A Pastoral Ministries
Retrospective 1739-1985 and 1985-2005
Hesston College
Pastoral Ministries
20th Anniversary, 1985-2005 Celebration
Water’s Edge Restaurant
October 29, 2005
by John E. Sharp
Daniel Henry Bender, Hesston’s first principal and president, was well traveled and well known. He preached in many congregations across the church. Bender took his turn filling the pulpit for a small, isolated congregation near Larned, Kansas, 100 miles west of Hesston. Pleasant View Mennonite Church had just finished a new building to replace one that had been struck by lightning and burned to the ground.
It was a Sunday evening in July 1912. Bender was finishing his sermon when the state-of-the-art carbide lights became exceptionally bright, then faded. Bender ended his sermon by suggesting they sing a familiar hymn, since using a hymnbook in the darkened meetinghouse was out of the question. The cooperative congregation of about 30 began to sing. They sang the first two words, “Blessed assurance,” but “Jesus is mine, oh what a foretaste of glory divine” was replaced by a “terrific explosion!” The pulpit and the heat register rocketed to the ceiling. The top of the furnace shot up through the floor and struck the ceiling. Floorboards were torn up, and benches landed in a “jumbled mass,” some having hit the ceiling, too. What had been the center aisle was now a gap filled with flaming fire. The doors were blown off their hinges and sent spiraling across the parking lot, and the roof was literally raised. On its decent, the pulpit caught Bender’s shoulder before returning to its approximate place on the floor.1
Pastors--PM graduates, well trained in “select competencies,” included--are sometimes called upon to handle explosive situations in their congregations, and sometimes in the process, the roof may be raised, but normally...these are just figures of speech.
The calling of pastors has changed dramatically during the last century. Before the 1940s, pastors were not sent to school to prepare, to develop select competencies, to practice preaching. Spiritual formation, nurture, calling, and practicing all happened in the congregation. Ministers, deacons, and bishops were chosen from the congregation by lot. And then, to use the common phrase, the congregation “made a minister.” There were no Ministerial Leadership Information forms, no congregational profiles, no search committees, and no trial sermons.
What were the qualifications? The most important prerequisite was a reluctant spirit. Jacob N. Brubacher, who for nearly 50 years was the powerful moderator of the largest conference in the Old Mennonite Church, wrote, “Great care was exercised and anxious prayers were offered, invoking divine guidance and God’s blessing in providing teachers and housekeepers in God’s house. A reluctant and submissive will to be ordained to the sacred office of minister or deacon, but especially of bishop, was at all times much approved of in the church but an aspiration to these offices was always unpleasant...”2
In the spirit of reluctance, candidates tried to escape the lot. If an ordination was imminent, likely candidates would sometimes feel an urgent call to transfer their membership to another congregation, well-stocked with ministers (full bench) to avoid being hit by the lot. On more than one occasion, a surprised candidate, having just heard the bishop announce that he was in the lot, demonstrated his reluctance by running for the door. In one case, alert men of the congregation caught him at the door and pulled him back in while he in desperation kicked and clung to the doorframe. In another case, the reluctant but unsubmissive candidate was faster. He got to his horse and galloped off down the road to Tarshish. Just as quickly, a pastoral search committee was formed and commissioned to retrieve Jonah. The congregation was patient and waited. Eventually, the gun-shy candidate was retrieved, and seated at the bench facing the table. He picked the book with the lot, and was ordained a minister of the gospel.
Immigrant Peter Risser (1713-1804), who settled in Pennsylvania in 1739, may have been the longest serving Mennonite minister of all time. He was ordained in his mid-twenties and lived to age 91. He admitted to his family that a strong motivation for migrating was to escape the lot back in Switzerland. 3
In 1892, a young Franconia Mennonite (Abraham Leatherman of Plumstead) wrote to publisher John Funk in Elkhart to ask about how a Mennonite could get some further education. Funk’s response showed that Funk understood Franconia Mennonites perfectly: Using the up and coming leader, M.S. Steiner, Funk wrote, “belongs to the Old Mennonite Church and is a good solid member, and holds very closely to the doctrine. He is studying Bible doctrine, but not for the ministry, unless God should sometime call him to that work. You know in our church the ministers are chosen by lot, so a man cannot study for the ministry, but he can study to know the Bible and when he knows the Bible he will be able to preach if ever called to do so. Steiner...is in the theological department, because he can go there cheaper than in any other....”4 Who could be critical? He was frugal.
