The day dawned bright and clear on the mid-August morning, and as the horses churned up the dust in the quiet country lane, it was evident that the day which was waking would be humid. The heat had scorched the grass to a pale yellow, and as the battered boards of the bridge clattered under the carriage wheels, everyone noticed that the creek bed was dry. Summer had taken its toll. But it had been a pleasant drive. The Illinois countryside was ablaze with splotches of color, while birds conversed in sweet melody. The beauty of God's creation was everywhere.

The carriage turned west onto a better-beaten road, and its occupants immediately were stricken with the realization that they were not alone. The church-yard was filled with horses and carriages, wagons of all descriptions, children running and playing, and groups of men huddling in small clusters in obviously avid discussion. Inside the small brick meeting-house, all was a bustle of confusion. Relatives and friends who had not met for many years were recalling old times, and others were vainly seeking an unoccupied seat.

The rural congregation had come a long way since the days of old. Men of the stature of John Storm, who could be correctly called the father of Sand Creek Church, had first trod the path of righteousness in the untamed land. Tobias Grider, who had striven earnestly in the vineyard of the Lord as a frontier evangelist, lay a hundred yards west, his spirit returned to its Maker. Bushrod Washington Henry, whose long, flowing white beard must have been reminiscent of Elijah, tirelessly established new churches in the new land and was an original trustee of Eureka College. These men had labored valiantly to establish a foothold for the Lord among the newly settled inhabitants. The raw country was hard, and life was hard, and theirs was a hard religion to match. Often, denied the use of homes and barns in which to preach, the pioneers would retire to groves and riverbanks to exhort those who would listen toward a more perfect way. The men of God often were forced to travel from house to house, asking for work, and living hand-to-mouth and from day-to-day. Farm labor in the 1830's meant long hours of exhaustive toil from sunup to sunset, but these preachers were so filled with the Sprit that they did not hesitate to proclaim the word of God after the day was done. Popularity, security, riches and easy work did not appeal to them. Their task was to proclaim the gospel to an unsaved and ungrateful world, and they performed that task with gusto. Camp meetings drew thousands of settlers from many miles distant. The people became converted to God's Son, returned home and spread their new-found faith among their neighbors. Theirs was a burning faith; an out-reaching faith which was not content to remain locked in a shell. They were compelled to shout it out to all who would hear. The tears and sweat manifested itself in the steadfastness with which the church at Sand Creek held to the things of God. Since at least 1834, the poor people of the area had served their Master, perhaps imperfectly, perhaps ignorant of some fine doctrinal points, but always in the determination to do their best.

Now the little church was the proud parent of a half-dozen other congregations of Saints, all looking to Sand Creek as the benefactor of their faith. Preaching points had been established through the years by Sand Creek, all of which had matured into separate units of the Body in their own right. A brick building had been constructed in 1874, bigger and better than the old log and frame meeting-houses of earlier days, situated on a small knoll amid oak and walnut trees. A small cemetery lay due west, hallowed with the graves of the immortal soldiers of God. There was an older cemetery a quarter-mile northwest, on the site of the original log house. Under its sod lay the mouldering remains of those who had gone before, those whose footsteps of righteousness first echoed in the unbelieving chasm of godlessness in the then-great West. Now they had gone home, and it remained for their successors to carry the torch which had been held high for so long. The younger generation was not indifferent to this challenge, as they believed their presence this day would attest.

It was a great day. For a decade and a half, protracted meetings had been held at the old church for the purpose of Christian fellowship. But this day held more in store. For today, with the building overflowing with humanity and more pouring in, would be the culmination of all the years of effort at Sand Creek. Little did the farmers who were assembling in this spot on the prairie realize that history would be made, and the Lord's church forever altered, by these activities. They had assembled to hear a man who was probably the most influential gospel preacher outside the South, whose name was to be spread far and wide, and whose name, like that of Sand Creek, would be praised or cursed by later generations for the events that transpired here this day. Daniel Sommer was coming.

Sommer was the rare type of man who appeared once in a lifetime before these humble folk. Abundantly blessed with the gift of nearly supernatural eloquence, he excelled in his ability to command the attention of his hearers and to draw upon the emotions of men, provoking tears, laughter, resentment or delight. His very bearing was awe-inspiring, and his composure under fire and adroitness in debate won the grudging respect of his adversaries. While this oracle of the common man was a mortal who erred and fell on occasion, as mortals will, he believed in his heart that his cause was just and his purpose true.

