“Amen,” Gary said.
* * *
Gary Lambert had just achieved something that no one else in human memory had achieved. Professor Lukas Osiander, Jr. was temporarily speechless.
He recovered quickly, but he realized that he was also going to have to rewrite his carefully prepared summary statement. It seemed a little… irrelevant.
He called for an overnight break. Count Ludwig Guenther gave him two hours.
* * *
It was possible, of course, that if Count Ludwig Guenther had granted the full overnight break that Osiander requested, the world would have turned on a different axis. But there was no way to peer into time and find out the what ifs and the might have beens of history. The count, like many others, was getting very tired of those hard benches. His secretary was writing up a draft of the decision he had already taken after his supper with the “personal representatives” at Margrave George’s rooms, even as the summary statements were being publicly presented. He was fifty-two years old and he was feeling every one of them. He wanted to go back to his own quarters and sit on a comfortable chair. He definitely did not want to stretch this meeting out for another day, especially since the provisions for the scheduled closing banquet were being delivered to all the contributing—and unrefrigerated—kitchens of Jena at this very moment.
Professor Osiander spent very little of the two hour break looking at the Walther material. His colleagues and associates were alternately reading random sentences from it out loud and shouting at one another. There was no chance that they would reach agreement on a modified summary statement within the allotted time. Osiander suddenly thought that no secular ruler should have the right to prevent the church from making a full and conscientious examination of a crucial issue before it.
He ended up presenting his original summary. With one more sentence at the end.
“If the decision of the count should be to require an orthodox minister to extend communion to lay persons who claim to be members of his congregation, but who are not in full doctrinal agreement with the teachings of the Formula of Concord, then the defenders of Lutheran orthodoxy feel that they must take the step of consulting with their brethren of the Missouri Synod on possible changes in the constitution and structure of the visible church.”
* * *
Wednesday morning, the chancellor of Saxony and his entourage left Jena at first light, riding hard for Dresden. The Wittenberg theologians, however, stayed behind.
Cavriani, who just happened to be leaning against the city gate when it was opened, took down a list of those departing. He and his list made it back to the Black Bear in time to have breakfast with Ed Piazza. “The distinction between Saxony’s politicians and theologians is, to say the least, an ambivalent signal,” he mused out loud.
Tanya promptly roused up the people napping next to other radio sets and relayed a copy of the list to Magdeburg and Grantville.
* * *
In the matter of the ministerial appointment at St. Martin’s in the Fields, near Grantville, United States.
In the matter of the associated appointments of the teaching staff at Countess Katherina the Heroic Lutheran Elementary School, near Grantville, United States.
In the matter of the anticipated ministerial appointment at St. Thomas the Apostle, near Grantville, United States.
In the matter of the associated appointments of the teaching staff at the yet-unnamed Lutheran Elementary School to be constructed in connection with the church of St. Thomas the Apostle.
Count Ludwig Guenther rechecked the heading to make sure that his secretary had included everything. He didn’t want to go through another one of these in the foreseeable future. Schwarzburg-Rudolstadt was a small county, only about 35,000 in total population. It had a limited budget. This colloquy had been a big financial drain, coming on top of the mandatory war contributions. He would, once it was over, have to call his Estates—the county’s legislature—and request a special tax levy to cover the debts that he had incurred.
Count Ludwig Guenther had a well-known streak of financial prudence, two miles wide and two miles deep. He loathed asking for special tax levies. The Estates always wanted some kind of a quid pro quo. It was much better for a man to live within his means.