some memories of going to the amish church

Last evening I painted my fingernails a nice purple color. It makes me feel good and put together somehow when my nails are done. But it also jogged something in my mind, some memories came flowing back of being in the Amish church. 

Memory number one:

Through the years there was this one story that was repeated over and over again by various preachers. 

Scene one and action: 

(Amish preacher standing in the doorway between kitchen and living room, moving back and forth between the two rooms, rubbing his hands together, clearing his throat, facing the kitchen and then facing the living room, something is troubling him and he is about to speak.) 

Preacher man: "They say there was this English lady they had to exhume for some reason and when they opened her coffin the only thing left was her styled hair and her long, red, painted finger nails." 

Congregation: a complete hush, deadly silence as everyone contemplates the woman in the coffin whose "shame and disobedience" is the only thing left in that coffin.

Preacher man continues: "We all know where this worldly kind of thing leads. It leads to HELL, this kind of blatant going against God's word! People! You cannot do things like this and think you will go to heaven! Never! The English ladies obviously care more about how they look than being obedient to God! Such actions lead to only one place! Hell!"

Little girl in the congregation: senses a feeling of dread and fear in the pit of her stomach, she leaves church knowing that painting her nails and having her hair styled is another way she is going to hell. 


Memory number two. 

Once you become baptized you instantly become a member of the Amish church. It is the ultimate pact, the one true way to heaven, you are now under rule of the Bishop's thumb, you are now going to heaven, you are a daughter of God's when you get baptized and join the church. Your parents are happy, there is a sense of relief for them knowing you are now going to heaven because you are a member of the church. As a little girl growing up I thought heaven was filled with Amish and all the other folks were going to hell, because......they painted their nails and styled their hair and drove cars. 

I was joining church that summer. I was going to be baptized in September of that year, just before my first counsel and communion services. I was a measly seventeen years old, I had a boyfriend and I was preparing to get married. You have to be a member of the church before you can marry, so my sense of duty and what is right and good took over and I started the process of joining the church. 

That summer I walked to church one hot, sultry Sunday. Church was at a farm on a hot and dusty back country road that day. There was nothing beautiful about my surroundings that morning. I was feeling sick and should have been at home in bed. But my sense of duty and responsibility took over, I knew I had to be at church because I was attending instruction classes so that I would be ready to be baptized that fateful day in September. Those instruction classes were long and boring. Those of us who were joining had to leave the church in the morning when the congregation was singing and meet with the men on the "preacher bench", in some upstairs bedroom of the home where church was being held. (That day the actual service was upstairs in the barn and we met in the house.) The men on the "preachers bench" would instruct us on the Amish ways..and also throw things in about the Bible, but I couldn't tell you one thing I learned. It was boring as all get out and everyone seemed to just be going through some sort of ritual and motion. There was nothing there that led one to feel challenged to live life for God. I just remember knowing if I did everything correctly I wouldn't get in trouble with the church and I had a one way ticket to heaven....hopefully. Amish "hope" a lot. That is a whole other post. 

After the class was over those of us who were taking the instruction classes returned to the congregation and soon the men on the "preacher bench" returned as well and then the preaching began. When the congregation stood for the scripture reading I felt some for "tweet tweet" in my head and then next thing I knew a couple of the preacher men were picking me up off the bed of straw that was underneath our feet. I had full on passed out and then rather than some adults help me, one of the girls who sat beside me took me in to the house. The house was a good distance from the barn and I nearly passed out walking to it. Not one lady in the congregation got up to help me. They were too reserved and didn't want to cause a scene, they would rather watch a young girl stumble around than to get up and "make a scene" to help someone. The inaction of the ladies in my congregation that day left a mark on me. My parents weren't at church that day and so there was nobody "responsible" there to help me. The Amish "reserve" leaves me underwhelmed to this day. As I'm older and understand things more and know who I am and what I want to be, I still have a hard time understanding why none of the ladies got up to help me. 

Anyway...the girl who helped me get to the house made sure I had some water and a cookie and a cup of coffee and then she said, "I have to get back out to church," and she left me, her duty to the church beckoned to her more than to make fully sure I was OK. I laid down for a little while, but my sense of duty and responsibility kicked in and I returned to that hot and sticky barn after some time and I made sure I got the last of the service ingested deep inside my soul. 

A few weeks later, I knelt on the floor of another barn, on another bed of straw and I was baptized, in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit....and the Amish church. 

The old people beamed at us. There was a sense of "right" in the barn, that day. 

I left the service happy inside knowing that I had done the right thing. 

I was now going to heaven....hopefully. 

The Hardest Thing

ONE of the hardest things in my life has been to understand that God is not ready to damn me to hell for every move I make. I understand today that God cares much more about my relationship with him and motive and intent of my heart than he cares if I color my nails or not. 

Why do I paint my nails? 

Because I want to be stylish and fancy and like the world? 

Surely! 

Nope, being stylish and worldly is never my motive or intent, painting my nails just makes me feel good and put together. There are times when I don't have my nails painted, it is just a treat I give to myself now and then, to spend time filing my nails, picking out the color and then painting my nails. It leaves me feeling a bit artsy and fun. Many Amish would look at those painted fingernails and judge that I was now of the world, others would think I am being disobedient and too far gone. Why can I write that?  Because I once judged others that way, because it is what I had learned from an early age to do. 

Another hard thing is to learn to have a relationship with God, one in which I am responsible to know why I believe what I believe and do what I do. I have to develop my one convictions. I'm not adopting some churches rules as my convictions. It has taken years for me to resolve this in my heart - that it is OK to form my own convictions through having a relationship with God. It is both so freeing and also makes me now be responsible to know what I believe in. 

I love the Amish...don't get me wrong. I love my family and my friends, they know how to have a ton of fun and be silly and hunt and fish and build barns and quilt and cook and bake anyone to shame. But like I wrote before, their reserve leaves me underwhelmed. Those ladies who didn't help me that day in that hot sweltering barn because they didn't want to make a scene, they were too reserved that day. They know how to stand for things they believe in, but too often their reserve and compliance and conformity leave things undone and unsaid in many areas of life. It is heartbreaking in many instances. Folks might know a young child is being abused...their reserve...renders them silent, a husband is abusing a wife, reserve...renders them silent...their country is going to hell in a hand basket...their reserve....renders them silent....many know the true way to get to heaven...is to be born again...to leave the old and cling to their Savior, but their reserve....renders them silent..they don't challenge the men on the preacher bench making the rules...enough. 

These are my thoughts and memories. These are things I experienced and observed. I write what I know. I love my Amish family and friends and would never write to bash them. I write some of my memories so folks can understand that Amish folk are not perfect, they have their flaws too. They are actually pretty human, just like you and I. 

I need to run, my toenails need painted and my hair flat-ironed. 

wink wink