Visiting Lancaster County, Part 2
Friday, November 05, 2021
The Mustang was parked toward the back of the lot. Out the front windshield, the eyes beheld the gravestones that stood against the plain fields, corn standing high. A nice, sunny day. When the right moment came, steps were made inside for the service. First time visiting this particular Beachy Amish church. Why this particular denomination (if we can call it that) of the wide-array of options in Lancaster County? Well, it was a sister church to the church, which by this point in time, had been visited several times in Holmes County. Sunday worship was to be had.
What It is Like
Upon visiting a Beachy Amish church, there is usually an entryway, a foyer. This is for greeting, mingling, and whatever before the service begins, and really more-so afterwards. This is because there is a quiet stillness that usually accompanies the area upon entering. In this beginning time, God’s holiness is particularly emphasized. And everyone strives to be with that holiness, or to experience it, to have it at the forefront of the mind. Upon letting that settle in, one then makes way to enter the sanctuary for the service. The large opening will be found to be accompanied by the ushers (for there are two; one for the women and the other for the men). Yes indeed. Men sit on one side of the sanctuary and the women on the other. Heaven focused. Families are earthly. A breath of fresh-air. Perfect.
Holiness still seems like the most accurate word to first describe a Beachy Amish service. That’s the way it is. Everyone sings a capella style. No instruments. No music. Thank God. What a relief. Most churches these days are similar to a concert, whether it be rock music or some symphony orchestra. Four songs are sang, something like that. Then there is the Bible study. For sure. Within the service? Absolutely. The congregation splits up into four groups, two for guys and two for girls, and has Bible study. One learns so much in these too. So rich. So full of the Word of God. A lot of people know their Bibles, and know them well. Then there is a smaller sermon in there somewhere, a reflection, from one of the guys in the church, about a passage of Scripture. Finally, the main course. A sermon of a good forty to fifty minutes in length, like they used to be, back in the day. Back before church got smart, before church got relevant.
At the conclusion of the service here in Lancaster County, the eyes gazed over to the right side to see a friendly chap standing there. For sure. Red-headed guy. Knew the brother of an already established friend back in Ohio. Said it almost with a smirk. As if he was recalling an old college buddy (in the English world that’s the way it would go). Good times must have been had back in the day. We never got to talking about it much but were talking about other things. And, as is usually the custom, at least with visitors, the red-headed fellow offered an invitation for lunch. Though, he said, his wife and himself were fasting. But a sandwich and soup could be prepared. The spirit wouldn’t go for that, and so the invitation was declined. Insistence pursued. But, finally and ultimately, it was declined with finality so as not to intrude. It didn’t seem right having the friendly chap have his wife fix some stranger lunch while she was fasting. Didn’t seem like something God would want.
The Picnic
It just so happened upon visiting this particular Sunday that the church was having an outdoor picnic that evening. Visitors were said to be welcome. Howbeit, lodging had been reserved on a Mennonite family's farm some thirty minutes away (not Beachy; a slightly higher form of Mennonite; for the Beachy’s really are both Amish and Mennonite. They are like the highest Amish church, and perhaps the lowest Mennonite church, an interesting bridge). Nonetheless, after touring the farmhouse of which lodging had been acquired, and making some video of that, it was time to head the thirty minutes back to attend the picnic. The body still adorned the white dress shirt and black pants with shiny black shoes from service. No thought given to really change the apparel, though, deep down, it was desired.
The car was driven the thirty minutes back to the church. It rested at a stop again right in front of the cemetery. Looking around and seeing a couple guys walking from the parking lot toward the picnic area, it was observed they wore regular clothing. What? The men were dressed in the same fashion as regular English men. Uh-oh. The black dress shoes and the outfit were still being adorned from this morning. Upon making the short walk, the sleeves were un-cuffed and rolled a little.
The mistake was confirmed upon arriving at the picnic area where everyone was gathering. In fact, a young girl in plain dress of probably around twelve years of age (for the women and girls were still wearing plain dress, though, perhaps not as fancy as the Sunday morning dresses, more casual) gave the staring admonishment. She looked toward the outfit as to say why in the world is that being worn at this? Ah, rookie mistake. Rebuke fairly accepted. Truly, the belief was present up to this moment that the Beachy men always wore the dressed up attire all the time (seems so strange now that this would have been believed). Not that many other people cared, just a couple it seemed.
