An Amish Family Christmas

by Murray Pura

  “But what happens? My son is fooling around on his motorbike. He has an accident. He could die. What can I do? What can any of us in our Amish community do? So but you are there with your military training. You understand immediately what must be done, for you have dealt with wounded men on the battlefield. I and the others say no to your army training and no to medical work in Afghanistan. But if you had not had your training in the army, if you did not have the experience of treating wounded men in Afghanistan, my son would be dead now. I and his mother would not be traveling to Philadelphia to see him in the hospital. We would be laying his body out on a table in our house and washing it and clothing it for the funeral.”

  Naomi couldn’t remain where she was any longer. She made her way to the doorway of the parlor. Minister Yoder’s big hands were trembling on the hat he held in his hands. Both Micah’s and Luke’s faces gleamed in the light from the woodstove.

  “Who can understand these things? We say what you did was against the Ordnung. Yet God uses what is against the Ordnung to save a life—my son’s life. I, who have been against you from the start, I am the one who is blessed by your disobedience to our rules. You are the one under the bann who stops on the road and treats the wounds of the boy whose father agreed with the bishop and ordered the bann. How is this possible? Who but God Almighty can bring such a thing to pass? And what am I to do about this? What am I to understand? How am I to change?”

  He shook his head.

  “I must go. I once again ask your forgiveness, Micah Bachman. You are part of God’s work in this world in a way that baffles me, for it challenges so much of what I believe. I must ponder this. I must pray. But somehow, and not only on the road, I have been wrong.”

  Minister Yoder turned to leave and hesitated. He looked back at Micah. Then he thrust out his hand. Micah got up and took it. Minister Yoder nodded, not taking his eyes off Micah. After several moments he walked from the room, put his hat on his head, opened the door, and went out into the snow and the headlight beams and the dark. In less than a minute everyone inside the house heard the car drive away.

  Twelve

  That night Naomi fell fast asleep despite all the thoughts whirling through her mind.

  Suddenly, in the middle of a dream, she blinked her eyes.

  The room was dark. Something had awakened her.

  Click. Click. Click.

  She sat up.

  Whirrrrr.

  Music began to play—tinny and metallic, but she knew the tune well, a German folk melody that was also used for a hymn.

  Chime. Chime. Chime. Chime.

  “It’s four o’clock,” she said.

  She lit a match.

  On the top of her bookcase, a large wooden clock had opened its doors, and a man leading a big gray Percheron out of its stable was moving slowly toward her. He wore a broad-brimmed Amish hat and black pants with suspenders that ran up and over his white shirt. He stopped when he was halfway, as if to encourage her to rise, and then he carried on, the turntable moving him and the horse in a circle back inside the stable and the clock. The doors shut.

  So you fixed it. My wedding present from you. Good for Micah Bachman. I wish you could fix our marriage and the shunning of our church as easily as you fixed this clock.

  She could hear Micah and Luke downstairs getting the woodstove in the parlor going as well as the one in the kitchen. Then the door opened, and she knew they were going out to the barn. Except for the sound of their boots on the floor and the clang of wood being placed in the stoves, they worked in silence.

  Silence. For the year you were gone, there was nothing but silence. And now you’re home, and the silence continues.

  She would get up at 4:30. Until then she liked to lie in her bed and pray and bring Bible verses to mind. First she prayed for the silence to end for both Micah and Luke. After that she prayed for Minister Yoder’s son Timothy—he had been in Philadelphia for more than a week and had pulled through. He was doing well, but like Luke, he hadn’t spoken, only glanced at his family and those who visited and then looked at the wall or out the window.

  Let him walk again, Lord. Let him speak again. Let him take heart.

  Her prayers took her to Minister Yoder. His apology had been astonishing. Yet in the end it had changed little. The bann remained in force. Micah had violated the Ordnung, and all the good deeds in the world couldn’t alter hundreds of years of tradition.