Academic training and preaching classes were still a long way off. When the lot fell on 35-year-old farmer Sam Detweiler, he could not read, let alone preach. “When he made his first attempt to preach, in the Franconia meetinghouse, no words came. He stood in the pulpit paging through the Bible, tears running down his cheeks, until he finally said, ‘I give it up,’ and sat down.... Sam could have used the Hesston College Pastoral Ministries Program. But, in the place of a PM Program, his wife, Annie, taught him to read and two decades later he was ordained bishop. 5
Howard Wagler was way ahead of Sam Detweiler. After writing his first sermon and sharing it with his teacher and mentor, Phil Bedsworth, Phil said: "Howard, you've put a lot of good work into this... there's a page in here that's good, but it may be best suited for another sermon." Howard chuckled, knowing his mentor was trying to be very kind and gentle.
Joseph Gehman was ordained June 19, 1843, at Bowmansville Mennonite Church, East Earl, Pa. “Hardly able to preach at all, he could say little more, people remembered, than “Thut Busse (repent).” As a decade went by with no change in his preaching, someone finally observed to him, ‘We would be ready to hear a little something more.’ His reply, according to the local story, was, “Du mohl sell, noh sag’ ich euch meh” (“do that once, then I’ll tell you more”). Finally in 1855, he was allowed at his own request and with the unanimous vote of the congregation to serve in the deacon’s office instead.”6
Jospeh Gehman could have profited from the Hesston College goal of developing competent communicators, “able to construct and deliver a clear, well-organized, audience-centered message...and who is able to tell the biblical story and its primary themes, articulate the Anabaptist biblical hermeneutic, apply the biblical message to contemporary themes, state one's faith relative to the Bible, and to act in accordance to one's faith.” Still most of these pastors served the church faithfully and well, giving everything they had to give.
Fast forwarding to the 20th century, it was Ken Livengood's turn to
deliver in preaching class, and he was really on. After a while into
the sermon, Howard Keim lowered his evaluation pad to the bench and
simply listened. During the feedback, after Ken's message, Howard said,
as Ruben Chupp remembered it, "I don't have anything to tell you.
You're a better preacher than I am."
And then it was Darrell Jobson's turn to preach. He was the
only single person in our class and the least concerned about
grades. Preaching class convened at 9:00 a.m. At 8:30, Darrell
realized that he was one of the preachers for the morning.
Rather than passing, he preached for 20 minutes on Oneeeeeeeeeeeesimus
(Onesimus), wandering around on the platform, waving his Bible,
using a lot of verbiage, but saying absolutely nothing of substance.
The back of Howard's neck began to redden while the rest of
us were about to tumble into the aisle from laughter. Finally,
Howard saw the futility of getting upset with Darrell and,
as with Ken, put his evaluation form on the bench and rode
along with the rest of us, Ruben Chupp recalled, to Darrell's
less-than-distinguished conclusion.
Bishop Daniel Brundage, who moved from Indiana in 1868, retired to Indiana in 1889, organized congregations in Kansas, and the Missouri-Iowa Conference, and the Kansas-Nebraska Conference. “He was a circuit rider of the prairies,” using a homemade two-wheeled cart hitched to “his old gray Charlie.” It was a matter of conscience for “Old Father Brundage.” Some brothers in the church thought their venerable old bishop deserved more comfort and offered him a more comfortable “road wagon,” but he refused it. It “would be too wordly!” More at home with German, we would on occasion, preach in English. At the Pennsylvania church near Hesston one Sunday he preached on the permanence of the Bible, assuring his hearers that “Not one tit or jottle shall pass away.”7
Duane Yoder had the habit of getting lecturing and preaching mixed up. Often he would begin class seated on the desk. As he got more intense (Duane Yoder, intense?), his gestures became larger. Next he would stand. Finally, he would pace and preach. As he progressed, we would look at each other and ask "Is he preaching yet?" When Duane arrived at the last stage of animation, class comments would assert that "Now he's preaching." And then Ruben and his classmates would add their loud and hearty amens.
At the core of the PM Program are spiritual formation, the cultivation of a “beloved identity,” and spiritual direction.
