An Amish Family Christmas (17 page)

He wheeled Timothy close to the fire in the parlor.

Over the next fifteen minutes the other ministers and the bishop arrived with their families. Mrs. Yoder showed up with Timothy’s brothers and sisters. They remained quietly in the kitchen while the leadership prayed in the parlor with the door shut. They let Timothy remain by the stove. It was the first time Micah was asked to pray with the leaders as a minister. Before he closed the door behind him, he caught Naomi’s eye and winked.

Oh, such a serious time, and you wink.

But she lowered her head and covered her smile with her hand.

“What will happen?” Rebecca asked the wives of the ministers and the wife of the bishop. “Will the people come here for worship on Christmas Eve? Or is there too much anger? Will they stay away?”

Mrs. Fischer shook her head. “We can’t tell. My husband spoke with so many. Who can say if he truly set their hearts at rest? Some may have left us already. Some may stay away to make their disappointment clear.”

“Perhaps a dozen will come,” said one of the minister’s wives. “Perhaps more.”

“Or none,” said another. “It may be the end of the church.”

“So it is not only the men who can pray.” Mrs. Fischer bowed her head as she sat in the rocker Micah had repaired. “Heavenly Father, we come before you now and ask your blessing upon our church and our people, for truly it is your church and your people we bring before you.”

The women prayed until the parlor door opened. The bishop gestured to them.

“
Kommen Sie bitte hier. Kommen.
”

The group of them gathered in the parlor and sat and waited. No one spoke. Naomi took Micah’s hand as ten minutes became thirty minutes and thirty minutes an hour. Luke got up and opened the glass door of the stove and fed in more logs. Then he took his seat again. Bishop Fischer took out his pocket watch.

“I’m sorry,” Micah suddenly spoke up. “This shouldn’t have happened. It would have been better if I had left when I returned from Afghanistan. Then everything would be fine tonight.”

The bishop held up a hand. “It would not be fine, Minister Bachman.”

Minister Yoder put an arm around his son in the wheelchair. “Timothy would not be with us.”

Another minister nodded. “We called upon the Lord. We drew lots, searched the Scriptures, sought understanding. The decision we have rendered regarding you and the
Ordnung
is not only just, it is holy. Never in my whole life have I been so aware that I was being led by God. The others feel the same way. This is what God has brought to pass. Let us see what he will do with it. If we must begin again with the few of us, blessed be his name. It is the Lord’s doing and it is marvelous in our eyes.”

“Amen, amen,” the men and women murmured as the children sat still. “Amen, amen. Blessed be the name of the Lord.”

The silence returned, and they sat within it for another half hour, the fire snapping, the candle flames moving back and forth, the faces in the room sometimes black, sometimes gold. Naomi continued to hold on to Micah’s hand as the realization that no one was coming and the church was no more sank upon her like a heavy rock.

It is my fault. I should have done something. I should have gone to the homes. I should have spoken with the women. Talked about the letters.

Bishop Fischer stood up. “The Lord’s will be done. Let us sing carols together. Let us read in the Bible of Christ’s birth. All endings in the Lord are beginnings in the Lord. We shall celebrate the birth of Jesus together. The apostles were only twelve in number, but the Lord God made them like a thousand.”

Timothy suddenly turned in his wheelchair. “But I hear something.”

His father listened too. “No, my boy, there is nothing.”

“I hear something.”

Naomi frowned. “
Ja
, there is something, but what?”

Luke got to his feet and advanced toward the door.

The rest followed him, and as soon as Luke opened the door, the sound became clear and strong.

“People are singing.” Mrs. Fischer narrowed her eyes. “People are caroling.”

Minister Yoder wheeled Timothy to the door.

“I can see lights,” the boy said.

They saw small bits of flame floating along the lane to the house.

“It is...” Bishop Fischer lost his voice for a moment. “It is our people.”

“So it is ‘O Come All Ye Faithful,’” said Rebecca in a hushed voice.

“
Ja.
” The bishop nodded. “
Ja.
”

“What is this?” Naomi asked Micah in a quiet voice. “What does it mean?”

He smiled at her. “I guess it means God isn’t quite finished with his miracles yet.”

Dozens of people gathered in front of the door and continued to sing the carol—men, women, and children. When they had finished, Mr. Kurtz stepped forward and removed his hat.

“We’re sorry we’re so late,” he said. “We agreed to meet where the lane joins the road and park our buggies there. So but then there were the candles to light and prayers to pray. I’m afraid you thought we might not be coming.”

The bishop nodded. “We were not sure. We gave it to the Lord.”

“There was much for all of us to work through. Scriptures to read. Prayers to pray. Questions to ask the Almighty.” Mr. Kurtz looked at Naomi and Micah. “All the letters have circulated through the people. All the cards. We are not blind. Stubborn, sure, and slow sometimes to see the hand of God when he does something among us he has never done before. But when we see, we see. And when we hear, we hear.

