by Keim, Joe
He walked from house to house, checking to see if certain people were still alive, but he always got the same answer. “Oh no, that person has died long ago.”
When the man finally realized that he wasn’t able to make things right with those he had disobeyed and turned his back on, he hung his head and walked back out into the world, realizing he had waited too long to return and God had shut the door.
A second example is based on a letter. This letter was preached from, copied, and read in homes, with the hope that children would never leave the Amish church.
Dear Father and Mother,
Well, I don’t know how to begin, but I’ve been wanting to write you for so long and never had courage. I should have written sooner, but I knew how much it was going to hurt after what I have done to you, so I thought I’d put off writing as long as I could stand it. You don’t know how hard it is for me to write this letter, but I have to do it sooner or later. My husband keeps after me all the time to write to you, but it hurts. I have sinned and don’t know if God will ever forgive me for what I have done.
I know I have done a terrible, terrible wrong to some out here when I left my home and church and got married, but I did. I guess there is nothing left for me to do but ask you and God for forgiveness. My conscience bothers me day and night, and I’ll probably take it along with me to my grave.
There is not one day of the year that I do not think of you, dear Father and Mother, and I’m terribly sorry for what I’ve done, but that don’t change things. I was afraid if I’d write and tell you, it would hurt you so that it would kill you.
If I could do it all over, I would be back home helping you with my feet under your table. Oh, but it’s all too late now, and I have no one to blame but myself.
You taught us children right from wrong, but it seems we took the wrong. I am crying as I write this letter, and it so hurts me. I say prayers every night when I go to bed, hoping God will hear me.
I thought of you all at Christmastime, thinking how awful you must feel the way your kids are. I can never forget what Brother Harley said on his deathbed, “Where are my lost brothers?” I guess sisters as well. Oh, how terrible. Please, oh, please, forgive me folks and pray for me.
Chapter 5
Church Services
In my mind, services were long and boring, usually lasting from 9:00 a.m. to 12:30 p.m. As a result, I didn’t like going to church.
At 1:00 we had lunch. First, the married men gathered in the living room to eat while the married women ate in the kitchen. While they ate, the single boys and girls, age fourteen and older, sat and fellowshipped. When the married people were done eating, all singles were invited in to eat. The boys sat and ate in the living room, and the girls ate in the kitchen.
This type of separation permeates the Sunday gathering. For instance, as a family we pulled into the driveway where church would take place that day. We dropped the women off at the house, and Dad and we boys moved on to the barn, unhitched the horses, and stood in line with the other men and boys. At about twenty minutes before nine, the ministers walked single file toward the house and sat on the ministers’ bench. Next, the oldest man walked toward the house with the married males following him – all single file and in the order of their age. Finally, the single men followed, also in order of age.
When the last boy sat down, the bishop asked the men to remove their hats. The sounds of hat removal lasted for about ten seconds. It made a weird sound that rang through the whole house – almost like a wind coming in from the north.
During the service, women sat in the kitchen, and the men sat in the living room on hard wooden benches. The legs on these benches were easily folded together and moved by wagon from house to house. The older men sat on the front benches with their younger children, and the older teens and singles sat in the last two rows, behind the adults. In the kitchen, the women and teen girls were arranged in the same manner.
At fourteen, we were out of school, and in this teenage season of life, I no longer had to sit with Dad. I moved to sit in the back rows with the single young people – not an adult but becoming an adult. Ah, it was such a good feeling to sit next to all my friends instead of Dad and my younger brothers. I also liked the idea of sitting farther away from the ministers and older men who watched us with eagle eyes.
My buddies had already informed me that the boys in the back row all took naps during the service. Wow! I thought. That will surely make the long, boring church service go faster, and it did. The truth is, it was not all that uncommon to hear snoring sounds coming from some of the older men in the front benches. Every once in a great while, someone on the back row would lose his balance during a nap and fall off the bench. The following is a true story, as told by Gerald Hochstetler, of a young Amish boy who fell asleep in church.
Through the Eyes of Little Tobias, the Amish Kid
Little Tobias tried his best to be a good little boy, sit up straight, and listen to the sermon, but it was all to no avail. Eventually, nature would take over, and little Tobias would put his arms on his knees, his chin in his hands, and doze off. It was not humanly possible to stay awake.
It was during one of those times that little Tobias had the most embarrassing experience of his life. At this point, sleep and nature were in complete control of little Tobias. He had his head between his hands, his arms resting on his knees, and he had sailed off to Amish la-la land. In his happy Amish dreams, he was feeding Amish goats and Amish chickens and feeling good about the farm world around him.
Suddenly, as if the heavens were speaking to him, one arm slipped off his knee, which propelled his body forward, and he stumbled across the aisle and into Mrs. Detwiler’s lap (Mrs. Detwiler was also known as Mamma Roly-Poly). Gone were the chickens, gone were the goats, and Tobias found himself in a house – in a church house – and in a roly-poly lady’s lap! It was a soft landing, much too soft for comfort!
