by Fred Moleck
Amish Innocents
Last week the world sank into yet another level of depression when the media reported the horrendous news of three—yes, three—school shootings in the United States, all in one week.The last of the three incidents hit home for me. It took place in a schoolhouse in Lancaster County, a comfortable day’s ride from Pittsburgh.
The schoolhouse is in the heartland of the Amish people, who are people of the land, people of the simple life, people of peace.
A lunatic suicide killer singled out the young girls in the classroom and shot them in an executioner’s manner. The shock waves still and will continue throughout Lancaster County and to all parts of the world.
All the on-site coverage by the media displayed heartbreaking footage of these farm folk sitting patiently watching the police investigations and the deluge of people from the “outside world.”
Their peaceful life has been violated. They have lived in a fishbowl for several days now. They wept, but they remained calm.
Some of the regional TV coverage featured various prayer services in the small towns in that area.
On Tuesday night I caught an interview with two of the community members, who were obviously very ill at ease talking to strangers with strange cameras leering at them.
They spoke quietly and with conviction as they expressed their forgiveness to the man who murdered the young members of their Amish faith community.
Forgiveness.
I reflected on a couple of lines from a popular hymn by Robert Lowry (1826–1899; “How Can I Keep from Singing?” [My life flows on in endless song]):
No storm can shake my inmost calm,
While to that rock I’m clinging.God provided clear evidence of this faith the next day. It took place on Amtrak Train No. 7, The Empire Builder, originating in Chicago, bound for Portland.
I boarded it in Chicago on my way to Minneapolis. The passengers in front of me were six Amish couples, some with children. Two other adults looked like elders of the community.
After a couple of hours in the journey, I approached one of the women sitting alone in the car in front of me. I expressed my sorrow and pledged my prayers to her and her people.
She responded by telling me that they had not heard about the shootings until that morning.
I thought that odd, but I remembered that they have no TV, no radio, no Internet. She sat quietly for a moment and then said, “It will be hard to go into the school house again.”
I digested that encounter for the remaining five hours of the ride to Minneapolis.
“It will be hard to go into the school house again.”
My mind sang:
No storm can shake my in most calm,
While to that rock I’m clinging.
Since love is Lord of heaven and earth,
How can I keep from singing?
You can reach Fred Moleck via email at fmoleck@earthlink.net