Alright, here is the second part of the blog about sings. This will finish them up for this time at least until I find more that I can share with everyone. Have fun!

Please comment I would love the feedback

If it is not in use, then why is it there?

if there is a sign, is there not already a problem?

invisible what? People?

hahaha wow

where are we not supposed to swim?

where am I supposed to park my flying car?

what to say about this one...?

100...mph?

to..ease congestion?

keep left...when there is a huge hole there?

have fun with this one

hahaha wow

evil construction workers..

even though this is not a sign, it is still amazing

how do I get in?

better hope it is not to serious

I am glad they made it plain

watch out for those dangerous gravestones

All customer complaints should be taken care of this way

I hope they have a cell phone

Thanks to whoever made this bilboard

poor cockroaches...:(

what is this gate guarding?!

does this guy still have his job?

bummer, I wanted to cross when cars were moving

does the local trafic have flying cars?

only in America

but...I don't speak dog!

but I already gave my arm and leg last time I got gas!

can buggies go 55?

fine failure

While the rest of the world was trampling over each other at Walmart this morning, my family went to the Amish bulk food store in Shipshewana.

As we neared the store, we saw a buggy cruising through an intersection a bit late, giving us this quote of the day: “Did that buggy just trot the red light?”

Once we got to the store it was surprisingly empty.  We stocked up on the usual items: flour, cocoa, spices, quinoa.

Some big guy with a NASCAR jacket took a big handful of cheese samples.  Just reached into the cup and grabbed them.  No toothpicks involved.  Youngest Daughter: “Can I have cheese?”  Me: “No.”

As we were leaving, we observed a lineup of around twenty buggies along the side of the building.  Gives new meaning to Black Friday.

I’ve been thinking about Anglican Christmas traditions. I wish we had some better ones, or could get back some of the old ones. We have become a very cultural church, and follow the latest trend a little too closely. Some so-called traditions I would like to see dropped:

1. Christmas trees EVERYWHERE. The Christmas tree did not appear in England until Queen Victoria got married, and was brought in as a German custom by Prince Albert. That’s  all right, but the Victorian tree was a wee thing with a few baubles and some candles stuck on it, and usually sat on a tabletop in the parlour. It was not for public display. The Lutheran legend is that Martin Luther brought home a small evergreen one Christmas eve, and put candles on it to show his children how the trees looked at night with the stars shining through them, a kind of representation in a Nordic way of the night of the Nativity, with the star over Bethlehem, and the angels glowing in the night sky. Well, this was pretty impressive for sixteenth century children who must have had better imaginations than modern children. And that version of why we have Christmas trees is much nicer and sweeter than the sacrifice to Wotan one.

So why do we have to have Christmas trees – massive Douglas firs or the plastic equivalent – everywhere we turn from American Thanksgiving to Epiphany? Because the wasteful large tree has become a status symbol, covered with lots of expensive designer ornaments.

And please, keep the tree out of the church!

2. Expensive parties from November 30 through New Year’s Eve.

Advertising would have us believe that the whole month of December is about parties: glittery clothes, lots of food and drink, decorating the house like Versailles on the Sun King’s birthday. We are reminded and cajoled to shop for the perfect little dress, get our hair dyed, cut and ornamented, paint our faces like courtesans, and wear high heels in the winter. Spend money, look glamorous (although we can be pretty frumpy the other eleven months) and pretend that we live amongst the glitterati and rock stars.

Come on, now. So few of us really aspire to that lifestyle that these holiday ads are nothing but 30-second romance novels. It isn’t going to happen. We don’t live in a world where we get invited to dozens of parties, because most of our families and friends are striving to just get to work and pay the bills. But we buy into it anyway, and indulge in clothes we might wear once, in food and drink no one really needed, and we try to pretend for just a little while that the world is not what it is. This is unhealthy and leads to a huge emotional drop when January 2 comes, and we have loads of laundry to do, a busted bank account, nothing but gumdrops and cheap champagne in the pantry, and a reality of grizzling children and hung-over spouses. And there’s no black-uniformed maid to swoop down, straighten up the mess and set us on our feet. The glmaour was just that – fake stardust and lies. The root of the word glamour is illusion. It is not about financial and social success; it is about being deceived and literally led astray by the dark spirits.

3. Christmas Cards. Considering the amount of waste that goes into sending cards, including trees, money and your time, why are you doing this? Even recycled paper cards are using up a resource that could go elsewhere. Hand-make and hand-exchange a few cards with close friends and family. The children can help with this, or you can utilize your innate artistic skills. It will be more satisfying and take no more time to produce twenty hand-made cards than to address, sign and send 100 general printed greetings. I used to dread the Christmas card exchange, and the resulting flood of return mail. I dropped out of the whole thing when I started seminary. With papers due, I was not going to spend hours addressing envelopes and dutifully writing little progress reports to people I hadn’t seen in years.

That’s a brief list. There may be more…

We watched a program last night called “Hoarders.” It is about the intervention offered people with – what to call it? – possession disorders? Ownership obsessions? Of course, it was pretty awful for these poor people. They have completely ruined their lives, their relationships, and their finances by hoarding. Some buy things they don’t need and stash them in their houses and apartments. Others drag home trash finds, ostensibly to fix up and resell or use. Some just keep everything, mostly food container trash, that is normally thrown away. The rooms in their dwellings become filled to overflowing, and they have to navigate by narrow pathways through boxes and piles. Of course it’s unsanitary. Of course it’s ugly. Of course it’s even dangerous. But they keep doing it unless they get help. Many refuse the intervention and therapy; they don’t want to get well.

Maybe it is because I had a sheltered childhood or because I grew up in a poor community, but I don’t remember any hoarders from my young years. There would be a hushed word among the adults sometimes about someone having to go to the nursing home because they weren’t able to care for themselves, that they hadn’t cleaned or taken out trash, but it was attributed, I think, to old age and infirmity.

I realize that I have known many hoarders in recent years. Some were extreme – piles of moldering clothes and furniture, broken appliances, derelict cars full of junk and garbage. Some were more subtle – packed closets and spare rooms, tables covered with packaged food, stationery, hardware, but always an excuse as to why it was there and how long it would stay. I mean situations beyond the stack of books, the newspapers on the way to recycling, or the art supplies on the work table. That’s just a sign of a busy life. This goes beyond the string-saving habits of our depression-era grandparents – how many of us have found their kitchen drawers full of bread bags and aluminum foil, good enough to re-use? That’s just moderate hoarding. I think there has been a huge surge in major, out-of-control hoarding, just as there has been an upswing in compulsive shopping.

This is more than a displacement disorder, a psychological aberration. It is, I believe, an indication of a pervasive spiritual illness in our culture. Owning is emphasized; status is more important than relationship. We are what we have. Instead of seeking friendships and stable family situations, we are encouraged to buy, to surround ourselves with the fruits of the consumer culture, sterile and even dead. (You can’t plant a toaster and get a toast tree.) Instead of personality we have veneers of sophistication, and when someone senses that their veneer is inadequate, they seek to build it thicker with acquisitions. Clothes. Make-up. Jewelry. Furniture. Cars. Electronics. When a person is so left behind in acquiring status and sophistication that they feel their relationships are terribly inadequate, then they may develop an acquisitions disorder, turning to accumulation of possessions to compensate – “I am nothing, so I must have everything.” They literally build a thicker wall against the outside world that is so threatening.

Many people suffer this to some degree. It may get very focussed – buying only designer label clothes, for instance, or an obsession with collecting a category of item. These people are already overidentifying with objects, transferring their personalities to things. They lack essential relationships and in this, they lack trust of others. Even God can become a possession to them, as they acquire religious objects, Bibles, spiritual artifacts of many descriptions. They are too frightened to have a true, trusting relationship with their Saviour, so they sometimes try to own Him in small pieces. They will often fall for a prosperity preacher, expecting that God will provide more acquisitions as a reward for faithfulness.

