An Amish Wedding Invitation; An eShort Account of a Real Amish Wedding by Serena B. Miller

Author:Serena B. Miller
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-01-09T16:00:00+00:00

As large as this working barn was, the family did not think it would be large enough to seat everyone. There was a white three-sided tent placed against the open double doors of the barn, in order to expand the seating. We were placed here, along with a handful of other Englisch guests. Luke expressed disappointment that Joyanne’s mother, a woman in her nineties, had not felt well enough to join us. He had made certain there was an especially comfortable chair for her.

I wished I could take a picture of all of this, but I respected my friend’s beliefs against the making of graven images. Instead, I tried to imprint the scene before me on my mind, memorizing details, savoring every moment. Inside the barn, sitting sideways in front of us, were two groups. All the women sat to my right, facing the men, who were on my left. They turned their heads and watched with friendly curiosity as we entered, but then their attention was caught again by the preacher, who stood between the two groups with his back to us as he spoke to the church.

There would be three ministers who, taking turns, would preach for nearly three hours by the time this wedding was finished. Several preachers were needed to get through the long wedding service. I recognized a few words—“Noah” and “Moses” and “Abraham”—but the rest of the service was incomprehensible. This was as it should be. The wedding service was not for us, and it was not for show, it was for the Amish. We Englisch were allowed to watch, but it would never occur to them to switch to English for our benefit. Nor would Joyanne and I have expected them to do so. This was their culture, their church, their beliefs, their traditions. I was honored and grateful simply to be allowed to observe.

When one preacher wore out, another one took his place. One of them used a sort of singsong cadence to his preaching, another, who was younger, was more impassioned and seemed to hold the crowd’s attention a little better. Later I heard comments about what a good speaker he was.

Interspersed with the preaching was the singing. I had recently purchased an Ausbund songbook at Eli’s bookstore. It had been printed locally, with the English translation right beside the German. In the Ausbund, there are no notes, only words. These songs were now sung with every note, timing, and nuance executed from memory. These were not simple melodies. I was amazed that the music to all these words could be passed down, one generation to another, through five centuries.

These songs are not easy to describe, but they were most definitely not happy, bouncy songs. I cannot imagine anyone ever clapping along with the rhythm, because there was no rhythm. The music, with its long, sustained notes, reminded me a little of the mournful wail of a bagpipe. As I said before, the songs were composed by martyrs. They are songs

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