CURIOSITY IS A TWO-WAY STREET

Last week while channel-surfing, I stumbled upon a short documentary about the Amish. Many people would likely ignore the program, but I have always been curious about all things religious. This wasn’t the first program I’ve watched about the Amish, but this one’s title, “The Amish Dilemma,” grabbed my attention.

A distinctive element of this program was that the documentarians had received permission to interview and even film members of various Amish communities. The program could have been titled “Amish Diversity,” as it dispelled the idea that all Amish are alike. The “dilemma” element of the program relates to the varied answers the Amish give to the question “How much or how little of modern American life should we accept?” I was intrigued to learn that some Amish communities accept solar power, others use diesel power for running some farm machinery, while other communities reject those aspects of modernity. One community even uses a computer to help with accounting, even though the internet is forbidden.

However, I learned that all Amish groups still seem to reject television and newspapers, with the exception of one newspaper that provides family and community events, but nothing about local, national, and international news.

As seems to be standard for documentaries about the Amish, one section interviewed young people who have chosen to leave the community for life “in the world.” I suspect that this topic is mandatory in these documentaries because we imagine young Amish people chafing at all the restrictions of dress, behavior, and beliefs of the community. What goes through their minds, we wonder, when they are in town and see other young people on smartphones, riding around in cars, or wearing the college sweatshirts advertising where they attend?

But curiosity runs in both directions. If young Amish wrestle with question “What am I missing?”, I can’t help but ask, “What am I missing that the Amish have?”

I wonder how my life would be different if I weren’t constantly bombarded by emails, TV and radio programs, or the newsfeed on my phone. Without all that external stimuli, would I have a richer inner life? Would I know myself better? Would I be a better listener to others? Would my friendships be deeper?

Then I picture myself travelling in a horse-drawn buggy. I would certainly see a lot less of my world, but would I see more deeply into my narrower world? Would I pay more attention to birdsong? Would I know it was a windy day not from a weather forecast but from feeling the breeze on my face and arms or seeing laundry swaying on a clothesline?

What I have learned from a lifelong curiosity about religion is that judging from the outside inevitably leads to misunderstanding. The very aspects of a religion that so easily repel outsiders are the same aspects that make those on the inside feel not just at home but blessed.

I’ve come to the conclusion that every religious tradition contains wisdom about living a meaningful life. I do not intend to become Amish, but when I see an Amish couple riding in a buggy, I’m grateful for the questions they raise about how I’m living my life. No member of the Amish will ever

buttonhole me and ask me to reflect on my life choices. They won’t say a word, but their silence speaks volumes.