For several years the church in various parts of the country, including the midwest, had been faced with the dilemma of what to do about the increasing popularity of commercial festivities to secure funds, the use of a choir, the use of the missionary society to spread the Word, and the yet embryonic practice of employing Ministers to feed the local flock. The use of instrumental music in the worship had not yet become a major concern to either Sommer or the brethren assembled at Sand Creek. Some Christians were of the opinion that these points were simply matters of opinion and could be decided by the conscience of the individual, since "where there is no low there is no transgression." Others felt that the silence of the Holy Writ regarding these "innovations" justified their continued exclusion from the Christian church, pointing to the oft-quoted statement of Campbell: "Where the Bible speaks, we speak, and where the Bible is silent we are silent."

It was Sommer's contention that these practices over which so much wrangling would ensue were unwarranted by scripture and divisive in nature, and ought therefore to be avoided. Thus far, those brethren who had embraced such things were regarded as brethren, and no effort had yet been made on a grand scale to draw a line of demarcation between the two schools of thought. Views, however, were changing. It was apparent by 1889 that many Christians were ready and willing to separate themselves from those who had taken a tolerant stance on these questions. The Church of the Lord was to be purged of unclean and disreputable apostasy, even to the point of division. If the reprobates were disinclined to cast aside these "traditions of men" then the hand of Christian fellowship was to be withdrawn from them. Such a position as assumed by Sommer was not a new one by any means, but it did reflect a growing uneasiness in the ranks of the conservative brethren, and a general feeling that the time was ripe for a step toward making these "innovations" into tests of faith and fellowship.

What better place to proclaim this doctrine than Sand Creek? Born on the Illinois frontier, tested in the bleak years of hardship, tried in the difficult times when despair was so easy, and matured to the stature of a respected and praiseworthy mother of countless children of God, Sand Creek held the trust and the allegiance of congregations far distant. This simple country church was destined to be the proving ground for Sommer's idealism. It became the springboard for a new era in religious history. Here one segment of the brotherhood crossed its Rubicon, and from this, there was no return.

This August morning, it was clear that the meeting would of necessity be held out-of-doors. Those whose perseverance and luck had led them to the remaining empty seats in the sweltering building rose and streamed through the doors to the already-filled churchyard. Willowy wisps of heat danced off the grass, and the air was still. It seemed as though the entire county had elected to be present. The shade of the old trees was soon occupied, the less fortunate being forced to stand in the path of the blazing sun.

When the multitude became reasonably silent, Daniel Sommer stepped forward to address his audience. This Demosthenes of the Church was at his best with a gathering of this nature. His discourse on the evils of innovations in church affairs was thorough and lengthy. Stripping the issue to what he believed was the crux of the matter, he paraded before his hearers the divisive elements which had crept into the once-sanctified worship of the King of Heaven and bitterly denounced them as unfit for Christians to countenance. He insisted that to tolerate such practices was tantamount to turning the fruit of the noble efforts of the Restoration fathers back into Popery. He pleaded with his progressive brethren to abandon their attempts to introduce, and their laxity in allowing, such vices. Then came the climax; the moment of truth whose time Sommer had convinced had come. His voice booming like thunder from on high, he declared emphatically that if, after repeated warnings, congregations which had condoned money-raising festivals, choirs, missionary societies, and pastors did not renounce their headlong plunge into digression, then he and others "would no longer regard them as brethren."

The others to whom Sommer referred soon became apparent. The day before, representatives of area congregations had gathered at Sand Creek to witness and sign a document, constructed by Elder Peter P. Warren of Sand Creek, known as the "Address and Declaration." The reason for the name, which in more than one respect is the inverse of Thomas Campbell's "Declaration and Address," can only be surmised. Warren, himself an able and accomplished preacher of the Word, could claim to his credit the organizing of at least two other congregations. His father, Colonel Peter Warren, was a military leader of renown in the Black Hawk War of 1832, and served as a member of the Illinois Senate for eight years. The family was admired and respected in the community, which was a possible reason that Warren, an honest and honorable man of property, was selected to publicly present the Declaration.

The Declaration emphasized that inclusion in church life and worship of "things" for which a "thus saith the Lord" could not produced was wrong for the simple reason that God had not sanctioned them. Sommer and Warren presumed that the age of forgivable ignorance was over, and those who had accepted these practices were knowingly defiant of the wishes of the Deity, saying: "you that teach such things, and such like things and those who practice the same, must certainly know that they are not only not in harmony with the gospel, but are in opposition thereto." The assumption was, of course, that the reprobates were not sincere, were not honestly misguided, and were not searching diligently for the truth, but were deliberately thumbing their noses at God.

As if in an attempt to cover all the bases, the Declaration continued: "You will surely admit that it is safe, and only safe to teach and practice what the divine record enjoins upon the disciples." To be on sure ground then, it would be best to disallow practices which to some would be questionable, whether or not such practices are in reality wrong, than to inch ever outward on the proverbial limb.

