Katie

February 1, 2019

Lying silently on a board stretched between two kitchen chairs and covered with a white sheet, she looked so very tiny and frail. Always small of stature, in death Katie seemed even tinier than in life. Maybe it was the absence of the smile that normally graced her face, etching laugh lines into the corners of her eyes. 

We had never before been to an Amish wake, so this new experience stood in stark contrast to the customs we have known. As we drew near to park the car, we noticed the trucks and SUVs parked in the driveway alongside the buggies, transportation hired by the more distant relatives who were gathered to offer their support to the family. 

Approaching the house, we were invited in by one of the young men. Inside, the rooms dimly lit by oil lamps were filled with people. Amish rooms are large to accommodate the size of their families and the even larger church gatherings that rotate in their homes throughout the community. Perhaps fifty people were sitting at the three makeshift tables some twenty feet long, eating and talking softly. In the living room, benches were set up around and in the middle of the room, filled with just as many, from babes in arms to the elderly. In spite of the dozens of children present, it was quiet and peaceful, the shadows cast by the lamps flickering on the walls. 

Katie was laid out in the back room. We were ushered in and given as much time as we wanted to pay our respects while a son stood at her side silently holding a lamp so we could see. Going back to the main room, we sat with Mose, her husband, and with five of her nine children. Linda is a much better conversationalist than I, and while she chatted effortlessly with Katie’s daughters, I tried valiantly to carry on a conversation with Mose and their son Jacob. Finally I said, “Linda is the talkative one. After about five minutes, I run out of things to say.”

Mose nodded in understanding. “Me, too. When Linda would come to visit, she and Katie just talked and talked and talked,” he said while moving his fingers and thumbs in imitation of mouths opening and closing in rapid succession. A village board meeting necessitated my leaving earlier than I would have liked, so I offered assurances of my prayers and excused myself. Linda and our daughter Jessie would follow half an hour later.

I’ve officiated at and attended more funerals than I like to recall, but in all those hours spent at funeral homes, I’ve never experienced a more peaceful presence than last night. There was no slick professionalism about it, no histrionics; just a simple board on which the shroud-draped Katie lay. Those gathered sat with the family for hours, and would do so again today as Katie is laid to rest. I think it was the simplicity of it all, along with the calm acceptance of a life that is often hard and a quiet faith that gives strength not only to the family, but to the entire Amish community. They sat in a solidarity that we English imagine but rarely experience. We were welcomed by friends we have grown to love into their sacred space between life and death. It was truly holy ground, and we should have taken off our shoes.