or hall; and they were ready to put one at our disposal,
A Joyful Pilgrimage The Wind Blows
1907. This group envisioned a large settlement house or hall; and they were ready to put one at our disposal, right in the city's worst slum.
Eberhard did a lot of traveling as he looked for a
suitable place. Then a letter from Georg Flemmig, a teacher from Schlüchtern, suggested possibilities in that region. His letter came as a call to us, a challenge to live in the manner of the early church. Flemmig told us that groups who lived in the same spirit of expectation were to be found in every part of the country; that the movement was not confined to our own circle. So Eberhard traveled to Schlüchtern to get acquainted with the group gathered there.
Near Schlüchtern Eberhard found several possibilities for a new community, for instance, the Ronneburg, an old castle ruin near Gelnhausen. Friedrich Wilhelm Cordes, a well-to-do man from Hamburg and a good friend of ours, sobered Eberhard's enthusiasm for this project considerably when he said, "How will you find someone who knows how to go about rebuilding such a place?" Yet Eberhard remained attracted to the castle because of its "spiritual" history. Here, at the time of Count Zinzendorf in the eighteenth century, a group of people had lived in community of faith and goods, and Zinzendorf, who was exiled from his native Saxony on account of his faith, had himself
A Joyful Pilgrimage The Wind Blows
participated. The Ronneburg plan was soon given up, but we were to visit the castle often in the future.
Two more conferences took place during this period before the beginning of our own community. First, we had sent invitations to a number of interested friends to meet with us on the Inselsberg in the Thuringian Forest. These people shared our concern to create a new way of life, and with them we climbed the mountain with our rucksacks, guitars, and violins, making music and singing together.
On the way we stopped for an informal gathering. It was good to talk things over out in nature, in the beautiful springtime weather. Between meetings we sang old and new folk songs: "O lovely, flowering Maytime," "Winter is past," and many others. We often sang one about the blue flower – youth's symbol of beauty, truth, purity, and longing:
And deep in the wood there is blooming
A flower of heavenly blue;
And just to win this flower
We'll travel the wide world through.
The trees are a-rustle, the stream murmurs low,
And he who the blue flower seeking would go
Must be a wanderer too!
A Joyful Pilgrimage The Wind Blows
Everyone sensed that hidden in nature lay a mystery: God. Most had not experienced God or had lost sight of him – if not through disillusionment with the established churches, then through the terrible
experiences of war. Out in nature, however, we felt something of a true quest for the unknown God and a sense of great reverence for him when we gathered and sang together.
A quiet song, a peaceful song,
A song so tender and fine,
Like a cloudlet that over the blue sky sails,
Like a cotton grass blown in the wind.
Behind all this stood a Creator whose name we hardly dared pronounce, it had been so misused and distorted.
In the course of these conferences we not only experienced nature and the mystery hidden behind it. We also worked hard and searched eagerly for concrete alternatives to the old life we had rejected. Separate groups were formed to tackle specific tasks, exploring ways and means to start a country or folk school, to create a social work center, and so forth. One group considered the founding of a settlement on the land, and many participated in this. They emphasized
A Joyful Pilgrimage The Wind Blows
a return to agriculture as the healthiest basis for such a venture.
Eberhard had already explored the idea of settlements for himself, and summarized them in
an article entitled, "The Fellowship of Families and Settlement Life." He spoke of five distinct areas in which youth could band together to build up something new: farming and gardening, education and schooling, publishing and outreach, housing (in the form of a children's home) for war orphans, and arts and crafts work. Many responded to his vision, but most saw its realization as something for the distant future.
At the end of the Inselsberg conference, Marie Buchhold, who had helped start a women's community near Darmstadt, stood up and said, "There have been enough words. Let us see some action now!" With this we parted from one another, firmly resolved to go into action. We descended the mountain with the joyful song:
When we're striding side by side
And the songs of old are singing,
Echoes from the woods are ringing,
Every heart in joy's believing
With us goes a new time.
A Joyful Pilgrimage The Wind Blows
Another important conference took place in Schlüchtern in the late spring of 1920, at Whitsun. In conjunction with others, we had invited dozens of interested youth from various groups to join us. We left
Berlin at five o'clock in the morning on a Bummelzug (slow train) – the kind that stops at every station – and traveled fourth class, because it was the cheapest. We were due to arrive in Schlüchtern at eight in the evening. With us in the train were members of the Free German Youth, the young men in shorts and loose tunics, and the young women in simple, bright-colored dresses. Many had violins, flutes, or guitars, and we sang one song after another. Our other traveling companions sat along the walls of the compartment, but we stood in the middle and sang, for there were not enough seats to go around.
When we arrived at our destination, we climbed to the top of a hill and lit our Whitsun fire. As the blaze threw its light over the fields below, we thought of how it symbolized the burning up of the old and the coming of something new. We thought, too, of the flame of which Jesus had spoken, "I came to cast fire upon the earth; and would that it were already kindled!" It was as if he himself were speaking to us.
Later we sat under the lofty beech trees and listened as different people spoke, and participated in the ensuing discussions. Afterward, our heads buzzing
A Joyful Pilgrimage The Wind Blows
with all the ideas, we danced together – folk dances that expressed our feeling of community – and sang folk songs, and songs of love and nature. Our dances were a truly religious experience, as Eberhard wrote in
one of his poems:
Spirit-gripped,
Move as one.