Our culture does not emphasize generosity and true charity. The commonality of goods is refuted by most of the mainline denominations. Tithing is over-emphasized, as if ten percent is all that God could possibly expect of us. The ekonomia of the house of God is that we provide from our own substance for those in need, not just for the heating bill and the rector’s salary. It will take more than ten percent to make the world equitable. It will take everything.  We have to stop being hoarders.

The Lord left us the keys to the Kingdom. We don’t use them, though. We are locked out by lack of love, lack of warm charity, lack of relationship, lack of shalom, that peace which is the peace and wholeness of God.

Last Sunday was Stir-up Sunday, when the traditional collect is “Stir up, we beseech thee, O Lord, the wills of thy faithful people; that they, plenteously bringing forth the fruit of good works, may of thee be plenteously rewarded; through Jesus Christ our Lord.” It is the last Sunday before Advent, almost the end of the church year.

Stir-Up Sunday is the beginning of the week when we also stir up the Christmas puddings and cakes, those traditional dense fruit-laden sugar, egg and butter bombs so beloved of the British people. The rest of the world does not understand fruitcake and plum pudding, but no true Brit, no son or daughter of British roots, would want to see Christmas pass without the rum soaked and flaming pud carried into the darkened dining room, nor see the New Year rung in without a few slices of brandy flavoured cake.

My last fruitcake of the week is in the oven now, slowly amalgamating into a delectable mass. It will be cooled overnight, wrapped in brandy-saturated cheesecloth, wrapped airtight, and stowed on the top shelf of the refrigerator until the festivities.

It is a lot of work, and it takes a strong arm to fold together the densest fruitcakes. Although we no longer have to candy the fruit, chop it fine, and grind the suet and nuts by hand, it stil takes a while to get a good steamed pudding or fruitcake assembled. We started with a long-distance trip to Bulk Barn to get the ingredients by the pound (or kilo, here.) Then there is the marshalling of pudding bowls, fruitcake pans, steamers and cooling racks, the hunting down of cheesecloth in the store, and the debate over the liquor. (Dark rum or brandy?) All the mysterious and exotic ingredients are laid out along with familiar sugar, butter and eggs.

The plum pudding must be stirred by everyone in the house, and I assembled it on Sunday afternoon. The stirring was enjoyed by the two-year-old, who got to sit on the kitchen counter with a wooden spoon. She had haunted the kitchen while preparation was underway, until I gave her a wooden bowl, a plastic spoon, and a dozen raisins to stir herself. She then showed off her work, stirring raisins around and around, and finally ate the raisins. She was enchanted with being allowed to do big girl work with the real bowl, though. It is her first plum pudding.

Honouring this tradition seemed to be vital to our starting the Nativity season this year. Perhaps it is Nicholas’s stroke and the thought that he almost didn’t see this season; perhaps it is a need to feel rooted in our heritage again, building a little sanctuary of memory and history away from a fast-changing world. Tradition roots us in the year itself, both the natural year of seasons and crops, work and rest as well as in the liturgical year of feasts and fasts, saints’ days and commemorations. “Here we are again,” can be a comforting thought, a home-place found each year.

So we are carefully picking up some traditions stowed away while we sojourned, antique treasures inherited from parents and great-grandparents. At the same time, we are dropping some recent traditions that are counter-productive to our spriritual life.

Christmas shopping is one of them. It was easy for me this year – we have absolutely no money. My gifts will all be prayers this year. I will ask the Lord to bestow His blessings on each of us, according to our needs. I refuse to speak gently of some of the horrors of consumer Christmas – Black Friday shopping (Canadians don’t have this) and Boxing Day sales (Americans don’t have this.) Greed and status-seeking are so far from the message of the Incarnation that it is truly horrible to contemplate this filth in the Season of Light. Please don’t be tempted by “bargains.” You simply do not need that stuff anyway.

Our Advent discipline this year is not fasting. This household is ill-equipped to fast this time; I do not want to set myself apart from the people I nourish daily. Meals are a little eucharist for us here, and we need to continue to share the common loaf and cup. After some thought, I proposed that our discipline would be using our food resources better; specifically, using up the surplus in the pantry and freezer. Generosity put some of that food there, and it would be in gratitude that we prepare and eat it. Rather than buy more, we will use what we have, even if on first glance it is not very appealing. But I have time to cook, read recipes and prepare good food from basic components; that is my gift to the house this season.

Perhaps others are in the same position. Are there goods in your house that need to be lovingly consumed before they spoil? Do you have a hoard or stash of something that you should share? If you do, will it be for the daily nourishment of your family, or in a big party for friends? Or do you need to move the surplus on to those in need this winter, donating to a food bank? Be extravagant in your hospitalityand generosity.

If your surplus is not in the pantry, do you have goods that are not being used – small appliances, clothes, furniture, books,maybe even a stack of firewood you won’t burn this year. Can these be donated to a charity to be given to a family without resources, or to be sold? Even better, have a sale of your own, in the garage or barn, or list the items on craigslist or kijiji, whichever serves your area. Donate the proceeds.

Preparing our loving hearts for Advent and the Festival of the Incarnation (Christmas, nativity) is of greater importance than preparing our homes by filling them with purchased junk.

“Now therefore ye are no more strangers and foreigners, but fellow-citizens with the saints, and of the household of God.” (Ephesians 2:19)

Taking a trip through the Amish country of southeastern Ohio.

Keep reading.

If happiness isn’t an entire Troyer’s pumpkin pie in front of me, then I don’t want to know what happiness is.  I spent my first 9 years in Wooster, OH just a few minutes away from what I consider to be the best pumpkin pie ever.  I’ve never tried my hand at making my own pumpkin pie because there didn’t seem to be much of a point when the Amish down the road had already made the best.  Sadly it’s a recipe probably as closely guarded as the Coca-Cola recipe so, there’s that.  I picked up 3 of them for my mom before coming home for the holidays — it took every ounce of my self-control to keep from sneaking a piece for a day and a half.  Since first posting this, as of last night my mother and I put away the 3 pies in 3 days.  Not too shabby.

St. Mary’s County has both Amish and Mennonite communities located in the Charlotte Hall, Mechanicsville and Loveville areas. Highway signs warn motorists to stay alert for buggies on the way to market. Amish farms are recognizable by their windmills and lack of electric lines. Signs offering items such as quilts, bedding plants and hand carved furniture are posted at farm entrances of those who wish to conduct business. Amish and Mennonite baked goods are sold at the north county farmers markets, which also feature produce, flowers, and Amish canned goods. For more information, visit the St. Mary’s Destination Guide.

Yesterday, Tim Challies’ writing career took a dramatic turn as he shared his idea for the ultimate Christian novel:

Cassidy: Amish Vampiress of the Tribulation

No, your eyes do not deceive you. It’s an Amish Vampire Romance novel set in the end-times.

“It’s an Amish novel; it’s a vampire novel; it’s an end-times novel. It’s the best of all worlds,” wrote Challies.

Here’s Tim’s back cover text:

He is handsome. He is romantic. He is Amish.

Twenty-three year old Cassidy lives a simple life in the Amish countryside of Lancaster County. Simple, that is, until Slade Byler moves into the old Lapp farm. Cassidy finds herself irresistibly drawn to the handsome Slade; but she fears to share the secret that she alone knows. For Cassidy is an immortal, a princess in the long line of ancient Amish vampires. Will Slade’s love grow cold when he learns this great secret? Can she give to him a heart that does not beat?

Meanwhile, the strength of the Antichrist grows as he consolidates his power and seeks to destroy the peace-loving people of Pennsylvania. A blossoming romance unfolds between Cassidy and Slade as the world around them changes forever. They must fight to stay alive, they must fight to keep their forbidden love a secret, but, as Amish, they must not fight at all.

