"What we have heard and known, what our fathers have told us,
we will not hide them from their children; we will tell the next
generation the praiseworthy deeds of the Lord, His power,
and the wonders He has done, so the next generation would
know them, even the children yet to be born, and they in turn
would tell their children. Then they would put their trust in
God and would not forget His deeds but would keep His commands."

Psalm 78: 3, 4, 6 and 7

This scripture is printed on the front of a small book published to commemorate the 150th anniversary (1840-1990) of the "Gereformeerde Kerk, Winschoten," the Reformed Church my family attended during my youth. (Winschoten is a small city located in the north of Holland.) My brother, Cees, during the months before he died (September, 2002), stipulated that some of his books be given to me. This booklet was one of them.

Our association with this church spans about 30 years - from about 1930 to 1960. I was but a child when the war started. Still, vivid memories remain. I was at home sick one Sunday morning when the Germans surrounded the church hoping to nab able-bodied boys and men, many of whom had refused to register for compulsory labour service in German war factories When Mom and Dad and the others came home, I heard what had happened. Our pastor, dominee Jan Hommes, had swiftly reacted to a pre-arranged signal from Mr. Ploeger, our caretaker, who always sat in the back of the church. He knew the Germans were up to something, and they were after our pastor. Dominee Hommes literally sailed from the very high pulpit - jumping about eight feet to the floor - and swiftly made his way out of the church. He climbed over a fence and escaped through back alleys. The men inside the church scattered all over the church, hiding inside the organ, and inside the tower. Some even climbed into the small space between the very high roof and the ceiling of the church. The Germans grabbed my brother Cees and he was loaded into a truck with others. You can imagine how the de Jong family felt when they came home. Exactly what happened to Cees I'll probably never know. All I know is that he escaped from a barge loaded with peat. Had he been hiding on that barge, or had the Germans commandeered it? One thing I know, Cees never went to Germany.

The Gereformeerde Kerk was our spiritual home for many years. Here God's Word was preached every Sunday. Personally, I will never forget Dominee Hommes who also taught the catechism to us. I remember famous guest preachers, like certain Kampen professors, including Prof. Zuidema and Prof. Brillenburg-Wurth. This was also the church where brother Herman and I often made music. See story: "Concert in Winschoten."

The congregation of our church was made up of people from all walks of life. I for one sensed the class distinctions which were being observed. There were the rich and wealthy, many of whom had reserved seats. Then there was the large, gray middle class, which included small business people, those who had learned a trade, as well as teachers and "ambtenaren," like civil servants and office personnel. The de Jong family was most assuredly middle class. And then there were the poor, the diaconal cases. We knew very little about them, but, in those years, Winschoten had many, many poor. There were areas in our city one never dared to go. The word "Zandpad"(sandy path) evoked fears in us little boys that even today I remember! At the end of our "nette" (neat) Acacialaan, where mostly middle class people resided, was another street where certain people dwelt in some of the most miserable homes known in Winschoten.

We never - I mean, Never - came close to those homes. And, yet, some of those homes displayed typical Dutch cleanliness, with neat, white curtains. And the people, although shabby, were friendly and kind. Did God's church in Winschoten reach them? Did the Gereformeerde Kerk, to name just one, pay attention and even care for them?

We, as kids, knew very little about the history of our church. I guess we never thought about it. No one told us anything. We just did our thing: go to church twice each Sunday, go to catechism, go to a boys club ("Knapenvereniging") and then to a Young Men's Society ("Jongelingsvereniging" or simply J.V.). We discussed difficult doctrinal subjects, ably led by outstanding young men. We took our turns making essays about e.g. an Article of the Belgic Confession, or something like that. And we discussed "sociale vraagstukken" (social questions). But did we know about the poor. Did we have compassion? Or was it mostly head knowledge for us?

The family Arends

Ah, but there is a story that shows that the Gereformeerde Kerk in Winschoten had heart.

I read it in the anniversary booklet referred to above. And it moved me deeply. It also made me feel proud. I now have a deeper attachment to the people who went before us. Praise God for the church leaders of those days!

The story was written by a woman, named G. Meijer - let's call her Greta - who, as a young girl, remembered an incident that must have affected many churchgoers. The story is about the family Arends. And now I will paraphrase Greta.

During the afternoon service, she wrote, we often had the sacrament of baptism. She wasn't too excited about those services. In those years - 1920s - the little children were not called forward to look lovingly at the baby (or babies).

And the reading of the form took forever. Greta remembered such phrases as "Thou who hast driven the obstinate Pharaoh and all his host in the Red Sea and led Thy people Israel through the midst of the sea upon dry ground," and the "aforesaid doctrine" in which the children were to be instructed. Greta did not know what "aforesaid" meant, but she never asked about it. It just belonged to baptism.

Still, she remembered one specific baptismal service, the memory of which never left her. She wrote that at that time there were certain street people who were well known to the population. In reality they were poor, pitiable human beings. They could be amusing, too, and they did not give anyone the impression that life was a great burden to them.

One of those was Jan Arends and he was blind. He and his family owned a little barrel organ which sat atop a little three-wheeled push cart. He and his little wife - Mrs. Arends - and their severely mentally-challenged son pushed the cart through Winschoten day after day. That's how they made a bit of money, probably their main source of income. In those years, Greta wrote, social assistance for the needy didn't exist.

She clearly remembered that trio coming through her street! Barrel organs, she wrote, usually produced happy, upbeat tunes, like the barrel organs in the larger Dutch cities. Bot not this one. As blind Jan turned the handle, this unassuming, small organ produced the most heartbreaking whining melodies, which left everyone in the vicinity sad and disconsolate. Greta wrote that Mrs. Arends then went around with her little cup collecting a cent, a nickel or a dime here and there. After a while, their son grabbed the handle of the cart, pushed off and moved to another spot.

Did "my" church in Winschoten care for people such as the Arends family?, thought Greta.. They certainly lived below the standards of normal, well-dressed people. And such people were usually never seen in "church," or were they?

But then something beautiful happened! Greta remembered clearly one afternoon when all three of the Arends family stood around the baptismal font in front of the congregation of the Gereformeerde Kerk in Winschoten. And they were baptized! Greta wrote: "That happened in our church. Can you believe it?"

She does not remember if there were other baptisms that afternoon. Also, she wondered if the Arends family had regularly attended the services. She assumed they had. And had they been instructed in the "aforesaid doctrine"? She did learn that Mrs. Arends became a professing member of the Winschoten congregation in May 1921.

All Greta remembered is that picture of the three standing in front of that massive pulpit in their touching defenselessness. Did they feel exposed to the curious, surprised looks of a quiet congregation. And...did they feel accepted by a loving heartwarming communion of the saints? Greta wrote: "I hope so!"

She rejoiced that blind Jan and his family - such utterly poor, raggedly-dressed people - could belong to her church. She couldn't believe it!

She remembered the discussion she had with her wise mother. Her mother said she had done profession of faith, because she loved the Lord and wanted to confess that before God and His people. Greta's mother explained that Jesus came to this earth especially for the poor and meek - people like the Arends family - who do not know where to go with their life and their sins.

"What we have heard and known...".