Circle round,
Center-bound!
Between meetings we cooked our meals on open fires in the beech wood. Everyone unpacked what provisions he had in his rucksack, and all shared the simple food. Sometimes we gathered in little groups around the cooking pots; at other times we sat on the ground in a large circle, the girls with garlands of wildflowers in their hair, the boys in their shorts and tunics. Outward formality and social conventions had been cast off. A spirit of joy and comradeship was alive among us.
What filled us most throughout those Whitsun days was the desire to carry something new into the world, to blaze a trail for the kingdom of God, to proclaim the message of peace and love. The example of St. Francis of Assisi, with his love for people and animals, meant a great deal to us.
A Joyful Pilgrimage The Wind Blows
One morning the English Quaker John Stephens suggested that we have a silent meeting – "You Germans still talk far too much." He began by explaining the true significance of such a meeting, and suggested that we
should sit together in silence for perhaps half an hour or so, in order to listen to the Spirit. Seconds after he had ended an elderly professor from Frankfurt rose to his feet and made quite a long speech, whereupon John stood up and said simply, "Hush." The professor reacted touchily, and we all burst out laughing!
The topics we discussed were of great importance to everyone. Above all we were concerned with the movement of the Spirit of Pentecost two thousand years ago and its consequences ever since. We talked about the "new life," and about eros and agape – human love and divine love. We all felt something was breaking in upon us.
One day we hiked to a "life-reform" settlement called the Habertshof in nearby Elm, to see what the "new life" might look like. This communal settlement was begun by Max and Maria Zink, a couple from southern Germany, a year before our own new beginning got under way. We city dwellers were deeply impressed by the simple life of these people up there on a hillside – and by their complete lack of pretension, which showed itself in their adoption of a
A Joyful Pilgrimage The Wind Blows
plain peasant-style garb. Eberhard and I began to feel that perhaps our own future community should take a similar outward form.
While sitting together in the evenings, we often sang
Matthias Claudius's song, "The moon has gently risen." We never ended without singing the Schlüchterner Lied ("Kein Schöner Land"), which speaks of gathering in the beauty of the countryside. On one occasion about a year later, after we had stood in a circle and sung this song to close a meeting, someone spontaneously added a new verse:
You brothers know what makes us one;
For us shines bright another Sun.
For him we're living, t'ward him we're striving,
The church at one.
It was at the end of that Whitsun conference of 1920 that Eberhard and I and some others walked to the nearby village of Sannerz, to look at a house we had been told about. The building, a large brick one, was standing empty. It belonged to a certain Konrad Paul, who had built it with money he had made in America. It took us about two hours to reach Sannerz, as we chose a route over the hills and also rested on the way. Our first stop was in the little village inn, where we
A Joyful Pilgrimage The Wind Blows
were well received and given a good meal. Afterwards we went across the road to have a look at the villa, as it was known – a building that was to become significant for us and for many other people in the future.
Herr Paul was friendly and accommodating. The house seemed suitable for our purpose, with its fifteen rooms, a kitchen, and a number of attic rooms that could be remodeled as dwellings. There were cattle sheds, pigsties, and poultry houses, a sizable orchard, and even some fields suitable for farming. On the whole, the place struck us as a little too middle-class, at least compared with the Habertshof, which seemed much more appropriate for the simple life we had in mind. Yet at that time there were not too many choices. In a Germany too poor to be able to import produce, farmers were seldom willing to part with their land, and this was a rare find.
We returned to Berlin with the question of purchasing the property unresolved, but began to pack anyway. We had no place to go, yet we were certain we could no longer stay in Berlin, and we felt that if we acted in simple faith and trust, we would be guided clearly.
A Joyful Pilgrimage Beginning at Sannerz
Beginning at Sannerz
Our relationship with the Furche Publishing House was becoming increasingly difficult. Articles and manuscripts that we and our friends found challenging and suitable for publication were not appreciated (and even turned down) by people in influential positions, and the resulting tensions frustrated us at a time when we felt the need around us and the Spirit calling us to action. Just at this juncture, friends at Schlüchtern asked Eberhard if he would be willing to take charge of a new publishing house they were planning to start, the Neuwerk Verlag.
No, there was no financial basis of any kind, either for starting this proposed business venture or for buying the villa at Sannerz and realizing our dream of a community house. But that made no difference. We decided it was time to turn our backs on the past and start afresh in full trust. Well‑meaning friends shook their heads. What an act of rash irresponsibility for a father of five little children to go into the unknown
A Joyful Pilgrimage Beginning at Sannerz
just like that! Frau Michaelis, the wife of the former Chancellor of the Reich, visited me and offered to help the children and me should my husband really take this "unusual" step. After talking with me, she reported
to a mutual friend: "She is even more fanatical than he is! There is nothing we can do."
Our departure from Berlin on June 21, 1920 came about very suddenly. Monika, our youngest, then two years old, was sickly because of wartime malnourishment during her infancy. The same was true of our youngest son, Hans-Hermann, then four years old, but (like Monika) too weak to walk. When, in addition to this, Monika became ill with a gastric infection, our pediatrician advised us to move immediately to the country with her, so that she could have fresh milk, eggs, honey, and good bread. We sent a telegram to the owner of the village inn in Sannerz, and announced our arrival for the next day.