In this irresistible tale of intrigue and adventure, set against global upheaval, the bonnet meets the cape in a story sure to span the ages.

The “excerpt” from the novel is spectacular as well (you can click through to read it).

But you know what makes this even more awesome?

The reaction:

I have received [genuine] publication offers for “Cassidy: Amish Vampiress of the Tribulation.” It’s not exactly how I saw my career going.
(via Twitter)

Congratulations, Tim–Take one of those offers up and put your kids through college!

I am a bit discouraged about drssing plain these days. My clothes are wearing out, I have no funds, and no sewing machine with me! It may be weeks yet before I can retrieve my stuff, including the mighty Pfaff, from New Brunswick. (Hoping it’s still there, and hasn’t been discarded from storage! It was’t a formal arrangement, nor very secure.) I am patching and mending as much as I can – sweaters, dresses, aprons. I did pick up a shirt and shoes for Nicholas at a rummage sale, and night clothes for myself, but suitable plain clothes? No. Although some of the donations in their 80s high style might make anyone look dowdy…

While we have shelter and food, I simply have no cash at all. Outside of looking like a hard winter until I am employed or the disability pensions starts, I don’t have many options. Few communities run a clothing bank anymore, preferring the rummage sale or Salvation Army donation route. That just doesn’t help people who have NOTHING.

Are we making too many assumptions these days about what people can manage? Are too many falling through the cracks? Even one is too many.

Am I going to have to give up Plain just so I can cover myself in a suitable way? I pray it won’t come to that. But sensible, modest clothes, used or free, are very hard to come by, in a country where everything is disposable.

Fue mi psicoanalista Pablicto Muñoz el que me enseñó a moverme por el mundo de los sueños. Nos acabábamos de conocer.  Creo que estábamos en un bar hablando de sueños, de sueños repetitivos, de sueños impresionantes y me contó como era posible moverse dentro de un sueño, dominarlo y hacer lo que uno quiera dentro de el.

No le creí, aunque como siempre me pasa con él, no pude decir que no fuera verdad. Se repite con mis mejores amigos que por muchos disparates que me suelten, no puedo negarles que no sea verdad. ¿Lo se yo?

Y eso da alas.

No fue cuestión de días sino de años, pero al fin y poco a poco, me he ido dando cuenta de que ese bribón enano, no mentía.

Os contaré una de esas últimas experiencias. Una de las mas flipantes.

Mi destino: Alemania. Una de esas convenciones de la asociación de fisioterapeutas Bobath a Alemania con el fin de subir un peldaño mas en mi carrera profesional, como tiene que ser.

Medio de transporte: Avión.

“Buenos dias les saluda el comandante McFoscar …bribribri…    …horas…    bribri…….     la temperatura       …..blabla….          tatata…..    rororor……  buenviajeGoodmorninladiesandgents….sssssss….hhhh…..rrrrr…   farenheit……fffffffff…..ffffff….      you”

Qué mameluco… es increible como cada vez que te subes a un avión y estás a punto de despegar el “comandante” coge el walkie-talkie y al dirigirse al respetable balbucea con sopor pero a toda hostia unas frases (probablemente) leidas lo peor posible que es capaz.

Hagamos un inciso para analizar los motivos:

*1/ Para que parezca que lo tiene todo controlado, que ha volado 3 millones de horas que está sobrado y tu no eres mas que un puto gusano. Que quede claro que tu vida está en sus manos.

*2/ Que sabe mogollón de ingles y ya casi se le ha olvidado el castellano -como a Martín Lopez Zubero- para hacerte sospechar que quizá vive a caballo entre Manhattan y La Moraleja, cuando probablemente vive en San Chinarro.

*3/ Efectos del alcohol, cocaina y Viagra. Too much triqui-triqui con l@s azafat@s. No olvidemos que el jet lag es malísimo.

*4/  Si fuera alfarero, carpintero o campesino sería mas feliz. Si o si.

El caso es que esta actitud -en mi caso- actua como cápsula somnífera, y el único rato que me quedo dormido en un vuelo es antes del despegue.

Momento en el que empecé a soñar…

Aparecí en un sitio precioso. El valle del Azucar (USA) Un bosque repleto de los colores del Otoño atravesado por un rio que discurria por el fondo del valle. Me hallaba en una vieja casa de madera con un tipo que no se quitó un gorro ruso en los 10 dias que duró el sueño, una tía con 2 trenzas que vestía un pijama de rayas y el dichoso comandante McFoscar. La luz era tenue y acogedora, había lucecitas de esas de Navidad por todas partes y calabazas de Halloween con sus diferentes muecas chinescas. Recuerdo estar bien ahí. Sentados alrededor de la mesa de una gran cocina charlamos y charlamos. Bueno… el supuesto McFoscar, comandante del avión resultó no tener ni guarra de inglés como intuía antes de quedarme dormido.

Pero si, allí hablamos sobre el hecho de ser un “Misfit”, el sentirse inadaptado, cementerios y niños, discutimos amargamente sobre si la música de Mozart, la música clásica y los Requiems no eran mas que el subproducto de lo que los monarcas e Iglesia quisieron en su tiempo. Y lo contrapusimos a la música de los negros de Africa, esa de la que tanto os he hablado, la que hizo que la musica americana tenga la piel negra. Nos disfrazamos de Góticos siniestros y salimos a dar una vuelta al cementerio del valle junto a un par de cabras amarradas a una cadena. Vimos antiguas películas rodadas en Super 8 de los tiempos en los que en Central Park había un zoológico. Hicimos música en el salón de la casa transformado en un estudio como el que tantas veces había soñado con los ojos abiertos.

Si, claro tambien nos comimos un cocido. Todo el pueblo vino a vernos, iban todos disfrazados, multitud de niños llamando de puerta en puerta pidiendo caramelos, y juntos cantamos canciones de John Prine al calor de una gran hoguera. Aporreé unos bongos hasta sangrar.

Vi una estrella fugaz, e incluso un cerdo volando, señales de boda.

Soñe con gaitas.

Chocamos las manos de alegría por ser los únicos pirados que piensan que Joey Ramone  ha sido el “Best singer ever”

Soñe con una gran luna Llena. Soñé con las 12 lunas indias.

En este sueño escuchamos blues muy antiguo hecho por gente de la que no existe siquiera una imagen de ellos.

Mucha furia y mucho barro.

En el pueblo unos skaters se enganchaban a una carreta del año 1800 tirada por caballos, en la que iba una familia entera con los trajes y peinados de esa época. Ay si en los sueños se pudieran tirar fotos… Pero los sueños sueños son, y las imágenes quedan en mi cabeza, nada mas. Entre la neblina.

Solo puedo compartir unas canciones, las que me pareció escuchar, solo algunas de las que recuerdo. Este disco que regalo es la banda sonora de este sueño.

Solo espero que algún día pueda yo convertirme en tu mejor amigo y confies en mi de manera incondicional. Los sueños se pueden dominar, porque quien sabe si como me dijo el amigo Segismundo cuando me hallaba en el diván: “La vida es solo sueño” y… Zzzzzz.

“ Es verdad; pues reprimamos

esta fiera condición,

esta furia, esta ambición,

por si alguna vez soñamos:

y sí haremos, pues estamos

en mundo tan singular,

que el vivir sólo es soñar;

y la experiencia me enseña

que el hombre que vive, sueña

lo que es, hasta despertar.

Sueña el rey que es rey, y vive

con este engaño mandando,

disponiendo y gobernando;

y este aplauso, que recibe

prestado, en el viento escribe;

y en cenizas le convierte

la muerte (¡desdicha fuerte!):

¿que hay quien intente reinar,

viendo que ha de despertar

en el sueño de la muerte?

