The first rays of sun light just began to bathe the high meadow where the little band of travelers had stopped to rest. Rosina huddled in the shelter of a great boulder at the meadow’s edge, the wind whipping through the grass and alpine flowers around her feet. Tugging on the blanket draped across her shoulder, she shielded the face of her baby daughter against the cold. It was July, but the morning gusts were still raw this high in the mountains. Her husband David was at her side and their six-year-old son stood between them, snuggling in the folds of her coat to protect his face.
There were ten in their party, including four small children, led by a guide named Christian David. This was not the first time he had traveled these rocky mountain passes. Christian David had led other groups on this trek from Moravia, across the Carpathian Mountains into Saxony. Like the others, these were religious refugees longing for a place where they could practice their faith in peace and safety.
David and Rosina pulled their children close as they looked back along the steep trail that they had just climbed. In the distance, they could see the little market hamlet of Zuchtenthal. The town had been their home and the home of their families for generations. Unlike most who lived there, they were property owners and took part in governing the town. Yes, their family had held a high station in the community, but they also held a secret. They were members of an outlawed group, Protestants called The Unity of Brethren. Moravia was part of the Holy Roman Empire; their property and their freedom would have been lost if their true beliefs had been known. Now they knew that they could never return.
David and Rosina looked at each other, then turned toward the mountain pass ahead of them. As David lifted the bag with their few remaining belongings to his shoulder, he prayed that God would somehow keep his family safe as they continued their journey. Somewhere, across those mountains was Saxony and the estate of Count named Zinzendorf. They had been told that other Brethren had built a new village there called Herrnhut, or “Lords Watch”, where they could live in peace and worship the way they desired.
Six-year-old David Zeisberger, the third generation in his family to carry that name, pulled his face from the folds of his mother’s coat and strained to see Zuchtenthal somewhere in the distance. Still confused and unsure why his family had left the only home he had ever known, he only knew that his life would never be the same. He also knew that he would never forget that moonless night, in 1726, when his mother woke him from his warm bed and the family rushed off into the cold darkness.
-Written by Seth Angel, Frys Valley Moravian Church