Thus Eberhard and I left for Sannerz with our little Monika early that Sunday morning, the day of the summer solstice. Our four other children followed a few days later, accompanied by our helper Suse Hungar, a woman from the Salvation Army, and another woman, Luise Voigt. Both had volunteered to come with us, at least for a while. My sister Else stayed behind to wind
A Joyful Pilgrimage Beginning at Sannerz
up our affairs with the publishing house. Friendly Mr. Lotzenius, the innkeeper, had three little rooms ready for us to use during the summer, which he had been using for harness making in summer and apple storage
in winter.
Earlier, of course, we had set our hopes on Konrad Paul's house on the other side of the road. Now, however, the owner hesitated, saying he was not sure whether he wanted to sell or lease the place after all. More probably he was hopeful that if he left us in a state of suspense, he could command a better price.
Some money had been offered to us – 30,000 marks (which still had some value in those days) for the purpose of founding a "community modeled after the early church." The donor was our friend Kurt Woermann of the Hamburg‑America Line. There was also our life insurance policy which we planned to sell, though this would not bring us much cash. Yet we were determined to burn all our bridges and put our trust entirely in God, like the birds of the air and the flowers in the field. This trust was to be our foundation – the surest foundation, we felt, on which to build.
After several weeks we finally reached an agreement with Herr Paul. We were to sign a rental agreement for ten years, and buy all the farm equipment and furniture on the place as well as all the livestock, consisting of four cows, several goats, pigs, and chickens. We had to
A Joyful Pilgrimage Beginning at Sannerz
make a down payment of 30,000 marks, including the rent for a year in advance.
Right from the start the house was flooded with a constant stream of guests, most of them from the youth movement and its branches. For accommodations, we sent them to find sleeping quarters in the haylofts of neighboring farms. What was more difficult was finding work for everyone: the only real job on hand was gathering and chopping firewood from the forest behind the house for use in the kitchen and laundry.
Little by little we were able to take possession of the "Neuwerk House," as we named it. Three front rooms on the ground floor were available right away, and we used them for offices and for our publishing work. By December we had the use of the whole house, as we had finally been able to get all the money together. We celebrated with great enthusiasm, singing one Advent song after another, and even writing a new song – "In holy waiting we're at home" – as an expression of our joy. We sang it for the first time under Else's window on her birthday, December 13.
At six o'clock every morning we gathered around the kitchen fire, where the oatmeal was cooking. We sat in silence, listening – all seven of us who had remained together to go this new way, after the crowds of summer
A Joyful Pilgrimage Beginning at Sannerz
guests had left us. A powerful spirit of expectation was living in us; it seemed to us as if the kingdom would break in any day! We who were living in community, together with those who came to stay with us, all
shared this outlook. Who knew what the next day might bring? After this we went to work – in the office, in the garden, in the children's room (we were teaching them at home) and elsewhere around the house.
Simplicity – poverty for the sake of Christ – was like an article of faith with us. How could we, who wanted to share the suffering of the masses in those post‑war years, keep anything for ourselves? That is why we shared everything in common, giving away all we had to those who wanted to serve the same spirit of love with us.
Another matter of great importance to us was chastity – the purity of each individual – and marriage as a symbol of the unity of God with the church. As weak human beings, we were conscious that a disciplined life would be possible only through faith in Christ and through giving ourselves completely to him, but we counted it a joy to strive for this.
During the winter months we did not have as many visitors, which made it possible to cement the bonds within our little group more deeply. But as soon as spring returned, guests began to pour through the house once more. Young people who were hiking in the
A Joyful Pilgrimage Beginning at Sannerz
countryside to enjoy nature dropped in on us by the hundreds. During that year some two thousand came, staying with us at least one night. Among them were students, members of Christian groups, Wandervögel
(an informal movement of wandering youth known as "birds of passage"), anarchists, atheists, and others who had turned their backs on the existing social order.
Most of our guests came on foot. Who had money for train travel in those days anyway? Nobody wanted it either. Some who came did not want to use coal or tools, since these were produced at the expense of miners and factory workers and filled the coffers of people who had never done honest work themselves.
Nearly all of them felt community was "the" solution: the community of the people, the fellowship of nations, harmony with nature and peace with humanity as a whole – finally, union with God and with the Body of Christ. We used to talk together until the early hours of the morning. Many times our discussions became quite heated, but we were usually able to end on a harmonious note. Often we would end with a quiet dance, moving in a circle as we sang.
There were moments in these gatherings when something came to us which was not from ourselves, nor from those who were visiting us. This was especially true in encounters with people who were burdened or
A Joyful Pilgrimage Beginning at Sannerz
tormented by demonic powers. As Eberhard described it years later:
Among us – those who were living together and those
who came to share the experience – the Holy Spirit
brought us face to face with the presence of God in our
gatherings and meetings. The rooms in Sannerz were
filled with a power in those early days, a power that did
not originate from us who were living there, nor from
those who were our guests. It was a power from God that
visited us, an invisible power that surrounded us. In this
way we were able to understand Pentecost as the rushing
wind of the spirit visiting the expectant church with the
Holy Spirit. This wonderful mystery brought the church
into being. Here no one's own will or word could be
spoken or added, not even the word of a so‑called leader
or of a so‑called opposition. The voice comes from the
cloud, and man is silent. However, this does not mean
that only those who confess Christ, who confess that
they are converted or reborn Christians, are touched by
the cloud. The very opposite is the case. We experienced
many times that the hidden Christ is revealed through
people who insist that they have no faith. Christ visits all
people, long before they have found unity with him. We
believe that the light of Christ illuminates every person
who comes into this world.