Sueña el rico en su riqueza

que más cuidados le ofrece;

sueña el pobre que padece

su miseria y su pobreza;

sueña el que a medrar empieza,

sueña el que afana y pretende,

sueña el que agravia y ofende,

y en el mundo, en conclusión,

todos sueñan lo que son,

aunque ninguno lo entiende.

Yo sueño que estoy aquí

de estas prisiones cargado,

y soñé que en otro estado

más lisonjero me vi.

¿Qué es la vida? Un frenesí,

¿Qué es la vida? Una ilusión,

una sombra, una ficción,

y el mayor bien es pequeño:

que toda la vida es sueño,

y los sueños, sueños son.”

Demasié bonito

]]> http://prem2pram.wordpress.com/2009/11/18/wordless-wednesday-5/ Wed, 18 Nov 2009 09:32:49 +0000 prem2pram http://prem2pram.wordpress.com/2009/11/18/wordless-wednesday-5/

We toured the Amish country of northeast Ohio and had the joy of meeting Mrs. Schultzfuss. She had a store selling stamp pads and stamps and things to make cards with. It seems that the Amish enjoy this type of craft, and they make and give cards with frequency. She was really talkative and out of the blue, just after we’d finished making our purchases, Mrs. Schultzfuss pops out with “Would you like to see my home?” “Yes!” we chorused. It’s quite an honor to be invited into an Amish person’s home, and really rare, by all accounts.

We toured all through her beautiful home. The gas operated washing machine, shining wood floors and furniture, even her bedroom was on display. It was solid and simple and she was so humbly proud of her home that we felt very special just being there with her.

God bless you, Mrs. Schultzfuss!

Now, as most people understand, the Amish do not wish to have their photograph taken, it’s prideful and akin to making graven images, which the bible forbids.

We’re at the airport on the way home. My sister Mary whips out a small notepad and in about thirty seconds makes this spot-on drawing of Mrs. Schultzfuss, “Everybody’s Grandma-ma.”

As an ordained Anglican, I am under so much headship that I feel top-heavy. I am married, so I am under my husband’s headship; I am ordained, so I am under my bishop’s headship; I am a Christian, so I am under Christ’s headship. I need the long hair and the cap just to steady the load!

Why am I willing to do this? It is the way Christ called us to follow, so I do it, even if the world doesn’t like it, thinks I’m crazy, and calls me oppressed. It is the way of humility, and we cannot reach God through pride, so it is the way I must go. It is a relief to be able to bow with grace in this, to know that I am loved and protected, to know that my efforts in family and Church are appreciated and useful.

Authority is natural; it derives from our relationship to God, and our right relationships to each other. Proper authority, granted by God and taught us in scripture, leads to right relationship. Right relationship is a relationship of mutual respect, mutual love, and mutual self-sacrifice. Authority is not abusive or manipulative. It is an attitude of openness that comes from respect and trust.

Abuse in the form of authority is always destructive. Its end does not justify its means. Our only goal is the love of God, and the hope of salvation, the on-going creation and the promise of redemption. Headship authority sometimes is used to hide sin; this is so perverted as to be satanic. There is no redemption, no salvation, no act of creation in abuse and pride.

One of the most puzzling aspects of headship theology is its hierarchy, until we acknowledge that Jesus is Lord; Caesar (the world) is not. (A phrase from Bishop N.T. Wright; see his Surprised by Hope.) We are all under His headship, husbands and bishops included, and if they act without Him, then they have violated His headship as well as their own. All action, all relationship, must be seen in the context of the gospel light of Christ.

Because the two become one flesh in marriage, my headship under my husband supersedes that of my bishop. If my husband’s authority is reasonable and supportable in Christ, then his authority will prevail with me if it opposes the headship of the bishop. Has this happened? Yes, and to this day remains unresolved. The relationship is still not healed; my husband, too, is under the bishop’s authority as a priest, but again, Christ’s headship supersedes any earthly authority. Anglicans believe that only God is infallible; all men will fail in perfect knowledge. Bishops therefore may be disobeyed if their orders are not supported by tradition, reason and scripture. (This is reverse order of authority. Scripture comes first, reason next, and tradition last. Tradition can never take precedence over scripture, and we acknowledge that reason may be man’s wisdom but not God’s. Scripture is therefore of the greatest authority.) However, the disobedience may lead to discipline, and that is under due authority even if the bishop is wrong.

This is but a brief sketch for those looking for some basis to what I do. It could be a full book at some point, if I should ever have the time and anyone was interested.

A daughter of “the Mennonite equivalent of the pope” goes home

Mennonite in a Little Black Dress: A Memoir of Going Home. Holt, 241 pp., $22.

By Janice Harayda

A librarian here in New Jersey found recently that books about the Amish now outnumber Amish people.* If the attention this memoir is getting is an indication, Mennonites are the new Amish — a paradox given that Mennonites are, in fact, the old Amish: The Amish tradition arose in the late 17th century as an offshoot of the more liberal Mennonite faith.

Rhoda Janzen is a daughter of “the Mennonite equivalent of the pope” who returned in middle age to the religious community of her youth. She had left it first for “studded black minis, enormous hair, fuchsia lipstick, and preposterously high Manolos” and then for a career as a poet and English professor. But several events drove her back to California, including a serious car accident and a divorce from her husband of 15 years, who left her for a man he met on Gay.com. She describes her sojourn in Mennonite in a Little Black Dress, a slangy and often amusing report on her experiences in a land of soft two-tiered buns called Zwiebach, served with homemade rhubarb jam. One experience involved the Mennonite equivalent of a pick-up line. Janzen says that a male rocker once approached her in a supermarket parking lot with: “If you’re a single woman of God, I surely wish you’d e-mail me.”

For a self-declared “grammarian,” Janzen shows a oddly shaking command of the nuances of English usage. She uses “shoe-in” for shoo-in, “timber” for timbre and has a weakness for the cute, which shows up when she tries to explain Mennonite views on sex. “Keep your pervy pecker in your pants, mister,” she writes. “Mennonite gals do not put out, no matter how alluring we are in our bonnets and aprons.” Janzen also seems unwilling or unable to reflect deeply on how her strict upbringing might have fed her decision to stay for so long with an emotionally abusive husband. She says she remained in her marriage because her parents never fought during her childhood and getting divorced “was something other people did” — a explanation that isn’t fully persuasive when she had broken by then with many other Mennonite traditions.

But the tone of the book so breezy, you waft though it. And occasionally Janzen lets you see how perceptive she can be when she drops the shtick and describes her life straight up. One such moment occurs when she reconnects with a friend who, though much like her, had stayed within the Mennonite fold and lived a more conventional life within it:

“Here was Eva, who could have made such different choices with her education and career path. Here was I, with my decades of restless travel, my brilliant but tortured ex-husband. And how sad it suddenly seemed to be buffeted by the powerful currents to which we had yielded our lives. So many years had passed. My childhood, my early friendships, my long marriage, all seemed to hang from an invisible thread, like the papery wasps’ nests outside my study window.”

*I couldn’t confirm this, and it may refer to number of copies in print, not titles. There are about 225,000 Amish in the U.S. and more than 170,000 books printed.

Best line: No. 1: Janzen on her mother: “This was a woman who had once departed for Hawaii with a frozen fryer in her suitcase, on the theory that the chicken would be thawed by the time her flight landed in Honolulu.” No. 2: The last lines of the review above.

Worst lines: No. 1: “—she patted her heinie significantly.” No. 2: “Al’s enrollment at St. Veronica’s had not been a shoe-in, but Phil and Hannah had decided that Christian guilt was better than bad math.” No. 3: “ With a pattern of dodgy behavior already established, I was a shoe-in for further scrutiny.” No. 4: “Aaron sang close harmonies in a madrigal group, his rich-timbered baritone blending like butter.” No: 5: “Keep your pervy pecker in your pants, mister. Mennonite gals do not put out, no matter how alluring we are in our bonnets and aprons.” No. 6: “I am woman, hear me pee!” No. 7: “Fresh out of grad school, I agreed to be the faculty adviser to a sorority whose members were commonly referred to as ‘the Campus Hotties’ or ‘the Ones in Deep Doo-Doo for Trashing Four Hotel Rooms Again.”

