Stir the Pure Mind

A Sunday with Old Order Mennonites

There's a sort of me vs them mentality in America toward the Anabaptists. They've established their bubbles. We observe and romanticize or maybe even envy and despise, but very few dare approach their space. We have neighbors… and we have Amish neighbors.

Well, this true for most Americans. Not so for my family. We've spent our fair share of time with the simpler folks, adapted some of their ways, and think of them as fellow pilgrims. I don't bother reading Amish romances and I avoid shows like Breaking Amish.

This is why I loved Eric Brende's book, Better Off. He learns from his neighbors swathed in tradition and culture different from himself, but doesn't bother idolizing or hating them. They are people, like anyone else, with stories and skills to share if we're brave and humble.

Andy has been curious about the Anabaptist Amish and buggy-driving Mennonites, so I told him, "Let's visit a church."

"Can you really do that!?" 

Yes, you can. 

We found some local old-order Mennonites and asked them what time they held church, and then said we'd come the following Sunday.

All the same, we almost felt like intruders when we pulled into the church yard yesterday morning, parking our vehicle next to twenty-thirty buggies. A group of young boys parking their bicycles stated at us, curiously, forgetting to wave. But the men came and greeted us, and directed me to the door the women walk through. And disappeared with the men, and came in on the other side of the building. 

We ourselves were dressed very simple, in solid color linen and wool, with our matching, thrifted vintage military sweaters. My checkered head covering and his beard were really the only things that set us a part as visitors.  

The rest of the men were clean shaven and dressed in black. Some of the women wore solid colors, some of them dressed in simple prints. The young women wore two-colored contrasting florals, and their netted head coverings barely clung to the edge of their heads, fastened in place with sewing pins. 

I was welcomed at once by the women in the entry-way, and told to sit wherever I pleased. I noticed the boys and men sat separately across the room. The girls were to my right, and the women to the left. I sat between two mothers who each had six-week old babies placidly laying on their laps staring up at the ceiling. The introduced themselves, and asked me, "Kannst du mir verstehen?"

"Ja, ich kann."

Everywhere I looked it seemed a woman held a baby. There were dozens of babies, maybe a handful of elderly. The church felt alive, even if very quite. The children stirred, the babies whimpered, and yet the room was somber... not stifling, though. I looked to the rows of children situated by age... the young girls with braids up front, the teenagers and unmarried women in the back. On the other side, too, the young men to the front, the older boys in the back. They sat straight and serious (I know that their parents watch them, and if they act out, the children receive a look that says, "I saw you misbehave and later you WILL be whipped"... the don't forget such things).

Because we were guests the men preached in English. But first we sang in from the German Leiderbuch... songs that often have twenty or more verses. They usually only sing about five to six verses. We sang two songs... a group of men sitting around a table in the center of everyone lead the singing, starting each stanza out loudly and clearly. The harmony was lovely... I could tell Andy was enjoying if from where he sat, despite not being able to follow along. 

The service lasted nearly three hours.

The first sermon was delivered by subdued older man. With much effort, I could hear his quiet platitudes and exhortations. When he was done speaking, he lead us to kneel at our pews and ponder his words silently. A wave of shuffling passed over the room. For a couple minutes everyone bowed, and only the babies made noise.

The second man stood and read a large portion of scripture in German, then sat down. 

A third man rose and passionately delivered a volley of thoughts about what we'd already heard, and more. "I have many trains of thoughts," he said. "And you will each leave today with a different train of thought--with a treasure--because you each have a life." 

He gave examples of hardships in their community. Of how a couple had recently suffered the loss of a child. Of how sometimes it seems we are doing what is right to others, but if we know it is wrong we are like Korah in the Numbers 16, and God will see, and we will be swallowed into the earth and punished according to our hypocrisy. 

He read more scripture, sometimes in English, sometimes in German. He said, "The gospel stirs up a pure mind. But we are to remember where salvation comes from. It isn't of our own works, and we shouldn't think our culture is better or excludes us from loving our neighbors, or that their culture is inferior to our own."

We sang another German hymn, kneeled at our pews again, and we're dismissed. 

Afterward, staying to our own sides of the segregated room, Andy and I talked to the men and women. Anyone near me took the opportunity to have a conversation. One women brought her eighth month old daughter to me and said, "I thought you'd like to meet my daughter... her name is also Keturah." 

We talked about fabric, produce auctions, and of possible connections we had, and then the women left through their door and the men out theirs, and everyone returned to their own buggy... I found Andy still deeply engrossed in a conversion with two men near our van. 

People like to look down on these sorts of cultures, believing their women to be oppressed and unhappy, the men somber and incapable of humor, their sermons lacking the holy spirit. This just isn't so. The women are bubbly and friendly... even the most rebellious of girls isn't trying to ditch her dress but simply show off a little more hair and curve to attract a   husband. They are all quick to joke... and laugh. And their sermons are rich in profundity and far from simple-minded, although quaint. 

Really, if you're interested in people and in visiting churches, your experience of religious culture can't be complete with a couple old-order Anabaptist services... the sort whose rumspringa is nothing but a weekend where the youth get a break from the fields to sing more songs and play kickball.

Make sure to read Andy's post highlighting his own experiences from yesterday!

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