Lois and the Bishop’s Son

This week, I watched my sister walk into marriage. We grew up together, fought as children, shared good times, and as young adults grew somewhat close, over buggy rides to and from the singing, and when I was courting her best friend. That was some 15 years ago. Then came the earthquake: our move to Indiana, a life chosen without a bishop or the traditional Amish Ordnung. After that, our paths diverged.

From a distance I have watched her endure seasons of deep trial. I saw her find her footing, gather strength, and root herself more deeply in the Lord Jesus Christ. Now, for the first time, I saw her in love with a man—the bishop’s son. He is steady and good; I believe he will care for her well. His father, too, carries quiet integrity.

Aspects of the day felt awkward in that I wasn’t always sure where I belonged. In the world I left behind, the bride’s and groom’s siblings move with purpose: ushering guests, preaching if ordained, organizing the noon meal. Here I stood, simply present. I had no desire to join the circle of bearded men by the barn that morning. And I wasn’t invited to help with the bustle taking place preparing the reception like my younger Amish brothers. Then I realized this was the perfect opportunity to visit with the bridal party at leisure before the service began.

When church started, the twenty ministers filed out in their dark mutzas and solemn beards. My sister and her husband to be would join them in abrot, absorbing whatever marital counsel these married men might regurgitate from years of sitting in such assemblies. Meanwhile, the congregation lifted the ancient wedding hymns from the Ausbund. The melodies rose from the pages —plain, unadorned, yet hauntingly beautiful in their own way.

The first speaker rose. He shuffled his feet, clasped and unclasped his hands, cleared his throat, hung his head, and filled the silences with familiar fillers: “und so veit ist…” He spoke of creation, of man and woman in the beginning. As I listened, I realized I would have welcomed the chance to stand there. I believe I could have offered something more inspiring than his guttural utterances.

Still, I watched from the edge as my sister affirmed her love and commitment to this man she has learned to trust. I believe their union is of God. I believe she will flourish beneath his care. I would have liked to stand closer on her special day—to have been more woven into her life in the years leading here. But God has set me on a different path, one that puts me at odds with the system I once knew. Among my own people, I am an outsider. To whatever extent I create that distance in my own mind, I ask the Lord to clear my thoughts and renew my mind—so I might speak the message of truth and freedom that releases people from the bondage of fear and Ordnung.

P.S. You may wish to read about one of our fights in Cats and Retaliation.