A Joyful Pilgrimage Beginning at Sannerz
For those of us who experienced this beginning, the "first love" remains unforgettable. Even recently I have met people who were present in those formative days; they have told me it had an impact on their whole
future. It is quite clear, of course, that nobody can live off memories from the past. Today, too, the spirit lives, calling people as in the time of John the Baptist: "Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand!" Jesus calls men and women to follow him, to leave everything in search of the one precious pearl. Here and there this is happening now. Yet for every person, the time of his first zeal and love will always be significant, and in times of weakness he will be able to turn back to it, as to a reservoir of strength.
From the beginning we did not want to be the founders of a work of our own. Community can never be founded; it can only be given as a gift of the Spirit. We simply wanted to live as brothers and sisters, and take into our midst anyone else who wanted the same. It became obvious many times, however, that people who wanted to follow their own ideas were not ready to go this way. There were clashes in the daily life, and in our discussions; now and then a guest would even disturb our inner meetings, in which case we might have to ask him to leave. In fact, it rarely happened that a person had to be sent away; opposing spirits
A Joyful Pilgrimage Beginning at Sannerz
generally seemed to sift and separate themselves, even if it did not always happen quickly.
Though daylight hours were dedicated to the work, evenings belonged to guests, and to talks with them.
As I mentioned earlier, our encounters could be quite heated. It was not unusual, on the other hand, for an argument to bring everyone to silence. Then something new and unexplainable, something that united us all, broke in.
Our guests were always a diverse lot, but there were some who were downright peculiar. One who impressed us most was a certain Hans Fiehler, who called himself "Hans-in-Luck." Wearing a red woolen cap, shorts, and a red waistcoat with "Hans-in-Luck" in bold letters across the back, he hiked through the countryside with two violins. One was a good Italian instrument that he had bought in Italy; the other a tin one he had obtained from the gypsies. Hans-in-Luck had four ocarinas (pottery whistles shaped like a bird): the "great-grandmother," "grandmother," "mother," and "child."
When he entered a village or town playing his ocarinas, Hans-in-Luck was soon followed by a large crowd of children, whom he gathered in the square. He always had something to tell them, a message to proclaim. Usually he would tell them stories about heaven and earth, about mankind's future and the
A Joyful Pilgrimage Beginning at Sannerz
future of creation – that in a time to come, the whole earth would be like heaven! Nearly all of these children had experienced terrible things in the war; they knew hunger and want, and many had lost father or mother
or both. But when Hans formed a circle with them, and they sang and danced, their joy knew no bounds.
Hans-in-Luck regarded Sannerz as a home and made lengthy stays with us, and his outlook affected all of us. "Why," he would ask, "do we always speak of the good old times? Why do we say, 'Once upon a time there was…', instead of 'One day it will come about, that…'? Why do we say 1920 and so on? Why not 80 before 2000?" We took this expectant attitude toward the future, and his eagerness for the coming of God's reign on earth, with all earnestness, and it stirred us deeply.
Once he had the children help him plant a "tree of the year 2000" – a little plum – on the lawn in front of the house; afterwards we all danced around it, singing one of his spontaneous childlike compositions. On another occasion he got us to march through the village with him, carrying paper lanterns, and singing together to the accompaniment of his instruments: "Through the gates of the new age, on we march with singing!"
A Joyful Pilgrimage Beginning at Sannerz
Several times Hans‑in‑Luck came into conflict with the authorities. During one summer he had rented an observation tower in the Harz Mountains, where he worked as a guide and sold souvenirs. One time he
left the tower for lunch and fixed a verse on the door: "Hans-in-Luck his stomach fills. Do the same – beyond the hills." When he returned to find a crowd of people smoking and drinking, he lost his temper and set fire to the building. Jailed for several days on account of this incident, he wrote to us from his cell, "From the little attic room of a Wandervogel…I send you my heartfelt greetings."
In 1924, at a time when inflation was at its peak and many people were starving, Hans‑in‑Luck approached an army general in one of the large cities (I forget which one) and made the following proposal: If you want to restore your good standing with the populace, take your field kitchens into the city and feed the poor. I'll stand by and make a film of it all. Amazingly, the plan really came off! Hans‑in‑Luck stood there with his camera, commanding the general, "Stand up smartly!" "Dish it up yourself!" and so on. Only after everything had been served was it "discovered" that there was no film in the camera. Fortunately for Hans-in-Luck, the crowd was on his side, and he got away with the prank.
With so many hundreds of people coming in and out of it, our house at Sannerz began to look rather
A Joyful Pilgrimage Beginning at Sannerz
shabby. One day the landlord came and demanded that we repaint it. Naturally we had no money for such a project, though Hans-in-Luck and another guest said they would do the work if we would buy the paint. And
do the work they did, though not quite as we might have imagined it. Downstairs in the front hall they painted a huge picture of a rising sun, and of someone ringing a bell: "Bim, bam, bom; Spring of the nations, come!" On the staircase wall a mural emerged: the whole household dancing and skipping after Eberhard, who led them gaily onward and upward. Everyone found a caricature of himself – even the geese had not been forgotten! On another wall was painted the melody of the song: "Let our hearts be always happy," and around the notes were children dancing. Hans-in-Luck was still adding the finishing touches as some well-todo visitors arrived, looked at his painting, and asked him in astonishment, "Where are you from?" "From a lunatic asylum," came the cheerful reply.