A large tent, something comparable to what would be seen at an English fair, had been setup with lighting stringed across the top of the ceiling. The illumination would be needed later. Stepping underneath, many people where standing around talking and some seated. Circles and semi-circles. Just give it a little time. Ah, one of the ministers. The guy who gave the sermon this morning. He stood out from the crowd. Easily recognizable. Can’t go wrong introducing yourself to one of the ministers (was he a minister?) Anyway, that was done, but the chitchat didn’t seem to go very far. After all, he had his family with him. Steps were then taken over to a couple of fellas having a lively chat, standing there in the middle of the tent. For the sake of my friend and keeping his name exclusive, let’s call him George. Ah yes. I met this fellow named George. And boy, did the conversation hit it off. So much so we’d be talking the next three hours straight.
Beachy Amish Download
A burly man, George was. But not that burly. Latter thirties it would be guessed. Lacking a beard. In fact, this detail had not been noticed until probably about an hour later during the conversation. Perhaps the original draw to him was this commonality that we shared (howbeit, subconsciously). Anyway, the conversation. George was smart. For sure. Would stare you right in the eye as he conversed. The details of all that was discussed, as well as each topic, will not be elaborated fully. We stood talking for a few minutes, but food was to be had. Indeed, food had been set out for everyone to be enjoyed. Rib sandwiches. Chips of various kinds. Fruit of varying varieties. A long line formed and eventually we joined it, discussion continuing. Others were greeted. Ages in variety. Some older folks. Some younger. We made it to the grub, and then walked over to a long table and sat down with some younger guys.
The mouth was asking questions pertaining to different areas of the Beachy way. It was learned my newfound friend had been Beachy his whole life. It felt important to establish that condition due to the fact that it might, in some way, affect or contribute to the answers to be had. The mouth stated that the fellow at service that morning (the red-headed chap), when asked about it, had stated it was hard for newcomers to get into the group, and it was hard for current members to get out. Interestingly, this had bothered the mind when it had been stated. It seemed important to either confirm this statement or have it refuted. George took a somewhat different perspective. He said one of the hurdles is that all the families are intertwined with each other. So, for a person or new family, it might be rather difficult to get in. Not impossible, though. And, the intertwining would also contribute to the difficulty of getting out. After all, the entirety of one’s family was probably Beachy. What he was saying didn’t seem like the answer the ears wanted to hear.
Attention was changed to one of the fellows across from us. It was asked what he was doing with his life? Learning a trade, it was stated. One that would be classified in the workshop area. Something along the lines of welding if the mind recalls correctly. College? Nope. But the mind actually already knew that’d be the answer. Anyhow, by now desert had been laid out. We arose from the picnic table and stepped back over toward the food. Passed an older gentlemen who was wearing the Sunday morning attire. Even had a vest on. A slight sense of relief in seeing another dressed this way. But not really. The mind frankly didn’t care all that much about it.
Cake. Cookies. Not many people grabbing them. Lots were brought. Both? Sure, why not. We then settled into a couple new plastic chairs facing out into a field. Actually, what would be a pretty competitive baseball game was now underway. Beachy youth. Latter teens to early twenties. A couple athletic girls had even joined in on the fun. Even younger youth milled off to the side messing with big tires or something.
George stated he worked the floor at a local business, and that those are the kind of jobs most people work: hands-on jobs. Construction was said to be a common one. Interesting. Then the mouth asked, what about desk jobs? Are there any desk jobs to be had? Yes, it was stated, but in a much more limited fashion. Most people didn’t work them, though a few did. Things like accounting, something called CAD drawing, and even web design. The latter two seemed interesting because they are tied to technology.
In all fairness, it seemed right for the mouth at this point to reveal what the current occupation was. Working for a major news department. A news gatherer. The eyes got big on the part of George. He had had no idea. Surprise overtook him, and he couldn’t hide it. But a smile ensued. No judgment. Didn’t think the person who sat across from him was evil. Thankfully, this was not a news assignment, though, undoubtedly the variety of questions might have made him think so. But he loved to talk anyway. So, it didn’t seem he minded all that much.
At one point the conversation was geared in the direction of non-resistance. After all, the Amish are known for that fact—that they are non-resistant. That is, they don’t fight in wars. They are conscientious objectors. And even on a personal level, they don’t fight and rarely will sue. So, the question was asked, what would happen if someone wanted to join your church who believed in fighting? Someone who was pro-war? People had differing opinions with small stuff, it was stated. But nah, he said, you wouldn’t find that here—a person who believed in war. That person would be better off finding another church and joining it.