One student reflected with some emotion about what Marion Bontrager
taught him about piety, prayer, and humility. He wrote, “On one
particular occasion, Marion modeled for me in a most unforgettable way
what it means for the servant of the Lord to be on his knees prior
to a significant event. Marion was scheduled to meet me in the racquetball
court for an unprecedented match of skill, agility, and passive Mennonite
competition. This was Marion's opportunity to release 47 years of pent-up,
stuffed-up, repressed and pressed down and shaken together, non-aggression.
Growing up Amish, and teaching Peacemaking and Justice since the Macabean
revolt of 142 B.C.E. takes its toll-if you know what I mean.
“Well, I didn't think it was that big of a deal. I thought it
was just another game of racquetball. So I went to the court
and waited and waited and waited. I expected Marion to come
walking into the court, take off his hat, go over to the wall,
and hang it up on the hook that wasn't there, and then bang
the ball around with me for awhile. But he didn't show up.
“So I thought, well maybe he is in the locker room, I'll check
there before I leave. Sure enough! As I walked into the locker
room there he was. He was in a most humble position. He was
on his knees and his backside was projecting toward the heavens.
Prostrate and calling on his God! I said, "Marion, it's
not that big a deal. I have only played the game twice. I'm
not very good. Prayer isn't necessary before you play me in
this game.
“And then he said, ’Allen Rutter, you don't understand! I can't remember the combination for the lock on the locker. Last year, Henry Wiens and I played racquetball all the time. I kept forgetting my combination, and so I wrote it down underneath one of these benches. It's gotta be somewhere! Get on your knees and help me find it.’”
That’s practical theology combined with personal piety, and surely an illustration of the objective of the Faith and Discipleship class, to pray with depth of concern.
Ken Livingood must have been a student who redefined “non-traditional.” His class was competitive at basketball, and a fellow student, Ruben Chupp, remembered Ken as “the most unorthodox among us: wearing black dress socks, Hawaiian shirts, and old man's pants. He looked like a plate full of spoiled food. Besides that, he could jump all of two inches, and his favorite defensive move was to pull down our shorts as we went by him on the way to the basket.”
I think Clayton Freed Derstine, Grace Brunner’s dad, would have been a match for Ken Livengood. I would love to see the two of them matching wits and swapping stories. C.F. was eloquent, perhaps the most gifted speaker in Mennonite memory. He was also resourceful with a great sense of humor. C.F. Derstine’s first wife, Gertrude, died at 36, leaving him with three daughters. Occasionally he took the girls along on a preaching assignment, with his younger brother, Lloyd, to care for the girls. So it was when C.F. went to Eastern Mennonite School. He was preaching in Assembly Hall on top of the hill. His car and his girls, under Lloyd’s supervision, was in view of the pulpit. Out of the corner of his eye, C.F. saw that the car with the girls inside had begun rolling down the hill. He stopped mid-sentence and, without a word of explanation, he bounded to the nearest open window, went through it, pursued the coasting car and rescued his girls. When the job was done, C.F. returned as he had gone, through the window, to finish the sentence and his sermon.” 8
The PM curriculum requires 21 hours of biblical and theological studies.
Glenn Coblentz remembered the time his class was not in agreement with one of the books that was to be used in Intro to the Old Testament. He recalled that “it was a blue book from Walter Brugamann, I believe it was titled, Introduction to the Old Testament. Part of the discussion centered on his view of higher criticism." We told the Bible department that if they didn't pull the book, we would hold a book burning in front of the ad building and have the Gospel Herald there to photograph it.
So much for the Hesston College goal of developing critical thinkers, “able to analyze data and events in a thoughtful and logical manner, draw warranted, judicious, and non-fallacious conclusions, and make decisions and solve problems based on evidence and reason.”
But Glenn continues. “What I remember so well about the incident
that stands out in my mind is that all of the profs in the Bible/PM
program met with us and we had a discussion about it. The book was
pulled from the class, but ironically I learned a lot from that discussion
that I have used many times in the pastorate, and sometimes I wish
we had used the book.
“It was through times like those mentioned above that I was
shaped and prepared for the past 13 1/2 years that I have been
at Longenecker. There was so much caring and concern about
us as students and love of the church and growing God's kingdom
that I cherish so much. As the years have gone by, there have
been follow-up visits and care that I cherish as well.”