“You would have to be without a heart not to take in the cries of the mothers and wives and sisters who wrote about the lives you saved and the souls you blessed. Does the devil do such things? Does evil bring such kindness to the human race? Can darkness create light? The
Ordnung
is the
Ordnung,
and it is good. But God is God, and he is greater than the
Ordnung
and greater than good. So if he changes our
Ordnung,
we kneel before him and say, ‘Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven.’ For when we look at what the Lord has done in your life, Micah Bachman, we say two things—we say you are one of us, and we say God is love.” He smiled. “So on this night we also say, Merry Christmas, glory to God in the highest.”

Naomi was amazed by Mr. Kurtz’s words and even more amazed to see all the people nodding their heads and saying amen and breaking into smiles, the candle flames shining on their faces and in their eyes. Micah’s arm went around her shoulders, and she leaned against him.

How is it possible, Lord? How have you done this? How have you taken the heart of stone away and given us all hearts of flesh and blood and spirit?

The people began to sing again. And as they sang they began to come into the house.

And she sang “Silent Night” with them. And at her side, her husband who was back from the war in Afghanistan sang it. Luke, who had not yet lifted his voice in song, sang it with a strength and purity that resonated within her. Rebecca, who sat close to Luke, sang it, and Bishop Fischer and his wife, and Minister Yoder. And Minister Yoder’s son Timothy, who closed his eyes as the words left his lips and the singing of the church families filled his ears.

They sat in the parlor and in the kitchen, and the teens and children sat on the staircase and all along the hallway on the second floor. The candles in their hands were blown out or guttered out, and threads of white smoke raveled and unraveled in the air. The bishop prayed and thanked God and then extended his hand toward Micah.

“You are the new minister. Come, give us the Christmas message.”

Micah was seated on a bench with Naomi. He shook his head. “No, no, it should be another.”

“It is for you to do.”

“But I don’t have anything prepared.”

“The Lord himself who has guided you this far will give you the words.”

Naomi pushed him. “Go, go. When are you at a loss for words?”

Laughter moved back and forth in the rooms and up and down the stairs. Micah stood in front of the congregation and for a moment took in the light of the candles and lanterns and the woodstove on their hands and faces. He had no idea what to say. He still felt overwhelmed by the fact the church had chosen to embrace him rather than reject him. Then a verse made its way into his head.

“God bless you all. It’s Christmas,” he began, “and you have heard so many Christmas messages, what can I say to add to them? But I see Luke with us, and he is talking and singing, but a month ago he made no sound at all. I see Timothy, who two weeks ago was in a hospital bed in Philadelphia and fighting to sit up and eat. I see all of you when an hour ago I thought in my heart the church had split apart and was broken. And then I see myself standing here speaking with you, I who a week ago had no voice and no right to stand among you and worship. All of this astonishes me. Does it astonish you?”

Heads nodded. “
Ja
,
ja
,” people said softly.

“So I think that is the heart of the Christmas message. Nothing shall be impossible with God. Didn’t the angel say that to Mary? Haven’t many of you spoken the same words Mary did over the past few weeks, ‘How can these things be?’ Doesn’t Gabriel give you and all of us here tonight the same message? Nothing shall be impossible with God. That is what has happened here among us. That is Christmas.” He stopped to smile at his wife, whose face glowed in the fire from the woodstove. “The message I have is a lifelong message. Never lose heart and never forget that what is impossible for us is never impossible for the Lord. Never.”

There was a silence. Then Minister Yoder began to lead out in an Amish hymn of praise in his deep voice. After a few moments women began to join in, and soon other men and the teens on the staircase as well. Bishop Fischer didn’t sing with them, but lowered his head and listened. He thought it would end in a few minutes. But it went on, new voices coming in all the time, some high, some low, all harmonizing with one another, filling the house and all its rooms, filling his heart. He looked up as the hymn continued and saw Micah Bachman surrounded by his wife and Luke and Rebecca, by Minister Yoder and Timothy, by people who smiled and put their hands on his shoulders as they sang, by older women who hugged him and his wife.

My Lord, so much has changed for the better, and yet for the great change to come so much had to be lost—our pride, our hardness of heart, our tradition, our unwillingness to bend, our reluctance to think something we did not understand could be from you. It has not been easy. It has not been without pain. But neither has it been without its own special glory. And it has been your doing.

He looked at his people again, God’s people, and at Micah Bachman as he sang, encircled by those same people.

Sie, die mich ehren, werde ich ehren. “They that honor me I will honor.”

“So sometimes God does,” Bishop Fischer said quietly. “So sometimes love does.”

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