Many years later, in a book about resistance to the Third Reich, we read that Hans-in-Luck had been imprisoned by his brother, then Mayor of Munich, and tortured for his beliefs in future world peace. After the war I wrote to acquaintances in Munich in an effort to trace him, but I was not able to learn anything. It seems our dear friend had disappeared, having suffered the
A Joyful Pilgrimage Beginning at Sannerz
same fate as so many others who raised their voices in protest during that dark time.
Something that always struck me about the first years at Sannerz was the way men and women who had
lost all faith as a result of war and revolution were able to experience the Creator through their contact with nature. Outdoors, in the blowing of the wind, in the beautiful countryside, and in the simple life of shared work and leisure, they experienced the reality of the Spirit, which brings God close to us. For many this led to a newfound faith in Christ, though there were just as many of our guests who refused to have anything to do with religion.
All sorts of unusual people came to visit us: there was the opera singer who sang to us for a whole evening, and the family who turned up, each dressed like a different wildflower. All they would say was, "We come from the woods; we live in the woods; we return to the woods." Some of our vegetarian visitors were so fanatic that they would eat nothing but raw vegetables or fully ripened fruit. One certain young man decided he could not, in good conscience, eat anything at all, and ended up dying of starvation.
Sometimes tramps visited us, tipsy, but attracted by the communal music-making and singing. Everyone was welcome, and we tried to concern ourselves with each who came. This was how Karl Gail landed up with
A Joyful Pilgrimage Beginning at Sannerz
us one day – drunk, but very much taken with what he saw and experienced. "I cannot stay with you," he said; "I am a wicked man…" In the days that followed Karl told us the whole sad story of his life as an alcoholic,
and the roots of his great need. Luckily we were able to encourage him to stay on at Sannerz, which he did, though every few months he would lapse into his old ways and leave. When he came home, completely drunk and lamenting that he was not worthy of us, he would ask our forgiveness and promise, once again, to mend his ways. This went on for years, until Hitler came to power, after which Karl left for good. Sadly we never heard from him again.
All in all, our life in community was a joyful one, driven by our expectation of a new future. This was especially so during the first two years. Each day together was an occasion for festivities, and we never missed a chance to celebrate. When we bought a cow or a goat, for instance, we decorated it with wreaths of wildflowers and led it through the village, singing together. It was the same with our work: Whether we had finally picked all the rocks from a newly-rented field, or finished hoeing the beans, peas, and potatoes; whether we had preserved the last of the autumn fruit or brought in an especially good harvest of
A Joyful Pilgrimage Beginning at Sannerz
vegetables – each completed task was an opportunity for fun and fellowship. Everybody joined in, even those who were overburdened with work in the office because of the many books we brought out in those first years.
Often people from the village were invited too.
Among the books we prepared for publication during this time were a collection of Tolstoy's letters; Joan Mary Fry's Sacrament of Life in German translation; Goldschmidt's Die Rassenfrage (a book on racism); Zinzendorf's Vom Glauben und Leben (On Faith and Life); Blumhardt's Vom Reich Gottes (The Kingdom of God); and Die Nachfolge Christi (Discipleship of Christ). There was also Junge Saat: Lebensbuch einer Jugendbewegung (Young Seed: Life-Book of a Youth Movement), an anthology edited by Eberhard Arnold and Normann Körber; Georg Flemmig's Dorfgedanken (Village Musings) and Hausbacken Brot (Homemade Bread); and Legenden, a little book of legends. In addition, we put out the journal Das neue Werk every month.
When I think back to those days, I feel it was a foretaste of what we can expect in a much greater and more perfect measure in the future. The thought makes me shiver, but I feel a deep joy and thankfulness for it too. Something of eternity was living among us;
A Joyful Pilgrimage Beginning at Sannerz
something that made us forget the limits of time and space.
Now and again miracles, as one might call them, occurred. It is difficult to speak about these events,
for they came about quite simply and unobtrusively. Demonic powers retreated right in our meetings; sick people became well again, almost unnoticed; other things happened that cannot be humanly explained. We did not regard such occurrences as being unusual, however – they seemed a natural part of God's working among us. A short time before he died, Eberhard said to me, "God gave us much, but he would have given much more if we had had more strength." Yes, it all happened in spite of us – in spite of our insufficiencies and incapabilities.
All of our special holidays – Advent, Christmas, Easter, and Whitsun – were celebrated communally, and their meaning stayed with us throughout the year, not only on specific dates. During Advent each year we rehearsed a Christmas play together, and then took it from village to village. Conditions were primitive. Dressing rooms were unheated even though it was winter; and the halls we used (which we decorated with fragrant spruce branches) were rarely heated beforehand, if at all. If there was a stove, we had to
A Joyful Pilgrimage Beginning at Sannerz
fetch the firewood from the forest ourselves. We never charged for admission. We remembered Jesus' words, "Freely you have received, freely give." All the same, we placed an empty sack at the door, and into this our
audience – almost all poor peasants – put anything they could afford to give: eggs, a cut of ham, sausage, or a loaf of bread. After walking home through the deep snow, we prepared a meal from these gifts –a rare feast indeed.
