My parents are friends with an Amish family in upstate New York. Those who know my legendarily outgoing father may not be terribly shocked, but I must confess that this one even caught me by surprise. I don’t know a whole lot about the Amish but I remember learning that their theological identity is to live out literally St. Paul’s command to “be not conformed to the world” and to heed the warning of the author of James that to “befriend the world is to have enmity with God.” Friendship with “English” like my father and mother breaks down those worldly barriers. Nevertheless, there I was standing in the dark, smoky kitchen of an Amish family while my mother shared a birthday gift of chocolate with their daughter Katie, as my dad held their youngest son, and my own Katie and Rosie looked on perplexed at children their age dressed so strangely.

It started simply enough. My father and mother would stop and buy cookies, bread and produce from them. Then, my father who spent much of his childhood on a farm would talk with the father about farming. It probably helped that my father was by nature a hoarder of old farm equipment, and so would bring by old equipment which met the stringent requirements of the community Ordnung. And after so many visits, so many trades, and so much conversation it was only natural that friendship would follow. Cultures and families worlds apart found much in common, even as the differences were there plain for all to see.

My own visit was pleasant enough. The first question was about my family – "only three children?"; far short of the 8 children under age 12 that filled this house. No dumb comments or questions about why my children were brown skinned. How many brothers and sisters did my wife have? Where did they live? Did they have families? It was clear what was most important to them. They knew I was a pastor, but what I did wasn't nearly as meaningful to them as my relationships.

At the end of the visit, I left my father’s Amish friends admiring of a husband and wife who were dedicated to their family, impressed by a strong woman who was far more educated than I expected an Amish woman to be, and reassured by the smiles of young children who seemed to enjoy their simple lives despite the hardship.

It was at its purest an ecumenical encounter; a breaking down of barriers and reshaping of perceptions. Theology was never discussed, but I couldn’t help but reflect on what are most certainly theological questions. Does the complexity of my life in this modern world help or hinder my family relationships? Has technology made things better or worse for society? What is really important to me? Where does family and the blessing of children rate? What exactly is quality of life?

I have no naiveté when it comes to the hardship of life that Amish families face.  That life is not for me. But I am grateful for the encounter and the questions it raised. I have no idea if my presence raised questions in the mind of this family about their own way of living. That is beyond my control and in the grand scheme of things beyond the purpose of an “ecumenical visit.” Ecumenism is never primarily about the other.