The Faith of Our Fathers

By Jan Mueller

The Craigsfield Community Church stands amid the scenic hills just outside of a small Vermont town. It has been a source of history, beauty, and nostalgia to area residents for over a century. To passersby, the church appears to have changed little over the years. But if one could look beyond the white clapboard exterior and through the ornate stained glass windows, he or she would see the real changes that have occurred over timethose that lay hidden in the hearts and lives of the church members.

Alone with his thoughts as he worked at the church one Sunday afternoon, lifelong member and caretaker, Stan Williams, has a startling encounter with an unusual stranger. The visitor reveals important information to him about the history of the church, along with a warning about the direction the church is now taking. Stan is shone evidence of the strong moral convictions once held by the founding members, along with their vision for the church, all of which have been forgotten over the years by its congregation. His remarkable experience becomes the catalyst for a chain of events that could greatly impact his future and the future of the church. He will soon find, however, that there are challenges and obstacles to be faced as he reveals what he had learned to the congregation. In time Stan will also come to discover other important information about his own ancestry.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Mar 17, 2016
• ISBN: 9781512731545

Jan Mueller

Jan Mueller’s experiences growing up in a small, traditional protestant church helped her to form the basis for this story. She serves as a Sunday school teacher and church soloist and enjoys writing poetry and stories, as well as having written and directed several plays at her church. Jan and her husband are the proud parents of four grown sons and reside in upstate New York.

Book preview

The

Faith

of Our

Fathers

Jan Mueller

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Copyright

© 2016 Jan Mueller.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Scripture taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.westbowpress.com

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-5127-3155-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5127-3156-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5127-3154-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016902696

WestBow Press rev. date: 5/17/2016

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Epilogue

This book is dedicated to the glory of God and to all of the precious people who have influenced me on my Christian walk. Special thanks to my husband, who worked patiently with me in preparing the book for publishing.

Awake thou that sleepest, and arise

from the dead, and Christ shall give thee light.

—Ephesians 5:14b

Prologue

The steps we take on the road of life have been trodden before by countless generations of people, most of whom have given little thought to those who have gone before them or those who will follow after them. Even more so in today’s fast-paced society, we seem to have become stuck in the here and now, living only for the moment, rarely considering the struggles, sorrows, toils, and triumphs of our ancestors. But aside from different fashions and today’s technology, our ancestors were people just like us; they worked and played, laughed and wept. They walked on the same ground, beheld the same sun, moon, and stars, and breathed the same air as we do. Like us, their senses were alive to love and hatred, good and evil, anger and tranquility.

As the psalmist wrote, however, All flesh is as grass … for the wind passes over it and it is gone. And the place thereof shall know it no more. One by one, each person passes from this world, along with all of his or her plans, desires, and ambitions. Many hope to leave behind a legacy for which they will be remembered. For some, it is a testimonial or memorial of some kind, representing acts of bravery, charity, or benevolence. Others leave behind a song, a work of art, an invention, or a book. But they all leave behind memories, both good and bad, in the hearts and minds of those who knew them. Still with time, all that they were and accomplished is slowly forgotten, and the memory of them gradually wears away, fading like the writing on their gravestones.

Yet what if they could speak to us from the grave? What could we learn from their experiences? What words of encouragement, rebuke, or advice would they give to us? Would they be proud to see their legacies living on in us, or would they shake their heads in grief and disappointment at seeing what we’ve become? Perhaps we should each stop to ponder the reality that we too will one day be as they are now, and someone else will inevitably stand in our place.

Chapter 1

The October sun was streaming through the stained-glass windows, scattering an aura of colors throughout the sanctuary, as Stan Williams tidied up after the Sunday service. A devout lifelong member, he also had been the historic church’s main sexton for the last twelve years, taking pride in keeping the little church, as he would say; shipshape.

The First Community Church of Craigsfield, Vermont, had stood on this scenic hill, overlooking the valley and town below, for 140 years. The white wooden structure, planked with clapboards and freshly painted, looked like one of many other old meetinghouses of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries that were scattered around the New England countryside. It was more decorative than some, having seven arched, beautifully crafted stained-glass windows and an open-arched belfry, topped with a spire. This church maintained, however, a simple yet elegant charm. Its location, a perfect lookout spot nestled in a lovely country setting, had, over the years, drawn country folk and city folk alike to its services.

The large bronze bell, which had called the people to worship for many years, had fallen into disrepair. It hung idle in the belfry now, having not been used since the 1970s. Instead, an electronic chime system had been installed that tolled the hour at various times of the day and, played hymns on Sunday mornings and special occasions.

On the hill behind the building stretched several grassy acres, where the church’s cemetery was located. Its occupants were mostly former members of the congregation and their families, a few of whom had been buried before the church building was even completed. Many of the older headstones were weather-worn, and some were crooked. Others had nearly fallen over from the movement of the earth and tree roots that grew, oblivious to them. Still, in spite of the aging cemetery, the church and the parklike grounds surrounding it were a delightful bit of nostalgia for area residents and passing tourists. Except for a few modern homes sprinkled throughout the area, the farming community that surrounded the church property had changed very little since the Craig family came over from Scotland and settled here almost two hundred years earlier.

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Stanley R. Williams, or Stan, as his family and friends knew him, was thinking about his family as he straightened up after the morning church service was over. His wife, Jean, had caught a ride home with some friends, knowing it would be a while before he would finish. He thought back to the conversation he had with their daughter Anne that morning before church. It concerned him that a comment he had made, stating that Anne’s new job was interfering with her church attendance, had started an argument.

Couldn’t you just ask your supervisor if you could have every Sunday off and maybe work an extra evening or after school? he had asked her, trying not to sound critical.

Not really—not unless I want to risk getting fired. Besides, didn’t you tell Mom that you were staying after church today to do some cleaning? Why is that okay? It’s still a Sunday, isn’t it?

Yes, but at least I can attend the service first and work afterward. Besides, what I do at the church is … well, the Lord’s work.

I don’t see what difference that makes, she had muttered angrily as she stormed out the door."

I guess, in some ways, she has a point, he thought. Stan had always been a conscientious worker and normally finished his work at the church on Saturday. But he and Jean had been out of town and didn’t return until late Saturday night. He believed in keeping Sunday as a church-and-family day, but with his busy schedule—not only working as a church sexton but also an English teacher at the high school—he occasionally made an exception and would get caught up after church service.

His thoughts turned to the pleasant visit he and Jean just had in Manchester with their other daughter, Michelle. She and her longtime sweetheart, Greg, were recently married and had just settled into their new home there. It was less than a two-hour drive away, but to Jean, a concerned and dedicated mother, it seemed very far away. Today, Stan was looking forward to a restful afternoon after he finished at the church, as well as taking Jean and Anne out for dinner that evening.

Besides their two daughters, Stan and Jean had a son, John, who had just begun his first year at Boston University one month earlier. Anne, who was now sixteen, was the only child still living at home. Jean had felt somewhat depressed lately, having first dealt with their elder daughter’s moving away