  Yet Minister Yoder is kind to Micah now, and that’s something only you could have brought to pass, Lord. I give you thanks. When he returned from the hospital he came straight to our home to tell us how Timothy was getting along and to say again how grateful he was for what Micah had done—who but you could have brought such a grace into our lives? Still I wish you would break the silences.

  It was a Sunday. She rose and dressed and helped Rebecca make a breakfast of eggs and bacon and oatmeal. As usual, the men ate in the parlor and the women in the kitchen. Luke and Micah returned to the cattle, and Naomi and Rebecca cleaned up and got ready for church. It was being held at the home of Bishop Fischer again.

  For a long time the service was only the singing of hymns. At one point Naomi closed her eyes and listened to the men’s voices. She imagined Luke’s and Micah’s among them. Opening her eyes she found that Minister Yoder had stood up and was facing them. He waited for the hymn to end, head down.

  “I know we will want to sing to our God much more than this.” He removed his glasses and held them in his hand. “And we will. But I must speak. Our bishop and our other ministers know I must speak.” He looked from face to face. “About Timothy, you know. Praise the Lord, he gets stronger every day. We pray for his voice, yes, how much we wish to hear his voice again, but he eats, he sits up all on his own without any help from the nurses. We are filled with gladness.” He paused, glancing out a window at the sun shining on the snow. “While I was there with my wife I saw other patients in other rooms. Every one of them needed prayer. We spoke with no one but prayed for those we laid eyes on as the Lord directed us.”

  He looked back at the congregation, and Naomi thought he looked directly at her. “Nearby there was a military hospital. We walked right past it every morning and every evening. Sometimes, when there was a milder day, the wounded soldiers would be brought out in wheelchairs, even flat on their backs, just to take some fresh air, just to see the blue sky and the sun.” He nodded. “I felt directed to pray for their healing as well, ja, for the healing of the soldiers.” His jaw began to quiver. “So the Lord spoke to me one evening and he said, One of your own people saved some of these. One of your own men kept soldiers here alive. Now you are praying for their healing. Do you not see, the two of you work together?”

  Minister Yoder put a hand over his face. “Last night we drew lots to see who would be minister in place of our brother, Minister Miller, who was taken to heaven. We used different Bibles and we let them fall again and again. Four, five times we did this. Three times it opened to the same book, three times. We saw it as a sign of God’s will. But how could it be, how could it be? The book was Micah.”

  Naomi took in her breath sharply.

  Hand still over his face, Minister Yoder continued. “The Lord reminded me of what he had told me on the sidewalk in front of the military hospital. That Micah Bachman and I had striven for the healing of the same men and that both of us had done it in his name. I was under conviction, my brothers. I was under strong conviction, my sisters. So I told our bishop and our ministers what the Lord had said to me, and we fell to our knees and cried out.” He dropped his hand. “Do you know what passages the other Bibles opened to? Hm? Do you know? The Gospel of John. There were many words there. But one person had underlined a verse in dark pencil—Gröβere Liebe hat kein Mensch als diese, dass ein Mensch sein Leben hingibt für seine Freunde. Greater love has no man than this but that a man lay down his life for his friends.

  The men and women in the room gasped.

  “The other Bibl
e had a bookmark, ja? We didn’t notice it, but when the Bible fell open, we saw it then and decided we must ignore where it had opened because someone had already made sure it would part at that page. But in the end we looked. What do you think, brothers and sisters? Is there a God in heaven? Does he speak to us through his Word? Does he not command us to draw lots for our leaders as the apostles did on the day of Pentecost?”

  “Ja, ja,” the people murmured all around Naomi and Rebecca. “It is how he works among us.”

  Minister Yoder shook his head. “You would not believe me if I told you what was on those pages. What are we to do? What is your leadership to tell you? On one side is the Lord’s Prayer and the Lord’s woes against the Pharisees and experts in the law. On the other side the Lord feeds the five thousand, and he is glorified on the Mount of Transfiguration, yes, and he speaks of following him regardless of the cost—we put our hand to the plow and do not look back, for if we do we are not fit for the kingdom of heaven.”

