A place for reverence and reflection on loss and healing, violence and peace: Young adults visit Antietam

By Allison Snyder

Antietam is the second Civil War battlefield that I’ve visited, the other is Gettysburg. Both times, I have found it both peaceful and disquieting how naturally stunning the locations are.

It is an unrealistic expectation that the impact of the most violent single day of the Civil War, that left 23,000 dead, wounded, or missing, should have left scars behind, but the damage of the battle at Antietam had healed for the most part. All that remained was a picturesque swath of greenness and a smattering of cannons, memorials, and a weighty, historical presence. Nature, when left to its own devices and allowed to resurrect itself, acted remarkably, healing the marks of these battles. We regret the history that created such a naturally preserved space but there is something almost soothing in the vibrant lush greenness (https://home.nps.gov/anti/index.htm, National Park Service: US Department of the Interior).

Amid this stunning green at Antietam sits a little white church building atop a hill. Its look and structure are plain but despite that, it is one of the most recognizable battlefield structures in the US. The Mumma Meetinghouse, otherwise known as the Dunker Church of Antietam, was one of the first buildings participants from the recent Young Adult Conference saw as we entered Antietam National Battlefield, before even reaching the visitor’s center.

As we left the center following a documentary (which is a really good resource), the narrations of James Earl Jones and battle reenactments ringing in our ears, we were caught in a brief but heavy rain. Running for the cars, we made the short drive to the Dunker meetinghouse. Once inside, we settled into pews as National Park rangers and re-enactors introduced us to the building, reciting the histories and Brethren practices we were all familiar with, and providing context on the initial start of the battle and where those first engagements and charges came (portions of this information are available on the BHLA Facebook page at www.facebook.com/BrethrenHistoricalLibraryandArchives).

*The Mumma Meetinghouse, otherwise known as the Dunker Church of Antietam. Photo by Allison Snyder*

The interior reflected the plain early model of the Old German Baptist Brethren architecture, complete with separate doors, no pulpit, and bare pews. It helped us imagine what it was like on Sept. 14, 1862, as elders David Long and Daniel Wolf preached from the front table, the Antietam Bible before them (taken by Union corporal Nathan F. Dykeman after the battle and returned 40 years later with help from John T. Lewis, see September Mourn by Alann Schmidt and Terry Barkley, 2018, Savas Beatie LLC, pp. 53-54). Later that day, the sound of cannons was heard, and smoke was seen from the fighting on South Mountain. As we sat in the pews, I heard a rumble of thunder that sounded a bit too like a cannon, and it brought another layer of realism to the immersive experience (September Mourn, pp. 38-39).

*Young Adult Conference participants at the Dunker meetinghouse at Antietam. Photo by Allison Snyder*

During the Sept. 17, 1862, battle, the Mumma Meetinghouse became a focal point, “something akin to a lighthouse shining brightly through a raging storm at sea” (September Mourn, pp. 32). The stark white walls stood out against the backdrop of the West Woods and among the early morning fog and smoke on that day as the building became central to three major Union attacks. Perhaps the surety of the structure provided comfort in the midst of carnage (September Mourn, p. 31).

Some of the fiercest fighting of the entire war began in D.R. Miller’s cornfield (suspected but unconfirmed Dunker) and continued in the East and West Woods as Union general George McClellan’s Army of the Potomac sought to break through general Robert E. Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia’s line. The combat shifted from Lee’s left to center along the Sunken Road or Bloody Lane in late morning. These locations surrounded the meetinghouse, and the fighting would continue in these areas from daybreak to a final battle beginning around 2 p.m. It is estimated that more than 15,000 soldiers fought around the Dunker Church (September Mourn, pp. 11, 32-33).

Following the battle, nearly all the commanders and numerous soldiers wrote of the little church in their reports and recollections of the day. It is a tragic irony that so many soldiers passed from this life probably with the image of a Dunker church before their eyes. The grief of generations followed me into the church, as we sat in its simple pews, awed by its familiarity (September Mourn, pp. 133-39).

Returning to their much-battered meetinghouse after the battle, the membership almost didn’t reconstruct the building. Several of them argued that it was too damaged and desecrated by the horrors of war and they wanted to abandon it as a place of worship; the peace conviction was shattered. Many of the members assisted in the care of the injured and the internment of the deceased immediately following the battle. The flag of truce turned the building into a temporary field hospital and then an embalming station and morgue. The nearby community of Sharpsburg had to grapple with the macabre scenes and memories that lingered (September Mourn, pp. 69, 45-52).

