The column walked briskly behind the cheerful lad, but none could avoid casting their eyes warily at the many blackbirds crowding the treetops above. The birds called to one another loudly, as if engaging in a morning’s conversation. They leapt from branch to branch, sometimes fluttering briefly upward or down. They preened and fluffed their feathers, content to be as much a part of Renwick as the long line of wool-clad folk now funneling to church beneath them.
The chapel was a simple log building set in a small clearing just beyond the village edge. It was the pathway to it, however, that caught the attention of all. It was covered in a heavy blanket of pine needles, making it soft and spongy. It was about two rods wide, its margins marked by round, rope-wrapped beehives. In the early morning mist, the hives appeared to be vacant. Curious, Otto leaned his ear to one and quickly retreated.
“They’re buzzing about inside!”
Their escort laughed. “Friends. They’d be our friends. Friar says they fly far for us. He says they find flowers in the meadows by the river and make honey for us.”
Pieter marveled. The double row of hives extended the entire length of the path—perhaps forty paces—and were spaced about two rods apart from one another.
“I count twenty,” he said slowly. His finger trembled as he counted them again. “Yes, yes, twenty. I’m sure of it.”
Frieda took the priest’s hand and let him lean on her as they walked forward. “Ja, Pieter. I count twenty as well. And look there! Other paths join the church from the right and the left. They, too, are lined with hives!” Indeed, the chapel was positioned in the very center of an intersection of paths that formed the shape of a cross.
As they neared the doorway, Friar Oswald greeted his guests. “Brother, you like our apiary?”
Pieter nodded. “Tis a marvel.”
“We sell honey far and wide. The river meadows are filled with flowers, and the glades in our forests have the same. To the east the mountains are cut by fertile valleys, and the bees swarm about those as well. But they are here for other reasons, too.” He smiled. “Now please join us.”
Friar Oswald walked through the small sanctuary, now filled to nearly overflowing with his beloved folk standing quietly before the simple altar. He read from the psalms, then a chapter from the Gospels. He turned to Pieter and invited the old man to pray. Pieter agreed and walked gingerly to the fore. A wave of giggles rolled through the folk, and the old man grinned. When he did so, his snaggletooth earned a few more chortles. They think I’m the one who’s strange! Pieter was delighted.
He raised his arms over the congregation. Seeing these broken outcasts now on bended knee and happily lifting their faces toward heaven moved the old man. A sudden wave of emotion washed over him and he began to weep. Oh, what the world might learn from these! “Brothers and sisters!” He choked on his words. “Brothers and sisters, rejoice! Rejoice I say, for blessed are the poor in spirit; theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are the meek, for they shall possess the land. Blessed are they that mourn; blessed are they that hunger; blessed are the merciful and the clean of heart. Blessed are the peacemakers and those that suffer persecution for justice’s sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.'Amen.”
The friar thanked Pieter with a bow, then continued the morning service. As it was Monday—the day of the week that the Church remembered the angels—Oswald proceeded to read passages from Genesis 32, from the first chapter of Luke, and Matthew 4. To the astonishment of his guests, he read in Latin and then translated into German.
“And,” he added, “they are sent to care for us, to teach us.” He read from Hebrews, the first chapter, fourteenth verse. “‘Are they not all ministering spirits, sent forth to minister for them who shall be heirs of salvation?’” The congregation clapped like happy children. They liked Mondays best of all.
Friar Oswald read a few more Scripture passages and then served as their priest, taking the Mass on their behalf. Finally, he dismissed his flock from the chapel with an admonishment to “fill the day with honest work.”
As the villagers scurried on their way, Oswald joined his guests. “You see, my new friends, these folk are not what others think them to be. They are earnest and honest; they serve one another selflessly. They work hard and without complaint. They are a community of brothers and sisters, drawn together in their common brokenness. From here, they serve a world that fears them—maybe even hates them. They are the church, dear pilgrims.”
“And why are they so hated?” asked Otto.