Oostburg CRC - iv

 

Now, slowly, we’re coming back to Oostburg, a town healthily located between the tracks of the new railroad and the commerce of the lakeshore. It’s 1868, and there’s some significant foment among the godly because there are those who want to leave the Dutch Reformed churches—Oostburg and Gibbsville. Why?

I don’t know. If anyone were to try to discover the specific reasons, they’d have to read consistory minutes (they’re in Dutch), but then, trust me, ancient consistory minutes are generally filled with motions, not emotions.  

We do know that these men, 150 years ago, attended the very first meeting of the group who would eventually begin what we know today as the Oostburg Christian Reformed Church.

Why there was another denomination is easier to answer, although the reasons—more than 150 years later—may not be altogether convincing and had nothing to do, as I’m sure most of you know, with Christian education.

The birth of the Christian Reformed Church in America occurred in 1857, and, as historians generally agree, had specific causes: in worship, singing only from a collection of hymns, 800 to be exact; the importance of close communion--the body and blood (bread and wine) is only for the elect; regular--each Sabbath--preaching the catechism. Undoubtedly, there were more specifics, but these were biggies.

Perhaps the best, and quickest, way of understanding the birth of the CRC is by way of a summary given by Classis Holland way back in 1857.

    But if I may, let me speculate a little here, too. The True Dutch Reformed Church began by original immigrants more theologically conservative than their neighbors. My great-great grandfather, who was in all likelihood among ‘em, didn’t stay. By the time my Grandma Dirkse was born--his granddaughter, she was in the Reformed Church.

Thus, I’m going out on a limb here, but I’m guessing that the 1868 True Dutch Reformed Church, which became the Oostburg CRC was made up of the most conservative community members, theologically and ethnically, from the Town of Holland, often, but not always, the most recent immigrants from the Netherlands.

Just for a fun, let’s attend a funeral in Holland, NE, a place where Oostburg-ians homesteaded and created yet another Dutch colony. The furors that arose in their church life—and they never had a Christian Reformed Church—was turmoil over what may well seem like incidental issues. For instance, when funerals were moved into the church (and out of the home), there was a huge fight over whether or not putting dead bodies in the House of the Lord was right and proper and scriptural. Lasted for years, in fact, and sent some people packing. Quaint? Odd? Weird? Stupid?

That issue—the dead in the church—was the very first issue to come before the fledgling synod of the CRC.

There’s more. Way back when, if Christian Reformed grave diggers covered the sand they’d dug from graves with sod, they were blasted for their “wicked hiding of death’s horror.”

As long as she’s up there, let’s stay with funerals. When a CRC woman insisted on putting flowers on her dearly departed spouse’s casket, her church accused her of “worldliness.” 

In one congregation elders prompted a brawl by starting the process of church discipline against those who purchased fire insurance—for questioning the will of God. Another group nearly split over the question of whether or not elders when reading a sermon could stand behind the pulpit or a reading desk.

Some felt the wearing of a mustache was sinful. In another early CRC congregation, a young man was called before the church elders for whistling because someone thought whistling was signaling the devil.

It’s a part of our history that’s undeniably human. Often enough, truth and love go to war.