Help! There’s a Mennonite in Me

You have to understand that I have a Mennonite in me. I can’t help it. He lurks there in his black hat and chin beard watching me and nodding knowingly. He’s one of my ancestors. They were all Mennonites and Amish and various sorts of Pennsylvania Protestants. Go to Pennsylvania Dutch country today and see how many Longeneckers there are in the phone book. You’ll only find more in Zurich Switzerland where they all came from to start with.

This Mennonite in me is the other Man in Black. He’s why I like the Benedictines and could’ve been a monk. He’s the one who doesn’t really like all the fol-di-rol Catholics with too much lace and incense and china tea cups. He’s the one who wants to live simply and turn out the lights and live in a cabin and grow vegetables. He’s the one who sees the fakery and flummery of American life and shakes his head and climbs into his horse and buggy to ride off into the sunset and a good dinner of chicken pot pie and chow chow and shoo fly pie. Read more.


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