No-Tell Kotel

Matthew Dust Pray Openly

Matthew says Beware of practicing righteousness openly, when you pray go into your room and shut the door and pray in secret.

Different Matthew than the one in the picture. That’s my friend and co-worker Matthew in the Loading Dock at 2525 West End in Nashville. Right after I snapped this pic our boss walked around the corner. I called Dirk to ask him if he recalled the incident. I barely had the question out when he started howling. “Funniest thing I’ve ever seen.” he said in his distinct southern cadence.

Hasidic Jewish men, Amish men, and Mennonites can be confusing to the casual observer. Among their many distinctions is prayer. The Hasidic man is often portrayed at the ancient Western Wall (Hebrew; Kotel) in Jerusalem stuffing written prayers in the cracks between the stones. The first example of this unique prayer style was in the Book of Daniel. Written on the wall of a Baghdad palace during a huge party, God reverse prayed to a king by publicly denouncing him in Hebrew Handwriting.

The Amish are famous for, among many things, their baked goods. But before they eat them they “pray.” Not in the formal German dialect of Worship nor the informal Pennsylvania Dutch. They pray silently. At least the prayers I observed. Other times prayer is read in German

Mennonites are divided by prayer in a way you might never imagine. Those with Wednesday night Prayer Meetings at church are much less likely to use Pennsylvania Dutch. I know almost nothing about the Prayer Meeting experiences of my Mennonite peers because nobody makes a social visit to another congregation for prayer meeting. In fact we deliberately avoided plans that would put us in proximity of another congregation’s service and leapt with great relief at the chance to “miss” our own. These midweek services followed a routine so familiar we could have done it at 1.5X speed and not missed a thing except the latecomers who would have been baffled to enter at Closing Thoughts rather than The Topic by Brother.

Prayer Meeting was a time of collecting predictable prayer requests followed by splitting into small groups to pray or the much quicker choice of 2-3 men and a follow up preacher all praying in the main auditorium. Afterwards a layman would deliver a lesson on a topic either assigned or self chosen. They were forgettable with few exceptions. Nathan Weber once dramatically read an account of the Crucifixion from a medical point of view. It stretched way too long, most likely seemed interminable to his kids because a dad talking in church is always an eternity for his kids and because it was the first time they had arrived early enough to sit through Prayer Meeting from the beginning.

Mennonites base a lot of their practice on the Sermon on the Mount and prayer meeting is the first place they teach young men how to ignore it again. Being called on to pray is your first public speaking experience – fortunately with everyone’s eyes closed and your back to them. Many plain Mennonites turn and kneel face in the pew for prayer, not really a closet like Jesus instructed but better for the shy than the dreaded face to crowd “Topic.”

I’ve heard many Mennonites pray all over the USA and with few exceptions they have a separate prayer language just like a Jew or an Amish guy.

Mennonite men sound like Shakespeare when they pray.

Hey Amish! Wake Up!

April Fools Day & Second Easter, 2019
April Fools Day 2019
L-R: Lightning, Rabbit Hunter, & Amish
I stayed up way too late Saturday night despite Eastern Orthodox Easter being nigh. (Oh you mean he’s risen risen!) Seven o’clock in the morning I hear knocks on my open window. Hey Amish! wake up! So much for dreams of golden vestments and communion with the saints. Transfiguration Orthodox Church was happening without me.
It was Rabbit Hunter. A couple months ago I made an acquaintance of a transient fellow, a Mormon bishop’s son struck by lightning and turned from tech whiz to homeless drifter. He introduced me to his best friend. They had just lost their lifelong buddy a month before- a tragic gas explosion in a storage building so I guess the Holy Spirit or my lack of a set schedule led them to take me on. For male bonding we went to the desert and drove fast, shooting rabbits from the car all night. Like nine hours. I’m not the hunting and fishing type so even my sister Janet thought it was an April Fools joke. This kind of varmint hunting was opposite of the type my dad favored. He’d sit alone in the middle of a field and pick off groundhogs with his rifle, something more than one farmer mentioned to me at his funeral.
Lightning and Rabbit Hunter named me Amish. They thought it only fair that I take a turn driving. After all, the only thing I could hit in the vast sage desert was a rabbit. It lasted five minutes. I really can’t drive eighty five miles per hour and aim a spotlight. It takes just the smallest, white lie to build that bridge from the black and white facts to a better, colorful story about that time they took an Amish guy rabbit hunting and taught him to drive. (Not Amish Amish, just Mennonite back before they were born). Black lies are not really a thing. Colorful lies are good stories.
They’re grieving a lifelong friend. I’m not always good with words but I am familiar with grief so I did the right thing and hung out a couple days, paid for the whiskey, then cooked a few meals. Basically showed the guys 5 ways to stack bacon, eggs, and bread because that’s what Rabbit Hunter had bought. I think that’s the first time I’d ever seen $100 worth of breakfast.
On Orthodox Easter morning (Jesus is Risen Risen but I’m not up up), I have a redneck in boots and Carharts sprawled on my bed spitting tobacco juice down a straw into a McDonald’s cup watching police chase videos on YouTube. I wander around, not getting too close feeling like a dog whose got a cat in its bed, eventually swallowing enough coffee to realize he’s here for food. I had one pork chop thawed.
So I slice the pork thin while I’m browning onion in oil. He stands right over me asking questions. I throw black beans, sesame oil, chili’s and spices into the skillet then show him how to use vinegar to get the good stuff off the bottom of the pan and to use the pasta water to make a delicious sauce. Food fit for a King and his friends who skipped church because of each other. Rabbit Hunter is no beggar, but he sure doesn’t mind showing up for a cooking lesson. Any young, newly single father needs to know how to cook a few things.

He asks, Did your mother teach you to cook?

Mom worked hard all day and in the late afternoons she’d give us instructions. We helped her. Fill this pan to this with water and put it on the stove. She’d eye the flame height to be sure we were right. Most important after actually working with us, not just instructing or making a special project out of teaching, Mom showed us to make do with what was on hand and to eat leftovers. Sometimes leftovers went into another dish, sometimes they were stand alone delicious and got eaten in an exact repeat meal. One peach half is not leftovers. “Whomever put that whole serving bowl in the fridge with 1/2 a peach in it was just trying to get out of washing the bowl.”

You get confident around the kitchen when you know what tastes good, how to recover from mistakes and that the purpose of food is not just to fill our bellies but also to bring us together. You get confident in friendship when you realize friends are not just for flying across the sage desert yehawin.’ You can wake them up to sit around with you. To insist they watch terribly edited YouTube videos with you. To pass time til the ex brings the kids after church for Sunday Dinner AT MY HOUSE!