The Amish Voice 5
be a big question mark of where I would
spend eternity.
Finally, the bishop neared the end of his
sermon and began to read the customary
ending chapter. I knew the words by
heart:
Matthew 7:21
Es werden nicht alle,
die zu mir sagen: HERR, HERR!
ins Himmelreich kommen, sondern
die den Willen tun meines Vaters
im Himmel.
22
Es werden viele zu mir sagen an
jenem Tage: HERR, HERR! haben
wir nicht in deinem Namen
geweissagt, haben wir nicht in
deinem
Namen
Teufel
ausgetrieben, und haben wir nicht
in deinem Namen viele Taten
getan?
23
Dann werde ich ihnen bekennen:
Ich habe euch noch nie erkannt;
weichet alle von mir, ihr
Übeltäter!
Interpreted in English:
Matthew 7:21
Not every one that
saith unto me, Lord, Lord, shall
enter into the kingdom of heaven;
but he that doeth the will of my
Father which is in heaven.
22
Many will say to me in that day,
Lord, Lord, have we not
prophesied in thy name? and in thy
name have cast out devils? and in
thy name done many wonderful
works?
23
And then will I profess unto them, I
never knew you: depart from me,
ye that work iniquity.
These verses always scared me. I knew
that someday I would die and I would
stand before God to be judged. I tried not
to think about it too much, but I knew
that I couldn’t keep it from happening.
Time would tick away, and even if I lived
to be old, death would get me sooner or
later. Every time I was faced with the
issue of the judgment, I searched my
mind for the right way to prepare myself
for that event. I was desperate not to
arrive at that place without being
prepared for it. There was nothing I
wanted more than to be in that small
crowd on God’s right hand, hearing the
words,
Well done, thou good and faithful
servant
. Yet, when I searched my life for
something that could provide me with the
assurance that I would hear those words,
I couldn’t find enough evidence to
convince me.
Not everyone who says LORD! LORD!
will enter into the kingdom of heaven, but
those who do the will of my Father in
heaven
. I wanted to do the will of God,
but I wasn’t exactly sure how. I knew that
He required me to live a good life, but I
wasn’t sure that I was good enough.
When I looked at the list of people who
didn’t make it, I was scared.
Have we not
prophesied in your name? Have we not
cast out devils in your name? Have we
not done many wonderful works in your
name?
I didn’t even come close to doing
those things. If these people were
spiritual enough to do the good things
they did, and still God said that He didn’t
know them, what hope was there for me?
I longed to know God. I wanted Him to
be more personal and more approachable.
I wished I could get on His good side and
know that I was. I longed to be accepted
by Him, to know that He was pleased and
not angry with me.
The bishop finished the chapter, and after
a few closing remarks, sat down to hear
the other ministers give testimony that
what he had preached was founded on
God’s word. After they finished, he rose,
made some more remarks, and then we
knelt for the long prayer.
The long prayer meant different things
for different people. For some, it meant a
good time to take a much-needed nap.
For some of the boys, it meant a time to
whisper and poke each other and do the
rowdy things that were expected from
them if they were cool. For me, it was
something to be endured. The prayer was
read from a book, in words that were
difficult to understand. Even though the
prayer was a better one than I could ever
pray (or even the preacher, for that
matter), it was read in a tone of voice that
made God seem far away and out of
touch with reality. I wanted God to be
near, and not just some far-off God that
must be approached with a perfect prayer
from a book. Yet, I myself didn’t know
how to pray. I didn’t even know if God
heard my prayers.
After the bishop’s blessing to the
congregation, another slow hymn was
sung and then church was dismissed.
Like a tidal wave, black hats flew to the
heads of their owners the instant that the
last word of the song was finished, and
the boys and young men rushed out the
door. We waited around the barn, trying
to tell jokes and laugh until it was
announced that lunch was ready. After
eating
bohne soup und lattveig brott
(bean soup and apple butter bread)
and
waiting impatiently until Dad was done
visiting with the men, the family was
once again seated in the buggy, and Betty
was trotting patiently homeward. I was
once again in the front seat as I had been
so many times before, thinking about the
day and what had been said. Once again
the questions pushed into my mind, and I
wearily shoved them aside. Already,
though, I could sense that my promises to
do better were fading and becoming
weaker. The timely warnings and the
reminders of righteousness and judgment
and thoughts of eternity somehow
seemed less serious now that church was
over. The strange and scary thing was, I
discovered that I didn’t care.
—Emanuel Schrock
To order a free copy of
My Story
—in
booklet form—please contact the Amish
Voice at (419) 962-1515, or send a note
to P.O. Box 128, Savannah OH 44874.
This is the end of Part One. You can read
Part Two in the next issue.