One beautiful Christmas Eve tradition was our walk into the forest on Albing Mountain. There, in a sheltered spot, we stood in a circle around a small, candle-lit spruce and sang one carol after another. After the Christmas story was read, each of us took a candle from the tree and made a procession down the slope, protecting our candles from the wind as we walked. If someone's flame died, it was rekindled by another's – a symbol of the mutual love and help we strove for in our daily life.
Each year old songs were rediscovered and added to our repertoire; I particularly loved Martin Luther's chorale, "Now be Thou praised, O Christ Jesu" with the verse:
Eternal light doth now appear
To the world both far and near;
At darkest midnight it shines bright,
And makes us children of His light.
A Joyful Pilgrimage Beginning at Sannerz
When sung in Bach's arrangement, it sounded to me like the music of the spheres. There was also the old hymn, "Come, give now to Christ all honor." When Eberhard suggested that one at the end of a meeting,
he would take my arm and lead us singing through the house. Otto Salomon's "Lo, a light is in the East" and Eberhard's "Christmas night, O night of nights" were written in those days. The latter expressed the essence of our longing: "Make us poor, just as thou wert, Jesus; poor through thy great love!"
It was in one of those first years that we held our first silent nativity scene. Eberhard was Joseph; I represented Mary and held a bundle with a bright light inside. Children dressed as angels stood around us, each with a candle; then came shepherds, kings, and a throng of onlookers bowing in homage.
In later years, our silent crib scene became a central part of our celebration, taking place in a cattle stall or other simple shed, and often being the only gathering we had on Christmas Eve. The sharing of presents with its accompanying merriment and childlike joy was saved for Christmas Day itself.
One December we learned a simple drama based on the parable of the ten virgins, and played it in several of the surrounding villages. At each performance the audience was gripped by its serious message – and we were too. Rehearsals were like worship meetings.
A Joyful Pilgrimage Beginning at Sannerz
Though normally we avoided religious language and pious talk, we could not do so now; nor did we want to, for the lines in this play were expressions of genuine reverence. Not only the adults but also our children
were sensitive during our practices. As we realized in later years, they took in the significance of much that went on, even though they may not have understood it.
Naturally the children (including those underprivileged ones we had taken into our house) also produced their own little plays, and did so wholeheartedly. In the same way they were very fond of their own favorite childlike Christmas songs.
Holy Week was another special time for us, as we gathered inwardly to consider the events of two thousand years ago. On Holy Thursday we usually prepared a kid (we could not afford lamb) for our evening meal; then we sang many songs about Jesus' last hours on this earth. Good Friday was generally observed in silence – it was a day for each individual to think on the meaning of Christ's death – though we did read the story of the crucifixion aloud at a meeting in the morning. On Saturday we assembled in silence to remember Jesus' burial. Often we sang only one song:
Oh sadness, oh suffering of heart,
Shall we not lament?
A Joyful Pilgrimage Beginning at Sannerz
God the Father's only child
Is carried to the grave.
Oh greatest need,
God himself is dead.
On the cross he died,
Thus gaining for us
The kingdom of heaven
By his love.
Easter Sunday was a day of joyful celebration: evil, sin, separation, and death had been overcome through the resurrection of Christ! Often we climbed up to the Weiperz Cross before daybreak, at three o'clock in the morning. Here a fire had been prepared the day before. After it was lit, we walked around it, slowly and silently. Sometimes this or that one might briefly express what was on his heart. At the rising of the sun we sang many beautiful songs, and then the Easter story was read aloud from the one of the Gospels.
Our Easter meetings were very deep meetings. Our youngest children were often present, but they were hardly ever a disturbance –they were so absorbed in the experience. Guests were also with us, especially young men and women from the youth movement. Because of their reverence for "that which lies behind
A Joyful Pilgrimage Beginning at Sannerz
it," as they themselves put it, they rarely disturbed our meetings in any way. Yes, often they jumped through the fire with us, singly or in pairs, after the flames had died down. This re-discovered tradition was a language
not of words, but of action, and it came out of an inner experience. There had been too many spoken words in times past!
Whitsuntide was "our" feast more than any other: after all, it was the spirit of Pentecost and the first church in Jerusalem that had inspired us to go this way of life. Not that we wanted to imitate anything. This cannot be done in any case, for what is of the Spirit should never be copied. Yet it is as impossible to found a church by oneself – without the Spirit, that is – as to marry without a partner. And hadn't it been at the unforgettable Whitsun conference of 1920 in Schlüchtern that we had experienced such an outpouring of new energy and love?
At Whitsun 1921 we held a conference in Sannerz; our theme was the way of love and its freedom. During these days we were led together especially deeply by reading the First Letter of John. Early in the morning, before breakfast, we climbed the Albing Mountain with our musical instruments. We wanted to be led and strengthened for the day ahead by the words of the apostle of love!
A Joyful Pilgrimage Beginning at Sannerz
There was, of course, the usual mix of elements. One morning during the conference, Max SchulzeSölde, a guest, stepped into our meeting and implored the spirit to fall down upon us from the beech leaves
above. "What are you saying?" someone cried out. "Is that the spirit we want to come over us?" There was considerable unrest among all those present, and Eberhard, who was not the main speaker, quietly led Max away. Soon, however, we were able to continue our common seeking undisturbed.