It was Samuel Mumma, whose family had donated the land for the church and whose farm had been set ablaze by the Confederates prior to the battle to discourage its use by Union sharpshooters, who argued that the church should be rebuilt “as a symbol of peace and goodwill among men of all creed and differences” (as quoted in September Mourn). With the support of a half-dozen families, the congregation moved forward. Elder Daniel P. Saylor, known as the bishop of Maryland, wrote in a printed letter in the Feb. 10, 1864, edition of The Gospel Visitor that “the Meetinghouse is also rebuilt, and God is again worshipped in his sanctuary” (September Mourn, pp. 47, 69-71).

There is a sense of poetic irony and justice in our church members returning to gather in that space. To visit that small peace church sitting in the middle of such violence was a driving force in my wish to visit the battlefield. While it would have been alright to visit on my own, to be in community with my fellow Church of the Brethren young adults made this visit such a special experience.

As we gathered in those pews, I wondered what the church leaders of the past would think of us? Did we bring with us a sense of absolution and assurance? Perhaps I was putting too much weight on the moment, but it felt to me that our presence there served as a suitable and blessed resolution to their historical narrative. Despite the cacophony of violence and trauma this little church and its congregation endured, those members picked up their battered community and continued. Our return to their sacred space was an affirmation of their faith, witness, and hope fulfilled–both a testament that the battle hadn’t desecrated or destroyed everything it could have, and that the simple church and its members’ resilience and ability to heal bore fruit 152 years later.

As Young Adult Conference participants crossed the Burnside Bridge, the most contested of three bridges at Antietam and a main conflict point separate from the rest of the battle, I could feel and witness their moments of reflection. It was only afterwards, when I was reviewing the photos I had taken, that the true reverence of the tour began to resonate with me. Antietam Creek, where historically Brethren members were baptized, had also borne witness to the battle. Peace and conflict existed side by side in a place that truly demonstrated the full capacity of nature’s recovery. The words and verses of the hymn, “It Is Well with My Soul,” hung heavily in that reverent space. Peace like a river had recovered itself at Antietam, and the overgrown, lush woods and flowing water demonstrated that better than any sermon or lecture ever could (September Mourn, pp. 18 and 33).

Antietam halted Lee’s first attempt to seize a necessary victory and foothold in the north, and any hope of intervention from England and France retreated with him, and on Sept. 22, 1862, President Lincoln issued his preliminary Emancipation Proclamation (September Mourn, pp. 36-37). Less than a year later, Lee would make another attack that resulted in the three-day Battle of Gettysburg on July 1-3, 1863, which would surpass Antietam’s losses with an estimated 51,000 casualties. The Union victory there turned the tide of the Civil War, but it continued for another two years (www.battlefields.org/learn/civil-war/battles/gettysburg, American Battlefield Trust, 2024).

Ironically, there was a Dunker presence at Gettysburg as well. Land belonging to Joseph, a minister of the Marsh Creek congregation, and Mary Sherfy, contained many notable battlefield locations and the damage to their farm does remain visible today (https://gettysburg.stonesentinels.com/battlefield-farms/sherfy-farm, Steve A. Hawks, 2024).

We personally may never stand within the chaos of war and melee of bullets and cannon balls. Do we, living into what we’ve inherited from the people who did and advocating for those that currently face such struggles, still stand as a testament to the peace and goodwill that Samuel Mumma advocated for the Dunker Church to represent? Not overcome, silenced, or sullied by the violence of war. What does such a testament demand of us today?

Antietam is well worth a visit should you have the time and drive to do so. There is a commemorative service held in that church building every year, on the Sunday closest to Sept. 17, which I hope someday to experience. The little church, which maintains a steady vigil over the battlefield, is a place for reverence and reflection on loss and healing, violence and peace.

— Allison Snyder is concluding a term of service as interim manager of the Brethren Historical Library and Archives in Elgin, Ill. She and the BHLA thank the Youth and Young Adult Ministry for supporting the visit to Antietam during Young Adult Conference; Terry Barkley for his excellent source book on the Dunker Church of Antietam and for both leading the tour of the battlefield and giving a presentation; the Brethren Historical Committee members past and present who have supported such study; and all of the many people who have participated in preserving and maintaining both the meetinghouse at Antietam and the memories of the congregation including the National Park Service and Antietam Battlefield staff.

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