According to Steven Nolt in A History of the Amish, the split between the tradition-minded Old Order Amish and the change-minded Amish Mennonites happened around 1865, though gradually and not due to any single event. Among the Amish Mennonites there was a bishop named Henry Egly who had a powerful conversion experience during an illness in the 1840s. Whether the influence of American evangelicalism and revivalism on him came before or after this experience is not clear from the text. In any case, he came to insist that this sort of emotional experience was necessary for salvation, which brought him into conflict with his Amish Mennonite fellows. He refused to baptize people who did not have such an experience. He even refused to discipline one member, insisting that since she had never had a conversion experience, she wasn’t a member anyway.

About half of his church eventually left with him and came to be known as Egly Amish. I wondered what became of them so I looked them up online. Turns out, they’ve changed names over the years:

• Egly Amish, to
• Defenseless Mennonites, to
• Evangelical Mennonite Church, to
• Fellowship of Evangelical Churches

At this point they have 46 churches, over half of which are in Illinois and Indiana. But the point of this whole post is I wanted to tell you that there was a group at one point in history that had the extremely cool name of Defenseless Mennonites.

In The Amish Way, the authors describe patience as one of the key characteristics of Amish life. The lessons of patience are built into the structures of their lives—even the church services are three hours long, with one twenty-minute hymn that always precedes the preaching.

I will admit to a certain amount of anxiety as we await the huge snowstorm to hit here. We’ve lived through worse, to be sure. Last night we were remembering one storm that hit early in our marriage. Snowed in for days in that little apartment. When I finally went out and began scraping off the car in preparation for returning to work, I could see alternating, geologic layers of snow and ice. But, as we concluded last night, we were too young and stupid to be afraid.

Now I have an overdeveloped sense of what could go wrong. “What if … what if … what if?” While I’m aware of the irrationality of some of these fears, fear is not known for listening when rationality speaks. I know from experience that “talking myself down” only has a limited effect.

More effective, I’ve found, is voicing those fears to someone who cares—in my case, Rachel. Simply acknowledging them to a sympathetic person takes the edge off. If the self is a system of selves, then trying to silence one of those fearful selves (perhaps, in my imagination, a little boy who feels insecure) only makes it yell more loudly. Allowing that fearful self to speak calms him a bit.

I’m also trying to learn from the Amish. I am generally a patient person, though not always, of course. When the powers of nature exert themselves, it is natural to feel nervous. (Facebook makes it worse though. Shut that ding-dang app off for the next few days.) Like our ancestors have always known, it does no good to kick against the forces of nature. She will do what she wants, with no input from us. What is called for here is a patient bearing-with.

There’s likely a lot of snow coming over the next two days. There’s certainly bitter cold already here, continuing for the next week. Nothing to do about it except to make reasonable preparations and wait, patiently, for it to pass. It always does, with Spring following on.

“The Real Reasons Your Appliances Die Young,” via @isaacgreene. It’s not just planned obsolescence. It’s also

• government regulations aimed a lower energy efficiency
• people just wanting something new
• price wars
• the inevitable breakage that comes with higher technology

The writer also says that useful lives of appliances may not have decreased as much as you’d expect. Her advice if you want repairability and durability is either go dirt cheap or high end.

I’ve turned this into a blog post so Rachel will see it. (Hi, Rachel!) We’ve gone, what?, a year without a dishwasher now? Rachel flatly refuses to buy appliances that don’t last, especially when they’re not essential. She’s also mad about tariffs. So she has been washing dishes by hand ever since the day she left Lowe’s in a huff. Now and then I ask her if she’s ready to give in. “No,” she says with a flinty eye. “At least not until Trump is out of office.”

There’s a turn of phrase in Colter Wall’s “1800 Miles”: “we don’t got these kinds of cliques where I was grown.”

We don’t normally talk about humans being “grown.” Maybe we should? Tell me about your terroir.

Because I have never separated myself from my home neighborhood, I cannot identify myself to myself apart from it. I am fairly literally flesh of its flesh. It is present in me, and to me, wherever I go.

(Who else?)

Today we’ll be burying Rachel’s grandpa Joe. With his death, all of our grandparents are gone. Rachel said this week, “Everyone moves up a notch in the pecking order now.”

Joe had an enviable death. He was visiting with Rachel’s dad and another friend of his. It had been a really good day. He had been looking at the calendar of day trips put on by his assisted living facility, planning to go on one. His friend had arrived to take him out to an early supper. Rachel’s dad was there to help them out. Joe had on his western shirt and asked his friend to get his cowboy hat. Rachel’s dad said, “You look nice! Let me get a picture.” So he took one, turned to show it to Joe’s friend, and heard Joe make a snoring noise. Rachel’s dad assumed Joe was playing some kind of joke (being a lifelong jokester), turned back to look at him, and knew his dad had died. A nurse was fetched, some attempts to rouse him were made, he made a couple more snoring sounds, but it was over. Though it was quite a shock to Rachel’s dad and Joe’s friend, it could not have been more gentle and peaceful.

He died sitting in his chair with his legs crossed and no one moved him. The immediate family quickly gathered. The team from the mortuary was slower to arrive. By the time they did arrive, the siblings were all sitting around, talking to each other, with Joe still sitting in his chair, to all appearances asleep. The guy wheeled in the gurney and looked around, very confused. “Am I in the right room?”