The mouth had shifted the conversation to psychological problems and specifically depression among the Beachys (for the four-year degree is in psychology, though, it seems that remained unstated). Truth be told, and so-as to be as up-front as possible, this was probably the only disappointing part of our discussion. This is because George stated that depression was not something a Beachy person would admit to. It wasn’t something that would even be discussed among them. The mind gasped (instead of the mouth). Shouldn’t he know better? Shouldn’t they know better by now? Not good the mind thought. This was perhaps the only flaw found in what was discussed in the Beachy ways. What about the people who were suffering, who didn’t know how to handle their feelings?
Another fellow came and joined in on our dialogue. Sat down with us. Worked on a farm. The family business; had been for years. Was that my Mustang parked in the lot at service this morning? Yup. Could a member own a car like that at this church? Surprisingly, it was said, yes. As a secondary car. And not on the churches car insurance. Cars need to be four-door.
Insight was gained into George’s thoughts relating to the longevity of the Beachy way. The Beachy church. Would it continue to thrive into the future? How would things be, say, fifty years from now? Would they be the same? Not necessarily, it was assured. It only takes one bad generation to change things. The implication was, to mess things up. True. That had happened for so many other churches. Though, it did seem as if it took more than one generation for things to get out of hand. Depends on what church is considered. Nonetheless, it was reinforced that George liked the way his church was doing things. And then an interesting insight was posed, “It’s a life commitment. It’s all in what you want to get out of life.”
The mind pondered this statement as the eyes looked around at everyone mingling about. Careful observation revealed some interesting things. It was noticed that people didn’t just stay with their families. They intermixed and sat with each other. And, not only that, but it was also observed that it just wasn’t the pretty people talking to the pretty people. Folks of all looks, shapes, and sizes conversed. No noticeable cliques going on. The mind noted it was truly admirable. And, on top of that, people genuinely seemed like they enjoyed each other’s company. It seemed as if good, non-surface level conversations were being had. It all was really something to behold.
The eyes peered down at the smartphone now resting in the lap. Ah, it was time to wrap things up for the evening. Yes, again, after a mere three hours. God is good. George thanked me for spending the evening with him and for the good discussion. We said our goodbyes. The feet stepped toward the car to leave. Then it was observed that the youth who had had so much fun playing baseball earlier were now engrossed in a heavy competition of volleyball. They were really getting into it. Looked like fun. Thought for a moment about joining. Looking down, the eyes were reminded of the black dress shoes that were currently shrouding the feet. It wouldn’t work. They may not even have wanted an older fellow to join. But hunch is, they probably would have let me.
- Daniel Litton
To comment on this post, tap here to go to the comments page.
What It is Like
Upon visiting a Beachy Amish church, there is usually an entryway, a foyer. This is for greeting, mingling, and whatever before the service begins, and really more-so afterwards. This is because there is a quiet stillness that usually accompanies the area upon entering. In this beginning time, God’s holiness is particularly emphasized. And everyone strives to be with that holiness, or to experience it, to have it at the forefront of the mind. Upon letting that settle in, one then makes way to enter the sanctuary for the service. The large opening will be found to be accompanied by the ushers (for there are two; one for the women and the other for the men). Yes indeed. Men sit on one side of the sanctuary and the women on the other. Heaven focused. Families are earthly. A breath of fresh-air. Perfect.
Holiness still seems like the most accurate word to first describe a Beachy Amish service. That’s the way it is. Everyone sings a capella style. No instruments. No music. Thank God. What a relief. Most churches these days are similar to a concert, whether it be rock music or some symphony orchestra. Four songs are sang, something like that. Then there is the Bible study. For sure. Within the service? Absolutely. The congregation splits up into four groups, two for guys and two for girls, and has Bible study. One learns so much in these too. So rich. So full of the Word of God. A lot of people know their Bibles, and know them well. Then there is a smaller sermon in there somewhere, a reflection, from one of the guys in the church, about a passage of Scripture. Finally, the main course. A sermon of a good forty to fifty minutes in length, like they used to be, back in the day. Back before church got smart, before church got relevant.
At the conclusion of the service here in Lancaster County, the eyes gazed over to the right side to see a friendly chap standing there. For sure. Red-headed guy. Knew the brother of an already established friend back in Ohio. Said it almost with a smirk. As if he was recalling an old college buddy (in the English world that’s the way it would go). Good times must have been had back in the day. We never got to talking about it much but were talking about other things. And, as is usually the custom, at least with visitors, the red-headed fellow offered an invitation for lunch. Though, he said, his wife and himself were fasting. But a sandwich and soup could be prepared. The spirit wouldn’t go for that, and so the invitation was declined. Insistence pursued. But, finally and ultimately, it was declined with finality so as not to intrude. It didn’t seem right having the friendly chap have his wife fix some stranger lunch while she was fasting. Didn’t seem like something God would want.
