We left Ody's farmstead
and climbed a gravel road into the hills to a little church, a little wooden church that a lot of people put time and money into restoring, the Tonset Historic Church. It sits up in the hills overlooking Ody's farmstead, nestled in the rough ground, buffetted by the unrelenting winds. The church is named after one in Tonset, Norway, which is where many of the settlers in the area migrated from. Sam Thomas and Ody Berg are a couple of those who have been involved in the church's restoration.
Those working to restore the church got it into pretty good shape, then the steeple was struck by lightning. The church started on fire and was partially destroyed. The work of restoration had to be begun again. The steeple was rebuilt. Fire charred the door between the narthex at the back and the nave, and I'm told that Preservation North Dakota, which helped fund the restoration, advised those making repairs to leave the charred door as is, because the fire was part of the church's story, and people should be able to read the story in the structure itself.
It is a wooden pioneer structure, painted white on the outside to be bright against any drab day, to be a mark of hope against the darkness, something to stand solid against the wind. On the inside, the pews and aisles shine with the touch of many people sitting, praying, walking - lubricated with community, you might say.
Simple wood encloses this place where God's people reach for heaven. It takes the embrace of only a little wood to suggest that we are holy animals, and that we would reach beyond the stars. The frame of the Tonset Historic Church is such an embrace of wood. Stepping into the church, your heart goes quiet. There is more here, in this place, in the holy moment, than a man can understand completely. It is as if you are holding your breath, and you must continue to hold your breath until you are back outside; it has to do with the idea of God, and with the reality of a community coming together here in supplication.
We stepped back outside and faced the hard wind. We went around to the other side of the building, to the door down into the basement. Isn't it always in the basement, far away from the peak of the church's reach for the heavens, that we recognize how short our time is in this old world, how fragile the community is that makes a congregation, how quickly wood and stone want to come apart. It is at the foundation of things that one sees the beginning and the end. Those who love this old church hold onto it tight, yet a North Dakota wind blows and keeps blowing. This is the west, remember, where wind is not the wind but another name for eternity. Sometimes I think that, in the end, it is useless for us to resist. We know there is always a chance of the lightning strike and fire, but wind is the sure certainty.
To be continued....
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