Furthermore: The Wall Street Journal article “They’re No Bodice-rippers, but Amish Romances Are Hot” has more on the boomlet in books about the Amish. Third Way Café has an answer to: “What’s the difference between Mennonites and Amish?”.

Read an excerpt from Mennonite in a Little Black Dress or find the publisher’s reading group guide.

You can also follow Jan Harayda (@janiceharayda) on Twitter www.twitter.com/janiceharayda, where she will be tweeting this week about topics that will include the National Book Awards to be announced Nov. 18. Comments about those prizes will also be posted on One-Minute Book Reviews.

© 2009 Janice Harayda. All rights reserved.

Recently, right after I was Gayle King’s guest on her Oprah Radio show on Sirius/XM Satellite Radio, I hopped on the train to Philadelphia to be on NPR’s “A Chef’s Table.” All of this was so cool, by the way, that I could barely get my coffee past my huge grin.

I made sure I had enough time before the NPR show to visit Philadelphia’s Reading Terminal Market, a mecca for food lovers. This warehouse-style landmark, which has been feeding Philly since 1893, features stalls with everything from fish shops to organic farm stands to soul food to Pennsylvania Dutch counters. If you go, make sure you’re hungry.

Maybe not as hungry as I was–by the time I got there, I didn’t even know where to go first. This taught me an important rule of food markets: Go to the ones that have long lines. Yes, your stomach will grumble for a while longer, but the lines mean the food is good. Me, I couldn’t wait any longer, so I got instant service and a boring sandwich. Bummer!

I made sure to counter that DFE (Disappointing Food Experience) with a sure thing: the apple dumping at the Dutch Eating Place. I have a thing for the Amish; they live simply, and they’re the most forgiving people on the planet. I also like to follow the “When in Rome, eat as the Romans do” idea, wherever I am. And since I was in Pennsylvania Dutch territory, I briefly cursed myself for not going to the large Pennsylvania Dutch corner of the Reading Terminal Market first, and then ordered the apple dumpling. “Whipped or heavy cream?” asked the Amish counter girl. Bring on the heavy stuff, I said.

Sheer gorgeousness, this dumpling was–dense, tender biscuit lovingly hugged a fat baked apple, and the cream made the whole dessert sing with different, harmonious textures.

If you’re in the area, visit the Reading Terminal Market, sample as much as you can, and definitely save room for that dumpling.

Wilkum to the Pennsylvania Dutch corner of Reading Terminal Market.

The incredible apple dumpling at the Dutch Eating Place. Swoonsome.

Chocolate covered cookies. Great idea? Too much? Yes? No?

Contraband! Raw milk can't cross state lines. It looked delicious.

Sculptures made of beeswax. Yep, beeswax.

Submitted by: dunno source via Submit a Kludge!

Favorite Comment: Fixer Alleycat says, “Brother Hezekiah, wouldst thou like thine lumbar support and seat heater turned on?”

My name is Susan, and I’m an addict.

I’m addicted to reading.

How do I know? Well, I always have a book I’m reading, although I can rarely remember the title. (What’s a title anyway? Pffft.) If I don’t have a new book, I’ll reread one I enjoyed. Typically, I have a book I’m reading upstairs and downstairs. I have been known to read cans and boxes in the kitchen, but that really doesn’t fill my well. (Hard to find a plot on the back of a can.)

In the past few years, I’ve developed a new rule. I try not to read first books of the authors I love. I know, I know, all fantastic authors have to start somewhere, but the hard truth is . . . I DON’T HAVE TO READ WHAT THEY WROTE.

This past week when the “Gotta buy a book, gotta buy a book” urge hit me, I happened to be at the local Walmart. We don’t have a huge selection of books there (my own books have never seen the aisles of a WM) but I can usually find something. And, of course, I did.

I found a Tami Hoag book called STILL WATERS. Love Tami. Love her books. Love her suspense. Love her usually well hidden sense of humor. Wary of being ripped ofF with a first book, I looked through the first pages for the publication date. I don’t remember it exactly, but it was sometime in the early ’90’s.

Early ’90’s? Yikes!

Not having a computer with me so I could look up Tami’s earliest books, I bit the bullet and bought it. (Tiny internal voice: You know you want to.)

Lucky me, it wasn’t one of her very earliest ones. STILL WATERS is a great book with a wonderful suspenseful who-done-it. A hot-hot-hot!!!! tough guy hero and a finally-met-her-match heroine. Both have hearts of gold. Dialogue is wonderful. Setting is fantastic.

And get this–there’s even an Amish presence. I think Tami did some real researched on that group. Great job, Tami.

Problems with this book? Tami was still learning POV. (Argh)  Head hopping is rampant and frequent and well, once you get into it, not THAT noticeable. Not enough to make me throw the book across the room, although I find I frequently have to go back and read to find out whose POV we’re in. 

Do I recommend this book? Absolutely. Even though I think I’ve had the guy-you’d-never-suspect antagonist figured out almost since the beginning. (I’ll let you know later if I was right or not.)  BTW: I did that in Tami’s A THIN DARK LINE, too. Not an easy one to figure out, but what can I say? I’m good.

Am I looking forward to her next book, DEEPER THAN THE DEAD, coming December 29th? You bet I am!

The girl kicks patootie!

Last weekend was the Buckeye Book Fair in Wooster, Ohio–the largest annual book event in Ohio and one of the largest literacy fund-raisers in the country. I can’t tell you how much fun I had meeting with readers and signing books. When they opened the doors to the auditorium promptly at 9:00 am. and hundreds of people surged in to browse and buy signed copies from their favorite authors, I was filled with awe! This wasn’t the latest Harry Potter movie, or free lattes at Starbucks…these were books people were hurrying to get their hands on. I must say, as a writer, my heart pounded all that morning and is still a little off beat today two days later.  This was the first time I’d been invited to the event to sign A Widow’s Hope, and I certainly hope I’ll be invited back next year.

Afterwards, we had dinner with my long-time friend, Casey Daniels, and her husband. Casey had 9 books to sell, including her Pepper Martin mysteries, and we were both pleased with the sales at the fair. And to finish the day off perfectly, we drove to my favorite B&B, Simple Pleasures,  in Winesburg to spend the night. The innkeeper had invited their Amish neighbors to dinner and chit-chat. And their daughters held an pie-tasting for me with three different kinds of Chocolate Mousse Cream pie. The “winning” recipe along with 3 other pies will appear in The Way to a Man’s Heart, the third in the Miller Family series, coming in July, 2010. Remember, the second in the series, Never Far From Home, will be released late next month. My husband and I slept like babies, and awoke to rolling farmfields kissed by frost and the sound of roosters! I threw some apples to the deer and of course, fed Sam-the-horse apples as well. I cannot imagine a better way to spend the weekend, or a better place to spend it in than Ohio’s Amish Country!

This evenings sunset could be described as such…fire. A fantastic Kentucky fall variety for sure. It’s the kind of element that makes one be thankful they live in Kentucky. Over the last couple of weeks it seems I have been treated to the best Ky has to offer. From our relaxing journey to Natural Bridge and her environs to this evenings fading light show. Now…as the night is winding down with a fine glass of local wine and with the mellow tones of Chris Botti playing “When I fall in love”…I write this entry, life seldom offers such joy.

I find myself, much like most of us, sometimes caught up in the minutia…the details of twenty first century life. To the point of missing out on the simple joys…like a fine sunset.