  There was no sound in the room.

  “In the middle our Lord sends out the seventy-two and he comes to the home of Mary and Martha and declares to Mary she has chosen the better part and it shall not be taken from her, it shall not. All of that alone is enough, all of that on its own speaks to our hearts. But there is more. What else is on those pages? What else do we see there?”

  Naomi couldn’t think. She saw in her mind a Bible open to the Gospel of Luke, she saw the chapter numbers 9 and 10 and 11, but she couldn’t read the words.

  From behind her, a man spoke up. “And, behold, a certain lawyer stood up, and tempted him, saying, Master, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?”

  Naomi stared at Rebecca, her mouth opening, and shot to her feet, turning and stumbling as she looked behind her.

  It was Luke.

  He continued to speak. “He said unto him, What is written in the law? How readest thou? And he answering said, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy strength, and with all thy mind; and thy neighbor as thyself. And he said unto him, Thou hast answered right, this do, and thou shalt live.

  “But he, willing to justify himself, said unto Jesus, And who is my neighbor?

  “And Jesus answering said, A certain man went down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell among thieves, which stripped him of his raiment, and wounded him, and departed, leaving him half dead. And by chance there came down a certain priest that way: and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. And likewise a Levite, when he was at the place, came and looked on him, and passed by on the other side. But a certain Samaritan, as he journeyed, came where he was: and when he saw him, he had compassion on him, and went to him, and bound up his wounds, pouring in oil and wine, and set him on his own beast, and brought him to an inn, and took care of him. And on the morrow when he departed, he took out two pence, and gave them to the host, and said unto him, Take care of him; and whatsoever thou spendest more, when I come again, I will repay thee.”

  Everyone had turned to face Luke. Only Minister Yoder, Luke, and Naomi were on their feet. Luke met the gaze of the church with his dark eyes.

  “Which now of these three, thinkest thou, was neighbor unto him that fell among the thieves? And he said, He that showed mercy on him. Then said Jesus unto him, Go, and do thou likewise.”

  Minister Yoder nodded, putting his glasses back over his eyes. “Danke.”

  Luke remained standing.

  The bishop climbed to his feet. “Naomi. Go to your brother.”

  She made her way past the seats and benches and grasped Luke by his hands. “My brother, what is this?”

  “I’m sorry, Naomi. It was time to speak.”

  “You’re sorry?” Tears cut across her face. “You’re sorry?”

  “They know what God is saying to them. Now they must act on it.”

  “Why did you come? Why did you come to the worship service today?”

  “I felt compelled to put a saddle on Rupert and ride him here.”

  “And Micah didn’t stop you?”

  “Why should he stop me? We understand each other.” He stared at the bishop. “And you understand the Lord.”

  Bishop Fischer nodded. “Ja. A man can only run from God so long. He can only be Jonah for a season.” He looked at the people. “Is it not strange that Luke should speak on such a day as this? On the other hand, why shouldn’t the Lord open his mouth on such a day as this?” His eyes swept the men and women seated in his house. “Every married man knows he may be called upon to serve as a minister among us. That if it comes, it will be the Lord who calls him, not his people. The Lord has spoken to us clearly that it is to be Micah Bachman.”

  Minister Yoder nodded.

  Voices rose from the congregation. “But he is under the bann!”

  “He has broken the Ordnung!”

  “He cannot be considered, Bishop Fischer!”

  The bishop held up his hands as more men spoke up. “All this will be prayed through. All this will be discussed. But I must tell you before we go any further on this Lord’s Day, I hereby lift the bann on Micah Bachman. I, your bishop, declare he has followed the Lord as the Lord led him even though it led him against the rules of our faith as we have understood them for more than three hundred years. I have prayed, I have fasted, and this is what I declare to you. I am not alone in this. The ministers also feel this is of the Lord. That he called out from among us someone who would bring the healing of Christ into the middle of one of our world’s worst hells—warfare. We will not fight God on this any further. We will not resist the Holy Spirit.