Early morning meetings at Sannerz had a deep meaning for us, and not just at conferences. Anyone who was at peace with God and his brothers and sisters could take part; those who were not stayed away. At that time we wore rings: women and girls a silver headband and the men an open ring on their finger. Both symbolized our belonging to an open circle. The idea had come from Georg Flemmig's "early church" movement in nearby Schlüchtern, a group we felt very close to in those days. As with our meetings, anyone who felt disunited from the rest of our circle did not wear the ring or band.
The genuineness of the form, as it comes into being through unity, through the feeling of being one, was very important for our communal life, whether it concerned our meetings and meals, our products (i.e. books, crafts, and furniture), or our clothes. We always
A Joyful Pilgrimage Beginning at Sannerz
preferred the simplest and plainest. Our goal was not dullness, though – far from it. Whenever possible, we used the bold colors of the rainbow which, when blended, create the white color of light. Everything had
its inner significance.
During the summer of 1921 we had dozens of guests from the working class. Many of them challenged us to live even more simply – to give up everything that was not absolutely necessary – for the sake of love for the poor. Eberhard and I had known of the Swiss religious socialist Hermann Kutter since 1912, when we had read his books, and we had tried to live more simply since then. But we did not realize how "bourgeois" we still appeared to the poorest of the poor, and we were grateful for their efforts to help us continue on the way we had chosen.
Among those who visited us that summer were Theo Spira, a writer influenced by early Quakerism, and Martin Buber, the well-known Jewish philosopher. Martin Buber happened to come just on the day that Suse Hungar was to be baptized (Heinrich Euler, a Baptist friend from the youth movement, was visiting us and had agreed to perform the baptism at the spring in our woods). Unfortunately she could not be persuaded to wait, and as a result we were absent with
A Joyful Pilgrimage Beginning at Sannerz
the whole household on the morning of his arrival – a situation that I am sure did not help our relationship with him.
Another time the writer Eugen Jäckh, a friend
of Christoph Friedrich Blumhardt, came for a visit. Moved by the spirit he experienced among us, he said it reminded him of the parish of Bad Boll in Blumhardt's time, and mourned that it was "no longer like that there now." Eugen had compiled two volumes of writings by Blumhardt, and it was during this visit that Eberhard made plans to publish them.
Both father and son Blumhardt played an important role in our circle, and their expectation of God's kingdom gave us new enthusiasm every time we read their words. We were especially attentive to the elder Blumhardt's descriptions of healings in his parish – not only from physical sickness, but also from demonic possession – for we had similar experiences. But above all, our longing was directed toward the future kingdom, when love and justice will rule over the whole world, indeed, the whole universe.
The Swiss pastor Leonhard Ragaz, who gave up his professorship because of his love for the working class, also influenced us a great deal at that time. We read many of his articles in our inner meetings and were deeply gripped and shaken by their message. I still vividly remember his words on faithfulness and on
A Joyful Pilgrimage Beginning at Sannerz
what it means to follow Christ. Unfortunately Leonhard was never able to visit us, but Eberhard corresponded with him regularly.
It was similar with Kees Boeke, a friend and fellow
seeker in Holland. Though wealthy when they married, Kees and his wife Betty (formerly Cadbury, of British chocolate fame) had felt called to give their possessions to the poor and to live in community, and after World War I they had started a "brotherhood house" in Bilthoven.
I had met Kees during the winter of 1920–1921, when he came to Sannerz with several delegates of the Fellowship of Reconciliation for talks with us about the "new life." Others who took part were Oliver Dryer from England, John Nevin Sayre from America, and Henri Rosier from France; there may have been others too. These meetings were our first since the war with representatives of "enemy" nations, and they filled us with courage and hope for the future. Here were men who shared our dream of building up a new world – a new age in a new spirit of reconciliation.
Another important visit was that of Rudolf Koch. A famous graphic designer and calligrapher, Rudolf was also a man with a vision for the future, and he took an active part in the movements of the time. Just in the days he was staying with us, the house was full to overflowing with guests, and we decided it was finally
A Joyful Pilgrimage Beginning at Sannerz
time to write up a set of guidelines for visitors. Rudolf wrote these out in his bold, beautiful script, and we fixed the sheet to the dining room wall.
House rule or no, we tried to be as generous as
possible. As a favorite rhyme of ours from those years went: "Ten were invited, but twenty came. Add water to the soup, and greet them all the same!" Speaking of food, our cooking was the simplest fare imaginable. I myself spent very little time in the kitchen because of the many guests, and most of the young women who came were either factory workers, typists, or teachers, or else members of well‑to‑do homes.
On top of that, it sometimes happened that the cook (though we did not have anyone who could really be called that!) was found sitting outside, painting or writing poetry while the potatoes boiled over, the wood fire went out, or the soup burned. Nobody worried about it too much; in fact, such things were usually laughed off:
Cook, what have you for dinner tonight?
Noodles again? Oh thunder and blight!
Burned were they by roaring flame;
Cook, tell us, is this not a shame?
Noodles burned so crisp and black
Are hardly fit for dog or cat.
A Joyful Pilgrimage Beginning at Sannerz
Yes, we grown-ups did not lose too much sleep over these things –we had not exactly been spoiled during the previous years of war and revolution. I only found it hard at times on account of the children. In addition
to our own, we had taken in several from extremely poor conditions, some of them no more than one or two years old, and not one of them was well nourished. Amazingly, some of our guests could not understand that these children needed better food than we adults. One asked me, "Why should the children have milk and eggs instead of herrings, beans, and dried peas as we grown-ups do? Don't we want to share everything?"
