(Excerpt from Annals of Salem EV Kirche Supplement, pg. 314)
Every now and then Grover Singley calls—and when he does, the result usually is that he and I go out on some delightful little adventures. Grover is 74 and a retired landscape gardener, except that he’s busy ferreting out locales of history—like the other afternoon ...
Just a half mile south of Hwy. 100 on S. Robert Street are a set of rolling hills, through which winds a blacked-topped road called Old Salem—and if you turn to the left, you will come, shortly, to a tiny white church, set by the side of the road at the top of a shady slope that falls away to a little blue lake.
There is a modest sign in front: “Historic Shrine. Old Salem Evangelical United Brethren Church, built in 1875; Congregation organized in 1857.” Or if you can read German, you may prefer the words set on the arch over the door: “Salems Kirche des Evangelischen Gemeinschaft, 1875.”
This is the Minnesota beginning of that denomination and, if you walk between the stones in the cemetery next to the church, you will call the roll of those hearty farmers who lived and pioneered in the sight of the steeple and came there to worship. And it is like a picture postcard of rustic Americana to see it there—the church, the churchyard and the lake below.
But a man belongs in the picture. Without him you do not see it completely. He is standing there, near the door, as gnarled and sturdy as the massive old oak against which Christian J. Zehnder leans. Christian is 87 and the church is his mission in religion and life. About 1910, the Old Salem Church was closed to regular services. Grass and weeds grew up around the gravestones; church windows were shattered; dust covered the ancient pews and the altar. Only the church mice lived there.
“It was a sad thing to see,” says Christian. So, he decided to restore the church as a shrine. Son of Frederich Zehnder, and early member of the church and pioneer farmer, Christian had raised his family on the Old Salem Road homestead, too. Though he still rides a tractor through the heat of the summer days, Christian had time to devote to his church.
The fire of this enthusiasm kindled similar feelings among a small group of United Brethren churchmen. Together they hung the old kerosene lamps back on the ceiling; placed the original German Bible, dated 1873, on the altar, its pages worn by the thumbs of the pastors who turned to the gospel through thousands of sermons.
On the walls they hung pictures of the founding fathers of the church and at the rear was placed the old wood stove. Christian weeded the churchyard, cut the grass and each week trims its edges, mows the lawns and arranges bouquets on the graves, with special care reserved for those of his wife and parents.
Christian and his group persuaded the church officials to open the Old Salem Church once a year, usually in late spring, for a Founder’s Day Service. (The actual date was March 2, 1857.). Back again come descendants of original names: Gackstetter, Laschinger, Glassing, Schlukebier, Lick.
Former state tax commissioner G. Howard Spaeth’s father was a preacher there.
Looking to the future and remembering Christian’s age, you may worry about who will carry on in his stead. He quickly allays your fears. “I expect to live another 13 years—and make it an even 100,” he says. So, he will be there a long time yet to welcome visitors and translate for them the phrase on the wall behind the altar: “Heiligkeit ist die Zierde deines Hausesewiglich”— Christianity is the desire of my heart forever.”* Many have found it there on Old Salem Road—especially Christian Zehnder.
*A more literal translation would be “Holiness is the adornment of your house forever.”