The Picnic
It just so happened upon visiting this particular Sunday that the church was having an outdoor picnic that evening. Visitors were said to be welcome. Howbeit, lodging had been reserved on a Mennonite family's farm some thirty minutes away (not Beachy; a slightly higher form of Mennonite; for the Beachy’s really are both Amish and Mennonite. They are like the highest Amish church, and perhaps the lowest Mennonite church, an interesting bridge). Nonetheless, after touring the farmhouse of which lodging had been acquired, and making some video of that, it was time to head the thirty minutes back to attend the picnic. The body still adorned the white dress shirt and black pants with shiny black shoes from service. No thought given to really change the apparel, though, deep down, it was desired.
The car was driven the thirty minutes back to the church. It rested at a stop again right in front of the cemetery. Looking around and seeing a couple guys walking from the parking lot toward the picnic area, it was observed they wore regular clothing. What? The men were dressed in the same fashion as regular English men. Uh-oh. The black dress shoes and the outfit were still being adorned from this morning. Upon making the short walk, the sleeves were un-cuffed and rolled a little.
The mistake was confirmed upon arriving at the picnic area where everyone was gathering. In fact, a young girl in plain dress of probably around twelve years of age (for the women and girls were still wearing plain dress, though, perhaps not as fancy as the Sunday morning dresses, more casual) gave the staring admonishment. She looked toward the outfit as to say why in the world is that being worn at this? Ah, rookie mistake. Rebuke fairly accepted. Truly, the belief was present up to this moment that the Beachy men always wore the dressed up attire all the time (seems so strange now that this would have been believed). Not that many other people cared, just a couple it seemed.
A large tent, something comparable to what would be seen at an English fair, had been setup with lighting stringed across the top of the ceiling. The illumination would be needed later. Stepping underneath, many people where standing around talking and some seated. Circles and semi-circles. Just give it a little time. Ah, one of the ministers. The guy who gave the sermon this morning. He stood out from the crowd. Easily recognizable. Can’t go wrong introducing yourself to one of the ministers (was he a minister?) Anyway, that was done, but the chitchat didn’t seem to go very far. After all, he had his family with him. Steps were then taken over to a couple of fellas having a lively chat, standing there in the middle of the tent. For the sake of my friend and keeping his name exclusive, let’s call him George. Ah yes. I met this fellow named George. And boy, did the conversation hit it off. So much so we’d be talking the next three hours straight.
Beachy Amish Download
A burly man, George was. But not that burly. Latter thirties it would be guessed. Lacking a beard. In fact, this detail had not been noticed until probably about an hour later during the conversation. Perhaps the original draw to him was this commonality that we shared (howbeit, subconsciously). Anyway, the conversation. George was smart. For sure. Would stare you right in the eye as he conversed. The details of all that was discussed, as well as each topic, will not be elaborated fully. We stood talking for a few minutes, but food was to be had. Indeed, food had been set out for everyone to be enjoyed. Rib sandwiches. Chips of various kinds. Fruit of varying varieties. A long line formed and eventually we joined it, discussion continuing. Others were greeted. Ages in variety. Some older folks. Some younger. We made it to the grub, and then walked over to a long table and sat down with some younger guys.
The mouth was asking questions pertaining to different areas of the Beachy way. It was learned my newfound friend had been Beachy his whole life. It felt important to establish that condition due to the fact that it might, in some way, affect or contribute to the answers to be had. The mouth stated that the fellow at service that morning (the red-headed chap), when asked about it, had stated it was hard for newcomers to get into the group, and it was hard for current members to get out. Interestingly, this had bothered the mind when it had been stated. It seemed important to either confirm this statement or have it refuted. George took a somewhat different perspective. He said one of the hurdles is that all the families are intertwined with each other. So, for a person or new family, it might be rather difficult to get in. Not impossible, though. And, the intertwining would also contribute to the difficulty of getting out. After all, the entirety of one’s family was probably Beachy. What he was saying didn’t seem like the answer the ears wanted to hear.
Attention was changed to one of the fellows across from us. It was asked what he was doing with his life? Learning a trade, it was stated. One that would be classified in the workshop area. Something along the lines of welding if the mind recalls correctly. College? Nope. But the mind actually already knew that’d be the answer. Anyhow, by now desert had been laid out. We arose from the picnic table and stepped back over toward the food. Passed an older gentlemen who was wearing the Sunday morning attire. Even had a vest on. A slight sense of relief in seeing another dressed this way. But not really. The mind frankly didn’t care all that much about it.