Daily chores for many of us require our attention on many fronts. From checking email to texting our friends to surfing the far reach’s of the internet looking for some obscure tidbit of knowledge to changing diapers to changing oil to……..well the list is long. When we can stop and enjoy a beautiful sunset…it’s those times when all things are put into perspective.

We had a new roof put on the house over the last week or so. The men who performed the work were Amish. Ranging in age from eighteen to sixty and all of them craftsmen. To watch them go about their work with undivided attention and purpose was a joy. Real human endeavor is still alive and well regardless of the headlines. Sometimes I forget that. Working as I do for a government agency it’s hard to believe that there are still folks who really work for a living and who do it well. There was a time when the same could be said of me. In the past few years though…I don’t know. It’s hard to maintain a solid course of action when all around you excel in mediocrity. When one takes up working for a government agency it as if you made a pact with the devil and in doing so loose a bit of your soul with each passing day. But I digress…..

The purpose of this post was to be uplifting and joyful…funny how what we do has so much influence on who we are.

The sunset was a gift…each day is a gift. May we all see them as such…me included.

As always…I must be off.

COPIO-INCOLLO UN BELL’ARTICOLO
DI Riccardo Chiaberge
DA LE IDEE DEL SOLE 24 ORE

Lettrici e lettori attenzione, sta dilagando una pandemia se possibile più insidiosa dell’influenza A. È l’influenza B: come Bufala. Se provate a digitare su Google «vaccino» o «vaccinazioni», vi si rovescerà addosso un torrente di allarmismo fangoso, legioni di dèmoni scatenati e di bestie dell’Apocalisse.
Centinaia di blog, giornali online e siti di controinformazione (citiamo per tutti «L’Angolo del Gigio») propalano senza il beneficio del dubbio le «terribili verità» che gli gnomi della sanità mondiale, dall’Oms in giù, ci tengono nascoste per i loro nefasti disegni.

Vaccinarsi contro il virus H1N1? Non se ne parla nemmeno. È dimostrato per esempio, anzi assolutissimamente certo che l’autismo è causato dai vaccini: prova ne sia che non ci sono bambini autistici tra gli Amish della Pennsylvania (ricordate il film Witness con la stupenda Kelly McGillis?), una comunità religiosa di origine olandese che ha scelto di vivere come nell’Ottocento, separata dal resto della popolazione, senza cerniere lampo né tv, e che rifiuta di vaccinare i propri figli.

È sicurissimo che il vaccino, «a lungo termine», provoca danni irreparabili al sistema immunitario, sclerosi multipla e artrite reumatoide, come possomo testimoniare i reduci dalla Guerra del Golfo. È provato che nei preparati che dovrebbero proteggerci dalla pandemia sono presenti micidiali nanoparticelle che possono attaccare cellule sane. E comunque sia, non vorrete mica fare un favore a Big Pharma, la cupola d’affari più potente del mondo, che ormai fa impallidire per fatturato l’industria delle armi, e che si inventa flagelli di Dio al solo scopo di rimpinguare i profitti?

Il fatto più sconcertante è che siano i medici per primi ad alimentare questa psicosi, sconsigliando la vaccinazione ai propri pazienti. E i medici, si suppone, dovrebbero avere le carte in regola per giudicare e decidere in scienza e coscienza.

Sabato scorso il quotidiano parigino Libération ha sparato in prima pagina l’immagine di una siringa col titolo: «Il virus del dubbio». Nell’editoriale si prende atto del clima di ostilità generale, della tesi del «complotto igienista» di cui potrebbero essere accusate le autorità francesi che hanno acquistato 98 milioni di dosi di vaccino e ora devono smaltirle in qualche maniera, ma conclude con una messa in guardia contro ogni «oscurantismo» che esporrebbe la popolazione a rischi mortali in caso di epidemia. E cita Voltaire, che nel ‘700 fu tra i primi paladini della vaccinazione di massa.

Navighiamo in acque inesplorate, e come sempre in questi frangenti ci vuole cautela, razionalità e sangue freddo. Certo, nel caso dell’Italia, saremmo forse meno diffidenti se il viceministro alla salute Fazio non si mostrasse così corrucciato, se ogni tanto ci regalasse un sorriso. Ma a pesare soprattutto è il pregiudizio antiscientifico di tanta parte dell’opinione pubblica, anche di quella più acculturata, che vede nella medicina ufficiale un covo di dottor Mengele, e si cura esclusivamente con l’omeopatia e i fiori di Bach, che sono tanto più chic degli antibiotici.

L’influenza A è un nemico subdolo e imprevedibile. Come ha scritto l’altro ieri sul supplemento del Sole 24 ore «Domenica» l’immunologo Alberto Mantovani, «la scarsa aggressività e il basso rischio di complicanze gravi e mortalità per il singolo individuo, confrontabile, se non inferiore, a quello dell’influenza stagionale, non sono motivo per non far ricorso al vaccino. Infatti, anche per l’influenza stagionale, tutti gli anni viene approntato un vaccino ad hoc che è fortemente consigliato». Di rischi ce ne sono in tutti gli interventi medici, ma la vaccinazione si colloca ai livelli più bassi. E il principio di precauzione andrebbe applicato a 360 gradi. Chi ci garantisce, ad esempio, che ingozzarsi di papaia fermentata sia una difesa efficace contro il virus? Che non danneggi alla lunga il nostro organismo? Visti i prezzi, di sicuro fa bene a chi la produce. Quanto a noi, che non viviamo tra gli Amish, nessuno lo sa.

Jeg har idag sett et fantastisk interessant program om Amishene. Et program om 2 menn som begynner å stille spørsmålstegn ved reglene og logikken i det samfunnet de bor i. De er Amish av oppvekst, er troende og hardtarbeidende mennesker. Historien går i korte trekk ut på at de blir utstøtt, tiltross for at de – etter deres mening ikke gjør annet enn hva bibelen sier.

 Hva de opplever, hva det betyr å blir utstøtt. Og deres liv med barn, en uventet kostbar kreftsykdom for deres lille datter og deres kamp. Et fantastisk feel-good program som understreker at samfunnet det her er snakk om, er så langt ifra radikalisme og fanatisme man kan komme. Allikevel preget av stor gudetro og nøysomhet.

Det er ikke lov å ha telefon i huset, hvilket en kreativ Amish løser ved å bygge en utendørs telefonkiosk. Strøm er ikke lov å legge inn i huset, hvilket han kreativt ordner med batterier. Slik går hele historien, – om støtte blandt venner, naboer og samfunnet. Om harde regler og det å leve etter naturen. Det fredelige gårdssamfunnet. Fantastisk bra !!

Her litt om Amishene:

Amishene kommer fra en gruppe av anabaptist- rørelsen (år 1525) kalt Schwiezerbrøderne. Jacob Amman var deres grunnlegger og han stod for å bevare gamle tradisjoner, og skilte seg fra verden i større grad enn de andre anabaptist gruppene. Anabaptistene var de som under reformasjonen ville ha en mer drastisk reformert kirke, og dannet sitt eget syn på hvordan kristendommen skulle være.

 Det første ”lasset” med Amisher som immigrerte fra Europa til USA, med en båt ved navn ”The Adventure”, dro fra Rotterdam og kom fram til Philadelphia 2. oktober 1727.

De immigrerte til USA pga at den katolske lutherske og reformerte kirke forfulgte dem og gav dem dødsstraff pga sitt syn på kristendommen og hvordan de valgte å leve. De ble dømt for forræderi, og mangle ble brent eller bundet fast i et hjul og døde på det viset. Noen ble også kastet i en elv eller på havet.

 Amishene i Europa fikk ikke eie noe, ikke hus/gårder, land – ingenting. Det var også en av grunnene til at de immigrerte. Amishene som immigrerte bosatte seg først i Pennsylvania (Lancaster County), men senere forflyttet de seg til Ohio, Indiana og Iowa. I dag er Amishene bosatt i tjue av Amerikas femti stater og i den canadiske provinsen Ontario. 75 % av Amish -folket er i dag bosatt i Pennsylvania, Ohio og Indiana.