  “We have our Ordnung, and it serves us well. But God has his Ordnung too, and it is greater than ours. We bow to it. We all must bow to it. Ja, this is what I declare unto you—Micah Bachman may walk among us again and break bread with us again and worship with us again. He may return to his wife and his wife to him. He may speak, and we may hear his voice lifted again in praise to God. Your leadership is in unity on this—Micah Bachman is free.”

  Murmuring ran through the congregation.

  “Naomi, there must be talk among the people over this. Talk that would be best if you were not here. You and Luke return to your home.” The bishop turned to Rebecca. “Dochter, it is your brother, Micah. It should be me who goes to him and tells him the bann is lifted, but this day I ask you to go in my place. I must remain here. Tell him we believe the Lord’s will is done and we embrace him again not only as your brother but ours.” Murmuring continued in the room, but the bishop ignored it and smiled. “Go in peace, Naomi and Rebecca and Luke. Go to Micah Bachman and rejoice.”

  Naomi found herself outside the bishop’s house with a strong mix of emotions whirling around in her chest and head—happiness at what they would be able to tell Micah, joy that Luke was talking, but sadness and a feeling of gloom at what was going on inside the Fischer home as she stood with Luke and Rebecca in the snow. Happiness and joy won out for the time being, and she threw her arms around Luke and hugged him and laughed.

  “Oh, praise God, praise God!” she cried. “I love hearing your voice! God bless you!”

  He hugged her back, and his arms around her were tight. “For days I felt as if my tongue would move on its own, but words never came.”

  “But why today? Why here?”

  “I don’t know. The bishop can say it is from God. I only know I felt that they would be talking about Micah and that I needed to be there. I had no idea the words would come like they did.”

  She smiled and kissed his cheek. “Bible words.”

  He smiled back, a smile that sent even more happiness through her. “Yes. Bible words.”

  “And now you are speaking as freely as if you’d never stopped.”

  “I feel okay. I’ve worked through a lot in my silence.” His smile vanished. “I remember pretty much everything.”

  “I’m sorry, Luke.”

  “Like I said, I’ve worked a lot of it through.” He glanced bac
k at the house. “What’s going on in there?”

  “They will argue and debate. They will pray.”

  “I thought the bishop had the final say.”

  “He does.”

  “So?”

  “So Amish churches split too, my brother. The leadership will do everything they can to prevent that. But if some families feel the bishop and ministers have erred, they will leave and start their own church. They may even move away to another county.” She sighed, her face losing some of its brightness. “No one wants that. Micah will certainly not want that happening on account of him. But it could. Amish communities have been destroyed by such controversies. It’s as the bishop told me once—to change the Ordnung to permit rubber tires on buggy wheels is one thing, but to change it to lift the bann from one who has served in the armed forces, even as medical personnel, without repentance, is something else again. A good number of families won’t accept this.”

  “But it’s only Micah Bachman. Only one exceptional case. This changes nothing about the way we feel about war.”

  “Ja, but if they bend the rules for one, they have bent them for all. The Ordnung has changed. Some families will stay, but some will surely go.”

  Luke untethered Rupert. “We will pray. We will go home and pray.” A small smile made its way over his lips. “Hop on behind me, sister. Let’s get you to Micah. I want to see his face when you run to him and tell him he can hold you in his arms again. In the silence we shared together I saw how much he missed you.”

  Rebecca drove the buggy toward the road. “Come on, you two. We have news to share.”

  Naomi climbed up on the gelding and slipped her arms around Luke’s chest. “How could you know what he missed or didn’t miss? Neither of you spoke to each other.”

  “After a few weeks of quiet, you begin to realize how unimportant most of our talk is. So few words are needed. The eyes say a great deal.”

  “So you saw his eyes?”

  “I saw his eyes on you.”