This statement of faith was not intended to be either harsh or contentious. The motives of the men who had affixed their names thereto were pure and just., Malice to those with whom they differed was not the underlying feeling. But while the Declaration was written and presented in an atmosphere of good-will and Christian charity, these brethren would have been violating their consciences to have remained silent any longer: "You must allow us in kindness, and in Christian courtesy, and at the same time with firmness to declare that we can not tolerate the things of which we complain; for if we do, then we are (in a measure at least) blamable ourselves." The gentlemen were fearful lest by not speaking out, their silence would be construed by the Almighty as acquiescence in the misdeeds of others. This solemn warning closed with the assertion that they were "impelled from a sense of duty to say, that all such that are guilty of teaching, or allowing and practicing the many innovations and corruptions to which we have referred, that after being admonished, and having had sufficient time for reflection, that if they do not turn away from such abominations, that we can not and will not regard them as brethren."

Here was the new manifesto. Here was what later became the unofficial creed of a large and powerful group of congregations which adhered to the tenets of the Sand Creek Doctrine. This was to be the mainstay, and still is, of the brethren who believed that separation was the answer to the progressive tendency of others. No longer would unorthodox views and unacceptable practices be tolerated. No longer would the plea for unity be allowed to overshadow the growing cleavage between brethren. Apostasy and impurity would be eradicated, even at the expense of division, regardless of whether everyone agreed that the issues in question were impure of whether they were even worth the fuss. A wedge was to be driven into the widening breach which would forever part the warring camps. A willingness to split off from one's brethren to prove one's loyalty to the true church became prevalent. The core of the conservative movement would henceforth picture themselves as vanguards of the truth, ready and willing to defend the bulwarks of the church against the onslaughts of modernism, whatever the price.

What is more, it is ironic that the path being followed by the Sand Creek brethren under the name of the "Address and Declaration" was in some respects the opposite one trod by the Restoration fathers under the banner of the "Declaration and Address." While Stone and the Campbells fought for the unity of all believers as a means to achieve what the Lord demanded in His church, the Sand Creek Doctrine stated that henceforward, division among believers would be the means to weed out the unfit and to show just what the Lord's church really was. While the forebears of the movement advocated subordination of lesser doctrinal points to greater issues as a means to destroy the creedal mentality of the time, Sommer and Warren were convinced that the Sand Creek Declaration, in effect an unofficial creed, was needed to assure uniformity in detail while at the same time, many would argue, neglecting "the weightier matters of the law."

While these abstract topics were at the heart of what was done at Sand Creek on this summer day, the personal and human side of the problem should not be ignored. The Declaration had bluntly stated that fellowship was to be withdrawn from those with whom the conservatives could not agree. This meant, in practical terms, that lifelong friends could not worship together unless somebody relented. It meant that women who had spent mornings on the back porch snapping beans or putting up pickles together may never meet again in a house of worship. Men who had shucked corn and baled hay and swapped stories together for years would never share participation in a mutual worship service again. Children who had played and hunted and swam together would never again attend services with their friends because their parents could not agree on how to run the church. It meant that family ties would be strained to the breaking point, and that tears and heartbreak would ensue as a result of hurt feelings and injured pride. Never again would peace reign in the community. All attempts at communication and understanding and compromise was to be halted, never to be resumed again. It was simply finished; forgotten.

This is why it was so hard for many to take. Many of those at Sand Creek had not imagined that such an event would occur, and as the word spread into the community, there was a general feeling of shock and resentment. No one quite knew what to think. Stunned people shook their heads at the seemingly senseless civil war which now seemed imminent.

Some of those assembled at the country church felt a great sense of relief that the worst was now over. The long years of tension and uncertainty were past, and the issue was now into the open and cut-and-dried. Others believed that the worst was yet to come, and that once discussion and attempts at unity had been discarded, the body of Christ would be rent asunder in countless fragments. Some were elated at the news, while many gave vent to bitter tears.

Perhaps no one is certain why brethren divide. No doubt Satan smirks with glee as he views the cancer at work. Perhaps the dogged determination that "I am right" is so strong that it overrules other considerations such as love and concern for the feelings of others. No separation of the Lord's body is ever right, because on one side or the other, and usually on both, extremes have been reached; extremes of bitterness, opinion, and action. And the case at Sand Creek was no different, because that is just what it soon became: a "case." The children of God had decided to go to law with one another. No one thing cause it, although the break was precipitated by a disagreement over the property [sic--propriety?--akg] of holding a singing school in the building. The pot had been simmering for the years since 1889 to 1904, and was now boiling over.

In 1904, the two factions at Sand Creek took their case to the courts in order to retain control over the church property, since it was obvious that the two wings could never worship in harmony. One party in the suit rested its case on the assumption that the property at Sand Creek belonged to it because of the nature of the original deed. The deed, drawn in 1874 to the "trustees of the Christian Church at Sand Creek", had never been changed to reflect any other intention or design on the part of the membership. While many of its members referred to the congregation as the "Sand Creek Church of Christ," the deed still remained in the name of the "Christian faction," a fact upon which the "innovators" based their claim to the land and property.