To say that little Tobias was awake at this point is a complete understatement. In fact, words cannot describe the embarrassment little Tobias felt at this point. A few giggles slipped out, as some of the other boys tried to keep from breaking out into laughter, but for the most part, all who were involved and on the scene did a good job of keeping things serious, as it ought to be in church. The good old preacher never missed a beat, and nobody ever talked about it.
Among the Amish, there are certain things you just don’t talk about. When things fly out of control as they did that Sunday, and situations come along that are out of their control, they let it go!
It’s like wise old Papa Yoder says, “Many times silence and time is the best remedy.” The Amish know that misfortune can strike at any time, to anyone, at any place, and so they carry on. The goats must be fed, the cows must be milked, and little Tobias must be forgiven for sleeping in church.
* * * *
I received my first wool hat for Christmas the year I turned fourteen. Most Christmases, because of the size of our family, we didn’t get many gifts. We received practical gifts − things we needed, such as new gloves and, of course, the treat of fresh fruit, nuts, and homemade candy. But that Christmas when I received my hat was one of the most exciting Christmases of all. The first Sunday after Christmas, our church wasn’t scheduled to meet, so I visited another church district, just so I could wear my new hat.
Turning fourteen was a big deal to me. I’d graduated from a stocking cap to a wool hat and enjoyed the freedom of sitting with the young unmarried people on the last bench. One Sunday we gathered at my cousin Leander’s house, and near the end of the service, I really needed to go to the bathroom − number two. I thought I could hold it, but the service went on and on. I started to sweat. In my mind, I told myself, You’ll get through this. The end of the service didn’t come and didn’t come. I clenched my muscles trying to hold back. Finally, I couldn’t hold it anymore, and I let
go.
It was awful. The smell was bad and wafted through the living room. I just sat there in that room full of men. The service went on as if nothing had happened, but I knew they all had to know what I had done. I was embarrassed as I just sat there waiting for the end of the service. Fortunately, Leander’s place was right across the street, and when the service finally concluded I made a beeline home. I ran across the road and down the lane to our house. While I was changing clothes, my mom showed up. She felt so bad for me and comforted me. I didn’t go back that day because I just couldn’t face any of them. To their credit, no one ever talked to me about it. They just left it alone.
Choosing a Preacher
In the Amish church, our preachers are chosen by lot. Each district has its own bishop, deacon, and two lay ministers. We couldn’t become a bishop unless we had already served as a deacon or lay minister. Deacons and lay ministers were chosen from the membership. When one of them moved away or died, the church voted on his replacement.
The making of a new preacher was always dreaded and made for a stressful day. Most men felt unqualified and considered the position to be very challenging. One by one, men and women walked into the bedroom to cast their vote for the man they thought would make the best preacher, and whoever received three or more votes was put into a lot. This usually consisted of six to ten men who were called out; they sat on a bench in front of those who had gathered. Each was handed a hymnbook with a string tied around it. Inside one of these books was a piece of paper. Whoever had the book with the piece of paper became the new preacher.
The men who got called out and asked to sit on the bench were common everyday people with an eighth-grade education. Most lacked knowledge of the Scriptures and had never spoken in front of a large group. When selected, many times the man started crying because it was a huge responsibility, and the only way out of it was to die. Often, the whole church sat with their heads down crying with them, until it sounded more like a funeral than a celebration.
All the people realized it was a big responsibility. After a preacher was chosen by lot, people of the community visited his house for the next few weeks to help the family with chores, from cleaning up manure to husking corn. What work they did depended upon the season. They offered this extra help to give the man time to study the Bible, because as I said, when Amish preachers deliver their message, they just get up and talk. This study time gave them time to memorize as many scripture passages as they could, so when they got up to preach they had something to say.
Some of these men can’t preach, but they had to fill forty minutes. Sometimes, they ran out of things to say after ten minutes. As a little boy, I’d break into a sweat just listening to them struggle. I felt bad for them and prayed God would give them something to say.
Some years ago, the lot fell on an Amish man who responded with, “I can’t preach.”
But the rest of the ministers and members said, “But you have to preach. The lot fell on you.”
Finally, the man replied, “Okay, I will preach.”
After several unfruitful tries, he said it again. “I can’t preach.” This time he left the Amish and his family and turned to alcohol. After years of being an alcoholic, he finally died, separated from his family and banned from the church.
Casting lots is similar to tossing a coin or rolling dice. Before the Holy Spirit came at Pentecost, we see the casting of lots used seventy times in the Old Testament and only seven times in the New Testament.
And they appointed two, Joseph called Barsabas, who was surnamed Justus, and Matthias. And they prayed, and said, Thou, Lord, which knowest the hearts of all men, shew whether of these two thou hast chosen, That he may take part of this ministry and apostleship, from which Judas by transgression fell, that he might go to his own place. And they gave forth their lots; and the lot fell upon Matthias; and he was numbered with the eleven apostles. (Acts 1:23-26)
Some, like the Amish, still believe it’s God’s way of revealing His divine will for the church. But some men don’t appear to be called; what if they are not? Does this not put an extraordinary burden on a man whose calling is something else in life?