”Amerika er den store smeltedigelen,” har det vært sagt. Til dette forjettede landet kom folk fra alle land og folkeslag på leting etter frihet fra sult, fattigdom og forfølgelse. Mange fant det de søkte, og gjennom smeltedigelen er deres etterkommere blitt en del av den legeringen som kalles amerikanere.

På tross av de felles trekk som uten tvil preger amerikanerne, har jeg likevel alltid syntes at analogien til ”smeltedigelen” svikter. Et besøk i New York på St. Patrick’s Day, eller i Brooklyn på 17. mai gir to av mange andre mulige eksempler på det kaleidoskopiske mangfoldet som plent nekter å underkaste seg smeltedigelens krav om en enhetlig legering.

En av de mest særpregede bitene i kaleidoskopet må du imidlertid ut av storbyen for å finne. Legger du kursen sørvestover fra New York, vil du etter noen timers bilkjøring måtte dele veien med kalesjevogner trukket av e…n hestekraft med fire bein.

Langs veien har du kanskje alt passert velstelte gårder (fig 1) og sett jorder bli pløyd, eller høstet med et flerspann bestående av hester eller muldyr. Menneskene som kjører disse doningene og bor på gårdene, er kledd i gammelmodige klær (fig 2).

I våningshusene sine har de ikke radio, fjernsyn eller elektrisk strøm, og de eier ikke biler eller traktorer som kunne tenkes å frakte dem langt fra hjemmet.

De kaller seg selv for ”enkle mennesker” (plain people), og deres mål er det enkle liv (plain living) i gudsfrykt, nøysomhet og hardt arbeid. Av utenforstående benevnes de av og til ”Pennsylvania Dutch” – en kilde til misforståelser på flere måter.

Selv om det bor mange av ”de enkle” i Pennsylvania, er grupper av likesinnede spredd over store deler av Canada og USA. De er heller ikke av nederlandsk opprinnelse, selv om enkelte grupper også var veien om Nederland i sin stadige flukt fra religionsforfølgelse i Europa i tiden etter reformasjonen.

Dutch er en forvrengning av Deutsch, som er det språket de snakker seg imellom. I dagliglivet brukes tyske dialekter som har mye til felles med det språket som ble snakket i Zürich for et par hundre år siden. I gudstjenesten brukes høytysk, som også er språket i deres bibel og religiøse skrifter. Det engelske språket brukes i kommunikasjon med omverdenen, blant de enkle omtalt som ”the English”.

De enkle har sin opprinnelse i 1500-tallets Mellom-Europa. Med sentrum i Zürich oppstod det strid om synet på barnedåpen, og noen av dissidentene tok åpent til orde mot Huldrych Zwingli (1484 – 1531) og hans religiøse bystyre.

Etter å ha blitt tvunget under jorden valgte noen av dissidentene å døpe hverandre på tross av at de alle var døpt som barn. På grunn av dette fikk bevegelsen tilnavnet anabaptister, eller ”gjendøpere”. Selv kalte de seg ”brødrene”.

Gjennom årtier av forfølgelse og stadige forflytninger ble anabaptistene en gruppe som levde i hel eller delvis isolasjon fra verden omkring. Grunnlaget for opptak i menigheten var ”troendes dåp”, og medlemmene ble forventet å leve et liv i total lydighet mot Kristi lære. På grunn av forfølgelsene valgte de også i stor grad å leve i isolerte områder der jordbruk ble den viktigste næringsveien.

Bevegelsen delte seg etter hvert i tre grupper: mennonitter, hutteritter og amisher. Mennonittene var etterfølgere av Menno Simons (1496 – 1561), en tidligere katolsk prest fra Nederland.

Det finnes mange varianter av den mennonittiske tro i dag, men de enkle er som oftest av ”den gamle orden” (Old Order). Hutterittene var etterfølgere av Jakob Hutter, som led martyrdøden ved brenning (1536). Karakteristisk for hutterittene var ”Bruderhof”, der man levde i en ”kommunitet” som hadde alt felles, og der den enkelte produserte etter evne og forbrukte etter behov.

Grupper av hutteritter lever i dag bl.a. i Sør-Dakota og deres livsform kan muligens sies å være den formen for ”kommunisme” som har overlevd lengst.

Amishene er den tredje gruppen av anabaptister, og er kanskje den som de fleste forbinder med de enkle. Amishene regnes som etterfølgere av predikanten Jakob Ammann fra slutten av 17. århundre i Alsace.

I hans tid hadde det oppstått strid om flere lære- og praksisspørsmål, bl.a. om hyppigheten av nattverd og bruken av rituell fotvask i gudstjenesten. Men det spørsmålet som førte til skisma, gjaldt ”Meidung”, eller hvordan de ekskommuniserte skulle behandles.

 Amman var tilhenger av streng Meidung – den ekskommuniserte skulle utelukkes ikke bare fra nattverden, men fra alt sosialt samliv med gruppen. Slik Meidung eller ”shunning” praktiseres også av Old Order Amish i dag, og er trolig det punktet i deres lære og praksis som skaper de sterkeste reaksjonene hos utenforstående.

Trusselen om utstøting gjelder kun de som i voksen alder etter egen vilje har gått inn i menigheten og avgitt løfte om å adlyde Ordnung. Det er således mulig for barn av amishforeldre å opprettholde kontakten med familien uten å slutte seg til menigheten. Før amishungdommer slutter seg til menigheten, tillates de i en periode å utforske verden omkring. Denne perioden, som kalles Rumspringa, kan øyensynlig være temmelig vidløftig (1).

De første anabaptistene kom til Nord-Amerika på slutten av 1600-tallet og innvandringen nådde en topp mellom 1727 og 1770. I motsetning til mange andre religiøse og kulturelle minoriteter har de vist seg meget livskraftige i den nye verden.

Verken hutteritter eller amisher finnes lenger i Europa eller andre steder i verden utenfor Nord-Amerika. Mennonitter finnes flere steder utenfor Nord-Amerika, men lever da gjerne som en del av den moderne verden. Det finnes ingen formelle folketellinger av mennesker som lever etter reglene om det enkle liv, men tallet estimeres til 200 000 – 300 000 (1). Det foregår ingen proselyttering, og den estimerte dobling av befolkningen hvert 20. år skyldes store barneflokker. Les mer her

Regler

Amishene har veldig strenge regler som må følges, og mesteparten av reglene er fordi det sees på som galt og/eller fører fristelser med seg. De fleste reglene kommer direkte fra bibelen, men det er noen regler du ikke finner i bibelen:

 Menn skal, etter å ha giftet seg (og de ugifte som har fylt 40) skal ha skjegg. Bart er forbudt fordi dette forbindes med soldater. 

Håret til gutter skal klippes av ved ørene og de skal ha pannelugg. Barbering av legger er forbudt. 

Jenter skal ha fletter som festes i pannen mens de er under 10 år. Fra 10 år og oppover skal håret festes i en knute i nakken. Å klippe håret, barbere leggene, nappe øyenbrynene og bruking av sminke er forbudt. 

”Og la dere ikke lengre prege av den nåværende verden, men la dere forvandle ved at sinnet fornyes, så dere kan dømme hva som er Guds vilje: det gode, det som er til hans behag, det fullkomne.” (Rom. 12,2)

Dette ”sitatet” fra bibelen er en regel, en regel som sier at man f. eks. ikke skal bruke elektrisitet, for det er å være preget av den nåværende verden. (elektrisitet er ikke galt, men de tror det hadde blitt en for stor fristelse å innføre. 

