Vilhelm Moberg - The Settlers

The hen outside cackled ever more lustily. Kristina turned in her seat; it sounded as if the obnoxious creature had made up her mind to drown the minister’s voice! Had ever a pastor endured such a hen cackle during a sermon?

Kristina was grateful for the new egg, but if she could have imagined that the critter would have made so much noise for the sake of an egg, she would have locked the hen in the barn before they began. What must the minister think? He was so kind, he wouldn’t reprimand her for not keeping her feathered livestock under control.

He continued his sermon, without appearing in the least disturbed by the critter, and none of the other listeners paid any attention to the hen. But now the cackling was right outside the door. The hen was accustomed to come here for food when the door was open. And the door was open now. . If the hen should come tripping into the room. . Once she had flown up on the table — suppose the beast repeated that maneuver! What would they do? It would reflect on them. Oh, if that shameless creature would only stay outside. .!

The service continued, and the hen did not come in, God be praised. And it seemed no one except Kristina had heard its cackling. Soon she too was able to close her ears to the bird’s chatter and entirely immerse herself in the minister’s words.

In the cabin it was as still as if everyone had stopped breathing; no noise or sound in the whole world could disturb this, the settlers’ service, in Karl Oskar’s and Kristina’s home. And soon the communion would begin, and they would sit down at their own table and receive Christ’s flesh and blood, which would lift the three-years burden of their sins. Today they were guests in their own house.

— 5—

“Kneel and read after me the confession of your sins!”

Twelve people knelt around the table. Twelve had gathered around Jesus at the first supper, and Pastor Törner had seen a deep significance in the fact that the number of guests here was the same as it had been at the institution of the Sacrament: Christ’s Church would be built here in the wilderness.

The minister read the confession. The kneeling men, women, and children each read after him in his or her own way, some loudly and openly, some in low and mumbling voices. Child voices repeated the words clearly, vibrantly; thick male voices halted and stammered:

“. . and I have in all my days — from my childhood, even until this moment — many and bitter sins committed. .”

The communion guests knelt on the floor, their hands folded over their breasts, their heads bowed. Married couples knelt side by side, and children next to their parents. It was crowded for the twelve around the table, but no one pushed for space; they pressed their arms close to their bodies, kneeling in a circle around the table. It was intensely warm outside, and with the crowding it began to grow hot inside. Drops of perspiration appeared on foreheads and cheeks. A breath of wind from the door felt blissfully cool. From the outside no more sounds were heard from two-legged or four-legged livestock. But in the midst of the confession, suddenly lusty child laughter reached them from the yard.

“. . thine holy words I have often neglected and avoided. .”

Some were behind in their reading, and the young minister repeated the words slowly, so that the stragglers would catch up.

One of the participants needed no one to read the words for him — Danjel Andreasson. He knew the confession word for word, and he knelt there on the floor as if reading to himself, as if he were alone in the cabin. Thousands of times he had repeated these confessional words, both aloud for others and silently for himself, and each syllable was familiar to his tongue.

At a sound from the door, Danjel turned his head. But it was only the wind stirring. Did he expect some other caller? At his last communion, in the old country, he himself had distributed the holy sacrament, and it had taken place in the night, in his own home, because he had been denied the sacrament by the clergy. And while he had been thus occupied, a noise had been heard at the door. He had gone to open it, and in had come the dean and the sheriff, who forcefully had scattered the guests at the Lord’s table. All had been fined or imprisoned, he himself exiled. When he confessed his sins in Sweden he violated law and authority.

Danjel Andreasson was exiled from his homeland, but not from the Kingdom of God.

And now he was here in the new land which the Lord had promised him. He need not now fear any disturbers of the peace. Here no worldly authority would interfere with their gathering. What he heard from the door was only the cool summer wind which blew over the grass and the trees. It was not the noise of a sheriff, not the hard, commanding voice of authority, silencing the voice of conscience in the name of the law, writing ordinances for people’s souls. It was the Lord’s own voice Danjel Andreasson heard in the sounds from outside — it was God’s free wind, blowing hither and yon over the earth of his new homeland.

Kristina was kneeling to the left of her uncle Danjel and to the right of her husband. Karl Oskar got mixed up in his confession, he read haltingly and fell behind. And Kristina herself found that in a few places she had forgotten the words. She caught herself making mistakes.

“. . I have had lust to evil: I have been vain; I have sought the wicked and sinfull world. . I have been greedy, covetous, short in compassion, gluttonous. .”

With tense breath and trembling lips she enumerated all the sins and transgressions she had committed. While repeating the words after the minister, she was overwhelmed by the multitude of her wrongdoings. Contrition overtook her, repentance burned in her breast. But only through repentance could she become worthy of participation in this sacrament. And while she repeated the confession, and her lips moved, she prayed a wordless prayer within her: “O Lord, give me repentance. .! Help me repent enough. .!”

Karl Oskar’s bowed head was close to hers. His face was quite unlike itself today; it was hard and solemn, severe and closed. Had he repented enough, did he repent deeply enough now, was he worthy? She would have liked to whisper to him: You must not confess your sins with your lips only! You must not enumerate them the way you reel off the chores you’ve performed, at the end of each day! You must confess from your heart! You must feel forced to do it! Unable to refuse! You must feel your sin burden as so heavy that you’re unable to struggle another step without forgiveness! You must be consumed with hunger for the bread, thirst for the wine, yearning for forgiveness!

“Whosoever eateth of this bread and drinketh from this cup, he receiveth the Lord’s body and blood. .”

You must repent, Karl Oskar, repent, repent, repent! You who receiveth. . but I myself. .? Do I repent sufficiently. .?

“My grievous and many sins press me hard and are like unto a burden too heavy. .”

Kristina’s limbs began to tremble. Her knees began to shake as she held them bent against the floorboards. For a moment she was on the verge of falling forward. Perhaps her hearts repentance was not complete. Perhaps it was not sufficient to kneel at the Lord’s altar. Perhaps she should bend still lower, feel greater humiliation, throw her face against the ground, lay herself at the Lord’s feet, become dust and ashes under the Creator’s tread. .

The confession was over. The floorboards began to sway under her.

“Show thy Grace to me, wretched sinner that I am, and receive thy dear son Jesus Christ’s innocent suffering and death as a full payment for all my sins!”

The minister asked, “Do you ask with a repentant heart the forgiveness of your sins?”