The conservative brethren countered that although the deed was indeed given to the "Christian Church at Sand Creek," the property of right belonged to the "Church of Christ at Sand Creek." This claim was based on their contention that the "liberals" had departed from the original teachings of the movement as espoused by Stone, Smith, and the Campbells, and that they (those aligned with Sommer), composed the true entity at Sand Creek because of their adherence to orthodox doctrine. In other words, the progressives had moved to the theological left while the conservatives stayed just where they had always been.

The trial itself was both humorous and tragic. It eventually was brought before the Illinois Supreme Court, which decided for the conservative faction because of their adherence to first principles. The victors had studiously and tediously labored during the suit to present their doctrinal views in such a manner as to show that they were the nearest adherents to the original positions of the founding fathers It was upon this that the court based its decision.

But we need to remember, as these men had forgotten, that being right legally and being right in the sight of God are two different things not to be confused. Does God tolerate lawsuits between brethren? The Bible gives a resounding "No!" Some may say that the progressives were no longer brethren since they had departed from the truth. Then was a court case the most propitious manner in which to win them back? Could it not be better to yield a little and give up the building voluntarily, rather than undergo a fatricidal [sic} legal war? The Sand Creek brethren thought not. Their minds were so clouded by the inevitable personality clashes and emotional conflicts that it was difficult to see straight. Christians are human, and often allow emotion to stir the water when cooler heads and reason should prevail.

"Where is the spirit of Christian love?" the Methodists and Baptists must have been asking themselves. "Is a building to important as to cause so much strife?" The people at Sand Creek had given their answer in the affirmative.

The conservative movement of the brotherhood regarded the Sand Creek circus as a "test case" over which to attempt to influence other areas along the paths of righteousness. The progressives viewed it as highway robbery and an attempt to experiment with new and cunning methods of stealing their property. The Christian Standard suggested that it would be wise to remember that "the Sand Creek movement had its principal development in an unholy scramble for the title to church properties." The point of the ridiculous was soon reached with an account of Sommer and others entering a meeting-house through a window in order to take possession of it from the hands of the avowed majority which was progressive in opinion. The schismatic work was well on its way to fruition, that the body of the Lord would never be the same again. Other lawsuits appeared throughout the country in an effort by one faction or another to gain control of meeting-houses, bringing disrepute on the church in every community in which such fracases ensued. One is left to shake his head in amazement and wonder what Barton Stone would have thought.

So the old church with such a history had divided itself, each party to go forever its separate ways. The progressives eventually moved to town and numbered themselves among congregations there; the conservatives continued meeting at Sand Creek as they had done before, but with drastically reduced numbers. The body was there, but as the years wore on, it grew old and limp and haggard, and eventually breathed its last.

The wintry air of December was bitterly cold as it lashed through the naked limbs of the ancient oaks and bit fiercely into the timeless face of the stark marble and granite gravestones in the cemetery. They were all there--those who could not worship together in life had at last been united in death. Death is so viselike and final that one may wonder whether one should be allowed to live life over. But we cannot, and they could not. The deeds done by those buried in the frozen clay, whether good or evil, were unalterable. The unceasing gale whipped around the ivy vines that covered the front of the decrepit brick building and rattled the window panes which had once seen the smiles and laughter of children's faces. The concrete steps, worn with age, sagged from the countless feet of those who had once called this their spiritual home. There was frost around the edges of the windows, but through the center of the panes were visible the handmade wooden pews into which had gone so much love and care. The songbooks and Bibles lay as they had been left, now untouched and unused. No one could tell how many voiced had been raised in praise to the Maker from those books, or how many lives had been changed from the pages in the scriptures lying lonely and forgotten on the benches. The elders chairs in the front were empty and dust-covered, and the small table on which so many communion suppers had been shared was miserably abandoned. Even the "Amen corner" was forever stilled. The air was growing colder, for it was dusk, and the fog was thickening. The eerie feeling of being in a holy place began to set it, and it was time to go.

But one question was inescapable. What if? What if men could have been more Christlike and more loving? What if they had let peace reign in their hearts and in their lives/ Would the bitterness have been avoided and the old building be alive with praise and thanksgiving once more? Is such heartache and misery the natural order of things? Is it the destiny of man to spend a generation of building, only to see it destroyed by his successors? Perhaps there is a lesson to be learned from the experience at Sand Creek, and perhaps each Christian can apply this lesson to his own life to avoid a recurrence of such trauma.--18745 S. W. 316 Terr. Homestead, Fla. 33030.