Cake. Cookies. Not many people grabbing them. Lots were brought. Both? Sure, why not. We then settled into a couple new plastic chairs facing out into a field. Actually, what would be a pretty competitive baseball game was now underway. Beachy youth. Latter teens to early twenties. A couple athletic girls had even joined in on the fun. Even younger youth milled off to the side messing with big tires or something.
George stated he worked the floor at a local business, and that those are the kind of jobs most people work: hands-on jobs. Construction was said to be a common one. Interesting. Then the mouth asked, what about desk jobs? Are there any desk jobs to be had? Yes, it was stated, but in a much more limited fashion. Most people didn’t work them, though a few did. Things like accounting, something called CAD drawing, and even web design. The latter two seemed interesting because they are tied to technology.
In all fairness, it seemed right for the mouth at this point to reveal what the current occupation was. Working for a major news department. A news gatherer. The eyes got big on the part of George. He had had no idea. Surprise overtook him, and he couldn’t hide it. But a smile ensued. No judgment. Didn’t think the person who sat across from him was evil. Thankfully, this was not a news assignment, though, undoubtedly the variety of questions might have made him think so. But he loved to talk anyway. So, it didn’t seem he minded all that much.
At one point the conversation was geared in the direction of non-resistance. After all, the Amish are known for that fact—that they are non-resistant. That is, they don’t fight in wars. They are conscientious objectors. And even on a personal level, they don’t fight and rarely will sue. So, the question was asked, what would happen if someone wanted to join your church who believed in fighting? Someone who was pro-war? People had differing opinions with small stuff, it was stated. But nah, he said, you wouldn’t find that here—a person who believed in war. That person would be better off finding another church and joining it.
The mouth had shifted the conversation to psychological problems and specifically depression among the Beachys (for the four-year degree is in psychology, though, it seems that remained unstated). Truth be told, and so-as to be as up-front as possible, this was probably the only disappointing part of our discussion. This is because George stated that depression was not something a Beachy person would admit to. It wasn’t something that would even be discussed among them. The mind gasped (instead of the mouth). Shouldn’t he know better? Shouldn’t they know better by now? Not good the mind thought. This was perhaps the only flaw found in what was discussed in the Beachy ways. What about the people who were suffering, who didn’t know how to handle their feelings?
Another fellow came and joined in on our dialogue. Sat down with us. Worked on a farm. The family business; had been for years. Was that my Mustang parked in the lot at service this morning? Yup. Could a member own a car like that at this church? Surprisingly, it was said, yes. As a secondary car. And not on the churches car insurance. Cars need to be four-door.
Insight was gained into George’s thoughts relating to the longevity of the Beachy way. The Beachy church. Would it continue to thrive into the future? How would things be, say, fifty years from now? Would they be the same? Not necessarily, it was assured. It only takes one bad generation to change things. The implication was, to mess things up. True. That had happened for so many other churches. Though, it did seem as if it took more than one generation for things to get out of hand. Depends on what church is considered. Nonetheless, it was reinforced that George liked the way his church was doing things. And then an interesting insight was posed, “It’s a life commitment. It’s all in what you want to get out of life.”
The mind pondered this statement as the eyes looked around at everyone mingling about. Careful observation revealed some interesting things. It was noticed that people didn’t just stay with their families. They intermixed and sat with each other. And, not only that, but it was also observed that it just wasn’t the pretty people talking to the pretty people. Folks of all looks, shapes, and sizes conversed. No noticeable cliques going on. The mind noted it was truly admirable. And, on top of that, people genuinely seemed like they enjoyed each other’s company. It seemed as if good, non-surface level conversations were being had. It all was really something to behold.
The eyes peered down at the smartphone now resting in the lap. Ah, it was time to wrap things up for the evening. Yes, again, after a mere three hours. God is good. George thanked me for spending the evening with him and for the good discussion. We said our goodbyes. The feet stepped toward the car to leave. Then it was observed that the youth who had had so much fun playing baseball earlier were now engrossed in a heavy competition of volleyball. They were really getting into it. Looked like fun. Thought for a moment about joining. Looking down, the eyes were reminded of the black dress shoes that were currently shrouding the feet. It wouldn’t work. They may not even have wanted an older fellow to join. But hunch is, they probably would have let me.
- Daniel Litton
To comment on this post, tap here to go to the comments page.