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By Jeff Gundy

"Creative non-fiction via a Mennonite poet that blends the background of the Amish and Mennonites, relations historical past, and his personal existence tale to examine how he could reside in concord with the Mennonite excellent to "live on the planet yet no longer of it.""

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You can always still Fantasia with Raspberries, Baby Chicks, Wine and Roses 47 plod to the outhouse if your soul or your body start to feel too coddled, sell the tractor and hitch up the horses again if you don’t feel tired enough by the end of the day. And if, eventually, the horses and the outhouse are gone, the machinery fills shed after shed, the farms get bigger and bigger, the children go off to college and then find work in distant cities? Then the telephone and the highways and the Internet will make it easier to stay in touch, and perhaps a distant child will find himself unaccountably drawn to old photographs, old stories, old losses and laments.

They wanted a small circle of believers, each accountable to all the rest, rather than a crowd of the pious and the hostile and the indifferent combined in a fictive unity. I came back from Europe with many lingering questions. What spaces are sacred? How do we find or create them, how maintain and inhabit them? How do we know what they require of us? Is this all backwards? How can God be confined to or concentrated in any human space? Is God more present at Notre Dame than in the cave of the Anabaptists?

A man wasn’t made for such labor, he had finally realized— not the sort of bone-softening, muscle-breaking, dawn-to-dusk labor that it took to work a farm in those days. He’d done it, of course, and he saw Homer doing it now, though with that new tractor to ride on it wasn’t the same. But Henry had never had trouble keeping busy even without the field work, what with the chickens and the garden. Only now he has a little time around the edges to think and read and rest. He turns the waterer over—he can’t carry two of them full, not without slopping all over his shirt—puts it down in the cobs, and goes back for the other.

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