In My Father's Garden (Knielen op een bed violen)

IN MY FATHER'S GARDEN

Do not mortals have hard service on earth?

Are not their days like those of hired labourers?

Who lives truly in the fear of the Lord?

Verily...

...the subjects of the kingdom...

...will be thrown outside into the outer darkness.

Let the shadow of death stain them.

Let the blackness of the day terrify them.

Amen.

So shall it be at the end of the age.

God's angels will come...

...and separate the wicked from the righteous.

The wicked shall be cast into the furnace of fire.

There shall be wailing...

...and gnashing of teeth.

Blessed are those unblemished of heart

who the Lord's law sincerely do observe

blessed those that day or night

ponder on the will He doth impart and Him do serve...

Hans!

SIEVEZ NURSERY

- Hey, Ruben. - Those cyclamen are nice, dad.

- We'll make lots of money with them. - You bet.

- These are the last ones. - This is the last one.

- Where do you want the ferns? - Why would I want ferns?

You ordered them.

- Athyriums. - I didn't order any ferns, I don't want ferns.

Leen, put in baby's breath. We have to get rid of it.

Go and get the cyclamen.

How about some cyclamen?

- Is that the bouquet for Concordia? - Yes, it is.

They're beautiful. First class.

I buy all that small stuff from the sheltered workshop, Sievez.

Leen, when that's finished put it in his tray.

You can't match the price of those retards.

If you pass by Concordia anyway can you drop off this bouquet?

That's a huge detour.

They're Waiting for it.

Dear oh dear.

Mum has dinner ready.

- Mr. Wieland, the bill. - Don't worry about it, Sievez.

Next time, OK? Can't you see I'm busy?

Come on.

How did it go?

He didn't want the ferns, nor the cyclamen.

- Did he pay the bill? - Not yet.

Those cyclamen don't sell.

Next time don't leave until he pays you.

Hans.

Hans Sievez.

How did you get in here?

You have a gap in your hedge. I crawled through it.

I was at the cemetery next door. You have very quiet neighbours.

Until Judgment Day, in any case.

If you want some plants...

- You can have them for free. - Cyclamen.

Also known as alpine violets.

How was it again?

Multiply through seeds and cuttings. Tuberous plants.

Pigs love them.

Boskoop.

National Horticultural College.

I'm Mieras. Jozef Mieras.

What's in that case?

What are you going to palm off on me?

Are you happy, Hans?

If it's about faith, I've got one. Sorry.

- In church every Sunday. - That wasn't the question.

The question was: Are you happy?

This was my choice, Jozef Mieras.

I have a wife, a child.

Yes, I'm happy.

Pretty wife.

And a nice kid.

And another one on the Way.

Now tell me what you're doing here.

Are you here to ask funny questions? To spy on us? To harass my wife?

No, Hans, no.

I heard you lived here and then...

...I had to think about that day you were picked up from school.

When you heard about your father.

Hans?

What are you doing?

- When? - This afternoon.

- What did he say? - "Oh, Mrs. Sievez..."

- He knew your name? - Yes.

He noticed my belly and went like this with his arms.

- He looked at your belly? - Everyone does, Hans.

Outside, everywhere, everyone. It's a nice belly.

And he started to sing.

What, a psalm or something?

Mother dear, mother dear if only it could be like yesteryear.

What did you do?

At first I thought: I have no change to give him.

And then I thought it was funny.

Here.

That's him.

He's next to you.

How come you never sing to me?

That's no fun for anyone.

Come.

Come to mother dear.

Are you tired?

Remember where we left off.

We'll continue tomorrow.

Hans.

Chlorophytum.

Leave the small ones, nip off the big ones, they've already got roots, then repot.

But of course you know all that.

Why are you here?

I'm on my way to a deathbed in Bunnik and...

...I fear I may have confused you last night, mentioning your father.

Yes... your father.

Nice job, gravedigger.

But God took him away just like that.

- Didn't give him any choice. - What happened to my father...

Hans.

These are awful things for a son.

God's angels will come...

...and separate the wicked from the righteous.

Hans?

You're ice cold.

It's nothing.

Why are you sitting here?

What are you reading?

Yuck!

"The fight is hard to the end, and should be."

"Hard and unbearable as death itself. Satan is there till the end."

- I found it among the shrubs. - Hans, please!

Hell and damnation!

Margje, it's tough. That is our lot.

A continuous battle.

Throw it away. We're out of the Middle Ages. We believe on Sundays.

Once a week to church?

Like everyone else.

God's angels will come and separate the wicked from the righteous.

The wicked shall be cast into the furnace of fire.

There shall be wailing and gnashing of teeth.

Until we, humbly...

...surrender to his loving guidance...

...and we, his children...

...return home as sheep in his flock.

Following Him, in fullest confidence, as sheep led by the shepherd.

On our way to the lush, evergreen pastures...

...of the Heavenly future.

Amen.

Parishioners...

...the offertory will be collected during the prelude to the closing hymn...

...to support mission work among the Papua New Guineans.

That's the limit.

Hans, don't!

It means nothing, this church.

A pile of bricks, that's what it is.

I happened to be around.

You know, Hans, the true faith doesn't rule in churches.

Not in any church.

It's a place for showy preachers, for lazy minds, a refuge for heretics.

You know, the word "church"...

...isn't even mentioned in the Bible.

Neither in the Old nor the New Testament.

Nowhere.

Of course you're upset by what happened to your father.

You really let him down.

I...

I want you to leave.

You're not happy, Hans.

Not really.

The happiness you've found is fleeting.

But you will have to choose: small happiness...

...here and now with your wife, flowers, children...

...or eternal salvation in the hereafter.

Your father didn't have time to prepare himself for Judgement Day.

But you do.

You have a choice.

Read, Hans.

Read and hurry.

Let me see. Smijtegeld, you old preacher, where are you? Here.

Look, these are the collected sermons of the Reverend Smijtegeld from Middelburg.

This is The Imitation of Christ by Thomas à Kempis.

Read it aloud or you won't understand a thing.

And this is The Consuming Fire.

A little gem by our own preacher Steffen.

For you, 15 guilders, but you can pay me later.

Yes... Huib Steffen.

That's the next step.

I've got to go.

Deathbed.

Hans.

You're awake.

You owe me an explanation.

Turn around, I'm over here.

I couldn't stand that parson anymore.

God is...

God is stern. God is clear.

He punishes. He helps.

He's not some sock-knitting shepherd we follow like meekly grazing sheep.

All Will be well and no one will go crashing down the ravine.

It's not like that.

It doesn't work like that.