It’s the relationships with the instructors that are most cherished. Those relationships were built in class and out of class. Another student remembered that “The first semester in Hesston was by far the loneliest for us, especially as Christmas approached. One Sunday there was a knock on the door. On the porch stood the Keim family singing "Give us some figgy pudding." They came bearing a small gift, asking how we were doing. The question,” said Ruben Chupp, “was the greatest gift of all.”
Then he added, “Memorizing Isaiah 43:1-3, 5 for first year Spiritual Formation Class is a text that has continued to pay dividends for me. When life is difficult, I have that text pocketed away in my cognitive trousers for recitation and surety.”
Phil Bedsworth gave Howard Wagler a laminated card with a verse from Deut 31...’Be strong and bold. The Lord goes before you. He will be with you. He will not fail you. Do not fear. Do not be dismayed.’ On the backside of the card, he wrote a note: "Howard, you have the gift of speaking the truth in love, exercise that gift freely." Howard, do you still have the card?
I suspect Hesston College president, Milo Kauffman, didn’t have such a card in his pocket when he was accosted in Chicago. Milo went to the city to visit the Fricks, his parents-in-law. As he walked from the train station to the Frick home, he was held up at gunpoint. Only then did the perpetrator see Milo’s plain coat. He quickly apologized by saying, “I’m so sorry, Father, I didn’t see it was you.” President Milo, ever the teacher, scolded him, saying, “You know you shouldn’t be doing this anyhow.” 9
And that story reminds me of another Mennonite bureaucrat--a bishop and a seminary professor--who was on his way from Goshen to Scottdale, when sure enough, on the infamous Ohio Turnpike he was stopped for speeding. As the officer--obviously Catholic, as you’ll soon see--approached the car, he noticed for the first time the plain coat of the driver. Very quickly the officer, not sure whether he had committed a mortal or venal sin in the line of duty, repented. He said, “Oh, I’m sorry, Father, I didn’t see it was you.” Not one to spurn God-given opportunities, the diminutive, plain-suited, J.C. Wenger extended absolution. “That’s okay,” he said, “you are forgiven.” And to conclude this delightful story using biblical language, “And he continued on his journey.”
But the plain coat didn’t come easily. George R. Brunk, I, made it his mission to get neckties off and plain coats on. He must have been especially pleased when Hesston College founder, business manager and bishop, T. M. Erb saw the light, and, as he wrote in his diary, “I threw devil into the furnace today.” When Brunk had accomplished his mission in this region, he moved to Denbiygh, Va., to make the East plain.
S.F. (Samuel Fred) Coffman, an Ontario colleague of C.F. Derstine, normally wore a string bow tie. Eventually he stopped wearing it. When asked why, he replied that some brethren in the U.S. complained about it. Sometime later these concerned brethren queried S.F. hoping to confirm a change of heart that reflected his omission of the tie. With a twinkle in his eye, he said he stopped wearing his tie, “Because it was choking you brethren to death!” 10
With the wit of S.F. Coffman, the persistence of George Brunk, the humor of J.C. Wenger, the courage of Milo Kauffman, the resourcefulness of C.F. Derstine, the humility of Joseph Gehman, the vulnerability of D.H. Bender...you, the PM faculty, past and present, have shaped and reshaped the lives of your students. You have taught with integrity, dedication, imagination, passion, and compassion. You have given many students the best two years of their lives.
Over 250 Hesston College graduates are now serving in some form of pastoral ministry. And 111 Pastoral Ministries students have graduated. One hundred eleven graduates. They started here. Now they are everywhere.
Footnotes
1 D. H. Bender, “Addenda to A Brief Sketch of my Life,” 1945,
and Paul Erb, South Central Frontiers, 1974, p. 206
2 Noah H. Mack, His Life and Times, 1861-1948, 46.
3 John L. Ruth, The Earth is the Lords, 230.
4 John L. Ruth, Maintaining the Right Fellowship, 1984, 408.
5 John L. Ruth, Maintaining the Right Fellowship, 1984, 362.
6 John L. Ruth, The Earth is the Lord’s, 518.
7 Paul Erb, South Central Pioneers, p. 224.
8 Urie Bender, Four Earthen Vessels, 200.
9 Paul Friesen conversation, Hesston, Kan., 10-19-03.
10 Urie Bender, Four Earthen Vessels, 181.