No Words

The accidental shooting mystery has most likely been solved.  A neighbor from about one-half mile south of the incident came forward, admitting that he fired in Johnny’s direction with a .22 caliber rifle at about the same time that the lad was struck in the head.  The man shot at some pigeons on the ground, and when they took off, he fired another round into the air.   The authorities took the rifle, and they will do testing to determine if it was the gun that fired the recovered slug.  Johnny is fine.  It was only a flesh wound.  Hopefully, an important lesson was learned.  Johnny’s family has no desire for charges to be pressed, but it remains to be seen what the authorities will do once the testing is complete.

They had church at Jacob’s place last Sunday.  Jacob was chosen by “lot” some years ago to be one of the preachers in his district.  It’s a big load to be chosen as preacher, and most Amish men do not want to be in that position.  Yet, they see it as God’s calling, and accept the duties of preacher with humility.  

Church at Jacob's place.  A few of the buggies parked around the buildings.

Jacob and his family are making plans to move away from Kidron, to a place where land is more readily available for his children.  It was disappointing to hear it, yet I don’t blame him.  Land around here is hard to come by, and expensive.  A small town in southern Ohio, named Peebles, has a growing Amish population.  Jacob and his wife both have siblings already living in that area, so that will make it easier to move there.  I asked Jacob if he will still be a preacher when he moves.  “Yes,” he shook his head positively, “I’m a preacher until I die.  That’s the way it is for us.”   

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What do you do when you have no words?  After thinking and thinking, and thinking some more, it appeared there would be nothing to share this week except for the neighborhood tidbits above.   It’s been forty-four consecutive weeks since “accidentally” beginning this weekly writing, and then turning it into a blog.  Never really had any intention of starting it in the first place, until the rumspringa kids disturbed my Sunday afternoon nap last November, and it was “necessary” to write about it.  The response was gratifying, and that set in motion a desire to continue.  Until today, it has been fairly easy to come up with material.  Writer’s block, I think they call it.

For the two or three people who seem to really look forward to these ramblings and reflections, the thought of disappointing you is disconcerting.   So I thought a whole lot more.  Then I remembered an incident from way, way back, probably thirty-five years ago, when my friend had nothing to say either.

It was an interesting day—that Sunday long ago when our children were small.  Our pastor was a full-time mason, and part-time pastor.  Everyone knows how that works though—basically two full-time jobs.  Our church was small, and couldn't support a full-time pastor, so Leon did both.  As good-hearted as the day is long, and one who pulled no punches, Leon spoke his mind firmly and with conviction, yet in a way that also left you sensing the humility behind the words.  His sermons were well prepared and delivered with enthusiasm.   And he looked after the people of the church with love and care—having the true heart of a pastor.

Leon also knew how to initiate and hold a good conversation.  He was about sixteen years older than me, and we deer-hunted together a lot, while our wives often spent the day together.  I didn't know it at the time, but he was more than a friend.  It was he who reached out to me and first invited me along to hunt, and through those years we had many good conversations—deep, thought-provoking conversations.  I recognized it years later—when our paths had headed different directions—that he had been my mentor.   He didn't need me, but he had reached out, and helped me grow in faith and maturity while sharing in the mutual interest of hunting deer and putting meat on the table.  What probably meant the most to me, is that he often asked my opinion about things.  This was confidence-building, and I didn’t know how much I’d miss him until later.  He mentored other young men too.  Before and after me.  That was one of his gifts.  He’s gone now—has been for quite a few years.  He died as the result of a bicycling accident.   

What made that one Sunday so interesting those many years ago, was the sermon.  Actually, there was no sermon.  On that day, Leon stood up and said, “Today, I have nothing.  There will be no sermon.”  He said it matter-of-factly, with some embarrassment.  He said he just felt “dry” that week, and tired, and hadn’t had any inspiration from the Lord for a message.  So there was no sermon.  He wasn’t blaming God.  He was just stating a fact.  He called for the song leader to lead a few extra songs, and then church was dismissed.   I will never forget that Sunday.  I loved it for a couple reasons.  It was fun to get out early—especially when each Sunday was a struggle with young children—trying to keep them quiet and occupied.  But most of all, it was a meaningful experience to see that preachers are just like the rest of us, and their connection with our great big God is little different than our own.  Perhaps their calling is different, and their gifts are different, but they are human too.   It was a blessing to see it.  

Here’s the thing.  Leon was brave enough to admit he had nothing to say that day.   Perhaps he could have pulled an old sermon from his files and shared it.  Perhaps he could have read a scripture and made some comments about it.  He had some options like that, but no, he was honest.  Some might think he let us down, or that there was something wrong with his spiritual life.  Lord, have mercy on us if we judge another person that way.   May we all show the same mercy that we need to be shown.

Leon’s honesty was much appreciated that day, and honestly, (I admit this with some shame),  I don’t remember a single sermon of his.  Hundreds of them went into my head and back out.  Perhaps there were some truths absorbed, and truths retained and assimilated as a result of those years, but the “sermon” he preached when he had no words was the best one, and the “sermon” he lived with his life was even better.  

Folks, today’s writing began with nothing to share, but it comes to me now that these few words do have significance.  We all have lives that impact us.  Though words are important, it is not so much what people say that we remember, but how they live their lives, and how they make us feel when we are with them.   A good lesson to remember.  A great way to live.   

From Kidron, Ohio, have a wonderful weekend.   So long.

This sign is near our home, welcoming people to Kidron, Ohio. Come see our lovely part of the world some time.