As others remarked, Joe would have been very pleased to know he played one final joke on that poor guy from the mortuary.

Here in the heart of IU country, it would be hard to overstate the excitement about the football championship game on Monday. It’s been building all season. I am perpetually uninterested in sports, but even I started watching as they neared the end of the regular season undefeated.

For those who don’t know: Indiana University has traditionally been a basketball and soccer school. As of two years ago, they had the highest number of losses for any Division 1 football team in history. Apart from a very few years, they’ve always been varying shades of bad. But they got a new coach, Curt Cignetti, two years ago and he initiated a stunning turnaround. Though they did well last year, this year has been amazing. They’re one game away from being the undefeated college football champions.

I was in the dentist’s office this morning and I could hear the hygienists all asking their patients if they’re going to be watching the game. Everyone everywhere is asking everyone they meet if they’ll be watching the game. The answer is, unanimously, yes. At our staff meeting this morning our boss asked us for score predictions, with promises of a prize for the closest answer. Everyone is wearing IU gear. An elementary school child got nationwide attention for writing to the Indiana governor asking him to give schools a two hour delay on the Tuesday morning after the game. He decided to leave it up to individual corporations–and a few are doing it. There are reportedly enormous lines on campus for the free rally towels they’ve been handing out before each game. These are just a few things that have come to my (again, typically uninterested) ears. I’m sure there’s much, much more.

It really is great fun, especially in a time of grim news. I’m glad I’ve been keeping up with it in recent weeks. It’ll be one of those things that people around here will remember for many years to come.

This morning I read a section in The Amish Way discussing the prohibition of business on Sunday and it reminded me of a similar practice in the Holiness churches I grew up in.

The Holiness people lived by a strict set of behavioral and clothing rules they called the holiness standards. Not Amish-level strict, but they made folks noticeable. These were (nearly) universal and violation of the standards was considered sin.

There were also some disagreements between churches about rules considered at the level of holiness standards—wedding rings, for example. Jewelry was universally held to be sinful. Some folks made exceptions, though, for wedding rings. Fellowship was typically continued in the spirit of “agree to disagree.” At the same time, while some of the strictest churches would fellowship with some of the less-strict ones, they might not allow members of those less-strict churches on their pulpit (also known as the “platform” in other churches).

(Aside: Rachel and I were not married with wedding rings. When we left those churches, we bought first a cheap JC Penney set and then a set from a divorced friend. We wore them for a few years but we never had an emotional connection to them. And they were uncomfortable. So for the last several years we’re once again ringless. In all those ringless years, not a single woman has tried to pick me up! So strange!)

So there were universal standards and standards about which there was disagreement. There were also “personal convictions.” These were matters of conscience for an individual, and were not to be imposed on others. Depending on the person and the strength of the conviction, they may or may not have believed that it was a matter of sin if they failed in them. A classic example here is the refusal to eat in a restaurant that severed alcohol.

Another example was “Sunday dealing,” a.k.a., buying or selling on the Sabbath. For people who held this conviction, it also necessarily entailed the refusal of Sunday work. There were also some people who refused to work on Sunday but would certainly go to Long John Silver’s after church. Let a thousand flowers bloom.

The ban on Sunday dealing was always a minority position in my time there and I suspect it is held by even fewer now. I don’t say this with any blame, simply with interest in how these things change over time.

Though taking a day off the money economy probably wouldn’t be the worst thing…

Byung-Chul Han is very quotable. From Psycho-Politics:

Jeremy Bentham’s panopticon isolated inmates from each other for disciplinary purposes and prevented them from interacting. In contrast, the occupants of today’s digital panopticon actively communicate with each other and willingly expose themselves. That is, they collaborate in the digital panopticon’s operations. Digital control society makes intensive use of freedom. This can only occur thanks to voluntary self-illumination and self-exposure (Selbstausleuchtung und Selbstentblößung). Digital Big Brother outsources operations to inmates, as it were. Accordingly, data is not surrendered under duress so much as offered out of an inner need. That is why the digital panopticon proves so efficient.

A couple of pages later:

Neoliberalism makes citizens into consumers. The freedom of the citizen yields to the passivity of the consumer. As consumers, today’s voters have no real interest in politics – in actively shaping the community. They possess neither the will nor the ability to participate in communal, political action. They react only passively to politics: grumbling and complaining, as consumers do about a commodity or service they do not like. Politicians and parties follow this logic of consumption too. They have to ‘deliver’. In the process, they become nothing more than suppliers; their task is to satisfy voters who are consumers or customers.

The transparency demanded of politicians today is anything but a political demand. Transparency is not called for in political decision-making processes; no consumer is interested in that. Instead, and above all, the imperative of transparency serves to expose or unmask politicians, to make them an item of scandal. The call for transparency presupposes occupying the position of a shocked spectator. It is not voiced by engaged citizens so much as by passive onlookers. Participation now amounts to grievance and complaint. With that, the society of transparency, inhabited by onlookers and consumers, has given rise to a spectator democracy.

This “spectator democracy” is entirely different from the politics described by Teddy Macker in which political thought is (in the words of Wendell Berry) “a continuous asking how best to conduct oneself as a member of a community or a polity.”