The eleven remaining apostles cast lots to replace Judas, and it fell on Matthias. But this happened before the coming of the Holy Spirit. Since the day of Pentecost in Acts chapter 2, God has done the choosing through His Spirit. Consider the apostle Paul: God stopped him in his tracks; He directly apprehended Paul and told him to go preach. We never hear any more about Matthias, but Paul’s ministry encompasses most of the known world.
Neither are there any other instances in the New Testament where lots were used to determine church leadership. Instead, God gifted believers to serve in leadership positions and called them into ministry through the Holy Spirit.
And he gave some, apostles; and some, prophets; and some, evangelists; and some pastors and teachers; For the perfecting of the saints, for the work of the ministry, for the edifying of the body of Christ. (Ephesians 4:11-12)
As they ministered to the Lord, and fasted, the Holy Ghost said, Separate me Barnabas and Saul for the work whereunto I have called them. And when they had fasted and prayed, and laid their hands on them, they sent them away. So they, being sent forth by the Holy Ghost, departed. (Acts 13:2-4a)
Some might argue that the New Testament church appointed men to serve as elders and deacons; however, that is not the same as casting lots (Acts 14:23; Titus 1:5).
Scripture aside, let’s consider the Amish men who serve as ministers because the lot fell on them. God equips us for the work He has given us, but what if we are given a job we are not equipped for? Throughout my childhood, it was apparent that some were able to stand up and preach. It was just as apparent that others were not.
Chapter 6
Running
When I was fifteen, my cousin Eli ran away from home. He got his driver’s license and bought a vehicle. At that point in my life, I believed anyone who left the Amish and became English would die and go to hell, so I wrote Eli a letter begging him to come home. The following is an excerpt from the letter that shows my desperate concern for my wayward cousin:
Oh Eli, please take heed today and not tomorrow because tomorrow it’s too late. It’s gonna be the Devil’s day, and if he can’t get you over the fence, he’s gonna take you under it if he can. Oh please act fast. Oh please, you are my friend; please don’t play with the Devil. I’m sorry that I ever done what I done. Just think; maybe you will be in a wreck, and then do you think you’d have a chance to go to heaven? Now if a good Christian had a chance of ten, you only got about one. I’m afraid the Devil’s got you chained hard, and you can’t ever get loose.
Now maybe if you came home, you’d only have to live another four years [there]; compare those four years to hell that comes afterwards. Oh please remember as you go to work that hell will be here before you’re ready. Oh please remember hell is forever and ever. Oh please come home. I’m praying for you and hope you’re praying too. Remember hell – hell is forever and ever.
– Joe
On one occasion during this time, I walked to the outbuilding where we ground feed for the cows. I climbed up into the dusty rafters, laid down in the thick powdery residue, and cried and begged and pleaded with God that He would spare Eli’s life.
Eli returned home and his parents tried to give him some options. He came to our place and Dad gave him a job working in the machine shop; the two of us became fast friends. By this time, he was eighteen and I was sixteen. Neither of us were happy; we talked about leaving the Amish and decided to do it together.
Just before I turned seventeen, before I went through with baptism, we made our break on a Sunday night. I wrote a note to my parents, and Eli did the same for his. We said, “We skipped the country. Don’t come looking for us because you’ll never find us.”
I stole fif
ty dollars from my dad and took off, trying to run from the turmoil.
Eli had money in his pocket too, as the two of us hiked toward the city. We walked and walked and walked. About 4:00 a.m. we reached the city limits. Streetlights, neon signs, and, well, electricity lit everything up. We came to a street called Pleasant Street.
“Let’s turn down this street,” Eli said.
I was amazed at how close the houses were to each other. We spotted an open garage door with two vehicles parked inside. Eli crawled into one, and I crept into the other. We were so exhausted from our long walk, we fell right to sleep. In the morning, the homeowner came out to go to work. When he discovered two Amish boys bedded down in his cars, he grew really angry. He yelled, “Get out! Get out of my cars or I’m calling the cops on you.”
Half asleep and hungry, we headed back down Pleasant Street. In about an hour we got to the other side of town and came to a store called Big Wheel, which was like a Kmart. Before we headed into the store, Eli warned me, “They have big signs hanging from the ceiling with pictures of people’s heads. They look through those eyes and watch you.”
Sure enough, big posters with people on them hung from the ceiling, and just like Eli said, their eyes seemed to follow me wherever I went.
We walked into the Big Wheel with one thing in mind. We wanted to buy English clothes. At that time, the Dukes of Hazzard was a big deal. The T-shirt that caught our attention brandished a print of the Dukes flying up over a hill in their orange 1969 Dodge Charger. We each bought the same kind of T-shirt, a pair of jeans, and white tennis shoes. We paid, walked behind the store, changed into our new English clothes, and threw our Amish clothing into the woods – like dumping a body never to be seen again.