Andre regler tatt fra bibelen er f. eks.:

”Elsk ikke verden, heller ikke det som er i verden! Den som elsker verden har ikke kjærlighet til Faderen i seg.” (1 Joh. 2,15)

Som er hvorfor de ikke lever slik som oss. 

”… Var mitt rike av denne verden hadde mine menn kjempet for meg…” (Joh. 18,36)

”En herrens tjener må ikke ligge i strid, men være vennlig mot alle”

(2 Tim. 2,24)

Om hvorfor Amishene nekter å ta del i krig o.l.. 

Og om å holde sammen og fasting har Amishene dette sitatet:

”Derfor, mine brødre: Når dere kommer sammen for å holde måltid, skal dere vente på hverandre!” 

De har også regler for hvordan man skal kle seg, men det kommer jeg tilbake til. 

Gelassenheit

Gelassenheit har stor betydning for Amishene. Det beskriver mye og forklarer en det. 

Gelassenheit beskriver personlighet, symboler, vurderinger, strukturer og ritualer. Det står også i kontrast til den harde og aggressive individualismen i det moderne samfunn. 

Gelassenheit styrer også Amishenes syn på andre mennesker. De skal be for sine foreldre og elske sine fiender, som Kristus befaler. (Guds vilje går før ens egen) Amishenes viktigste ord i bibelen er: ”skje din vilje – og ikke min

Gelassenheit forbyr all vold mellom mennesker. Militæret, boksing, politikk, domstol, rett, juryer, politi o.l. er da forbudt. All uenighet løses ved å holde munn og unngå hverandre. Man skal heller ikke hevne fiender, man skal snu det andre kinnet til.

 Gelassenheit er guds vilje, samholdenhet og tradisjon. Man skal følge guds ord å ha selvsikkerhet. Les mer her

Rumspringa (pronounced Room-shpring-a) Definition: Running around.

The Amish are a group of people who want to be different from the world. They want to let their light shine through the life they live. They don’t actively convert others to their religion. To them, a simple life that forsakes all vanity speaks for itself. Cable TV, Xbox 360’s and other gaming systems, alcohol, smoking, and even electricity are considered to be distractions that will take value away from their lives. Amish folks do not question the traditions of the church. They are content to be satisfied with the way things have always been. “Idol hands are the Devil’s workshop” is a concept they use to keep themselves busy so as not to think of or do vain things.

Generally, when you see an Amish person they are driving a horse and buggy. The faster pace of the world with their fast cars and places they have to be as quick as possible is quite foreign. The slower pace of life allows them time to meditate on God and evaluate their ways in order to be what God wants them to be.

You have to commend them for being consistent. Generally, a religious person follows church culture on Sundays and lives in the world culture on the following Monday. At the very least, the Amish way is a consistent way to live your life. The Amish key verse is I John 2:15: Love not the world, neither the things that are in the world. If any man love the world, the love of the Father is not in him. For all that is in the world, the lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life, is not of the Father, but is of the world. And the world passeth away, and the lust thereof: but he that doeth the will of God abideth for ever.

Amish children are dealt with in an interesting way. Until 8^th grade, most Amish children are in a one-room schoolhouse. They drop out after 8^th grade and get jobs. Up until the age of 16, they have no contact with the outside world. During this time, the parents bring up the children the way they think they should live their lives, and try to instill in them the values of the Amish.

You may wonder how they have managed to stay the same throughout the years. Virtually no one questions the church or tries to change the way they do things. This is accomplished in part by a period in the Amish life called “rumspringa”. After Amish children reach the age of 16, they go out into the “English” world to experience what it is like. It’s during this time that they either choose to join the Amish church or leave it forever. This period could last anywhere from a few months to a few years. The decision is very hard for many. To leave the Amish church is to forget everything you have ever done: forget your family, church, work, friends, and your community.

This “dabbling” in the outside world is like playing with fire. The boys dress English and drive cars. The girls typically do not. If there isn’t a party around, then they make one. Within minutes, word spreads that a party is on and Amish adolescents from miles around, and even from other states, jump in their newly acquired cars to attend a party that could number in a few hundred to a thousand. These parties include alcohol, smoking, sex, rock music, gaming, and sometimes drugs like methamphetamines. Sometimes the parties are held in a parent’s backyard. The parent has knowledge of what goes on and does nothing to stop it, for the Amish adolescents must be free to make their own choices. However, if an Amish person were to die during the time of rumspringa, hell is their destination. An Amish preacher commented on this belief and quoted “Rejoice, O young man, in thy youth; and let thy heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth, and walk in the ways of thine heart, and in the sight of thine eyes: but know thou, that for all these things God will bring thee into judgment.”

And for all that they do, the Amish children know that the church will take them back unconditionally. And the Amish church reports that currently 90% of all rumspringa adolescents come back to the church, which is the highest percentage reported thus far. When they come back they are baptized into the church and make a promise to God to follow the rules of the church for life. The ones that leave the church, choose material things and the “English” way of life over their own families.

 But is this a good practice for the Amish people? On the positive side, at least their young people are given a choice. You can’t say they are forced into their religion. However, age 16 is a time of great inner pubescent turmoil.

It does raise the question of how to keep your children in the same faith that you have as they get older.

Erik Erikson had no formal training in psychology, but was trained to be a psychoanalyst by Sigmund Freud. He stated that people pass though eight psychosocial stages in their lifetime. At each stage, there is a crisis to be resolved. The stage I am concerned with is Stage 5, which ranges from age 12 to 18. Erikson says that the question “Who am I” becomes important during this time. To answer it, adolescents increasingly turn away from parents and toward peer groups. Erikson believed that during adolescence the individual’s rapidly changing physiology, coupled with the pressures to make decisions about future education and career, creates the need to question and redefine the psychosocial identity established during the earlier stages. Teenagers experiment with various sexual, occupational, and educational roles as they try to find out who they are and who they can be. This new sense of self is a reassembly or an alignment due to the resolutions of the previous crisis and the new opportunities that are now afforded them. This will contribute to the final stage of development where the individual will look back over his or her life and accept the accomplishments, failures, and limitations that have occurred. Of course, some will be filled with regret at the way they have lived their lives.

So, how do we deal with our young ones if we want them to grow up right? In my experience as a Christian, almost everyone has fallen away from the faith at some point in time. But this “Crisis of Faith” is not limited to the young ages. I have a friend who recently went through a crisis of faith and she is around 29 years old. She began to question what truth is and did not accept the Bible answer. The problem is that by that time she was already settled in life, had a husband, and a job, and now all that is in jeopardy. There is too much collateral damage for a crisis of faith later on in life.

 Why don’t people develop their faith personally at a young age? Well, many reasons pervade in the current day, but I believe there is a main reason: Erikson states that parents who are overly restrictive and harsh give their children a sense of powerlessness and incompetence, which can lead to shame and doubt in one’s abilities. If you aren’t given the chance to make a decision, chances are the decision is made for you. You roll through life following the beliefs that aren’t really your beliefs but you haven’t realized it yet. If you did, it would be the beginning of your crisis of faith.

Knowing that the crisis of faith is advantageous at a young age, how then as parents do we proceed? Usually, between the ages of 18 months to 3 years old is when a child starts to develop his own system of doing things. A child at this stage has the dual desire to hold on and to let go. Parents who allow their children to roam freely while at the same time provide an ever present guiding hand help the child to develop a sense of autonomy (self-governing). Now really, are they self governing at that point? No. But you can allow them chances to make their own decisions in certain situations. After all, we as parents know what our children can and cannot do. (At least, if we are looking for that kind of thing.) As the child grows older and reaches the teenage years, allow them to gradually increase in responsibility and freedom. As a parent, know that someday they will probably have a crisis of faith. And the Christianity that you want them so badly to hold on to… foster their minds to question it and be ready to answer those questions. Better it be you than someone else. Show them your faith is true, and teach them to recognize a lie. At least they will have the tools to deal with their crisis of faith properly.