance named, Klemmer, Klimmer, Klymer or Kleiner. After enduring a number of puzzled looks, I finally found someone who knew of several Kleiners who were classmates of hers. I didn’t have time to schedule a visit with them, but I felt like I had made a connection.
What’s in a name? For me searching for my ancestry through my surname was a process of finding roots, a home. I now know where I’ve come since at least 1554. That’s over 450 years.
What’s in a name? A name that has been passed down for so many years and in different places, gives me a sense of knowing who I am. That name ties me to a human history of both time and place. But I also have another name. I have been stamped with the “image and likeness of God” (Gen. 1:27), like every other human being. While my Klymer name links me to an earthly heritage, my God identity links me to an eternal heritage. “I have called you by name, you are mine, (Isa. 43:1)” says my creator. God has been calling me “Klymer” since before I was born, and since before I discovered where I’m from.Read More