In the first year at Sannerz, aside from Eberhard and myself (and aside from our hundreds of guests), there were five others who belonged to our original circle: my sister Else, Otto Salomon, Eva Oehlke, Suse Hungar, and Gertrud Cordes. Together we were known, half jokingly, as "the holy seven." We were a fighting band, in the process of growth, and we talked over everything, worked out everything together. But we were not so close-knit as to have committed ourselves to each other for life, as members of our community do now.
Toward the end of 1921 our household grew rapidly, perhaps too rapidly. Of those who had been our guests and helpers during the summer, a considerable
A Joyful Pilgrimage Beginning at Sannerz
number – more than forty – stayed on to spend the winter with us. Because of dry weather and our lack of experience, the harvest was poor that year, but our publishing venture was doing well, and we used
all the labor we could for that. Otto Salomon worked there, as did Fritz Schloss, Else Böhme (who came from the Furche Publishing House), Lotte Scriba, Hedwig Buxbaum, Eva Oehlke, and of course Else and Eberhard, who worked together primarily on the magazine Das neue Werk. All told, it was quite a crew working in the three front rooms of the ground floor. Nearly every day someone had to go to the printers in Schlüchtern (a walk of one-and-a-half hours) – we were so busy turning out new books and articles.
Meanwhile the farmwork was expanding too, and Eberhard invited an old friend to help us with it. When he arrived with his young wife, it turned out that though he was a very nice young man, a true idealist for our cause, he hardly knew anything about agriculture. First, he arranged for the villagers to remove our manure heap free of charge, because it was "such an eyesore." Naturally, the farmers in the village were delighted – though horrified at such ignorance. Then he fetched whole cartloads of beanpoles from a nearby forest, which belonged to the wealthy owner of a nearby castle, and proudly exclaimed, "We'll soon have the Baroness's whole forest down." If only he had
A Joyful Pilgrimage Beginning at Sannerz
remembered to plant the beans! Sometimes he would sit under the cow, with his big horn‑rimmed glasses, trying to milk and compose poetry at the same time, to the great amusement of the villagers. Needless to say
none of this made for much confidence in our farming methods.
Our educational work went better. Suse Hungar, the Salvation Army woman who had come with us from Berlin, was a trained teacher; so was Gertrud Dalgas (later Hüssy), who joined us in October 1921. Trudi, as she was called, had been a young teacher in Frankfurt and heard Eberhard speak in the adult education center (Volksschulheim) there, after which she attended our Whitsun conference, gave up her job, and came to work with us, full of energy and joy.
On the same day that Trudi arrived, my sister Moni joined us. She was working as a midwife in Halle at the time, and came at first simply because she "enjoyed our way of life." Soon she decided to stay for good. My eldest sister, Olga, and her adopted daughter, Ruth, who was seven years old, also lived with us during the summer of 1921. (Olga later moved on, but Ruth stayed for good.)
Here I want to tell about the wedding of Gertrud Cordes, a member of our circle and the daughter of a wealthy businessman, and Hermann Thoböll, a young medical doctor. The wedding was not at Sannerz, but
A Joyful Pilgrimage Beginning at Sannerz
Eberhard and I were invited to it, for we were friends of her parents and had often been guests at their country residence in the first years of our marriage.
Gertrud and Hermann wanted their marriage to be
celebrated in the youth movement style; they did not want a "bourgeois" church wedding, a bridal veil, the traditional German myrtle wreath, and so on. Both sets of parents had everything prepared for an uppermiddle-class wedding, however, and went ahead and bought a formal coat with tails for Hermann, and a long wedding gown for Gertrud. On the day of the wedding, the bridegroom appeared in a bright green tunic and shorts, and the bride in a simple white peasant dress with a garland of red clover in her hair. Instead of a procession, we followed the couple into a meadow, singing as we went, and sat down in a circle on the grass.
Eberhard was to perform the ceremony in the manner of the Quakers and of the youth movement. I no longer remember what he read or said, but it had something to do with love and faithfulness, and the meaning of the true church. Afterward Judge Thoböll, Hermann's father, demanded an official marriage certificate, so Heinrich Schultheis, a pastor and friend who attended the wedding with Eberhard and me, wrote one out.
A Joyful Pilgrimage Beginning at Sannerz
Toward the end of 1921, so many people had come to live with us that we had to find an additional source of income. We thought of basketry, needlework, knitting – anything that might bring in something
extra. As we considered our financial situation, it became apparent that not everyone saw the importance of our mission in the same light. For example, some wondered whether we should really be taking in needy children when we were barely able to support our own. But what else could we do? We had not asked for children –they had simply been brought to us!
During this time a second couple – Heinrich and Elisabeth Schultheis – came to us with their two small girls. Heinrich, a very outspoken pastor from Gelnhaar, had left his position because of his radical views; he no longer felt he could remain in the church. (Elisabeth, on the other hand, was middle‑class in outlook and attempted to continue her accustomed lifestyle in our midst, which created more than a few tensions.)
After Christmas we concerned ourselves with the Letter to the Romans, especially chapter eight, where Paul writes about the victory of the Spirit. It was during our meetings on this theme that Otto Salomon, one of our original circle of seven, questioned our direction as a community for the first time. "How can we testify