The art of healing comes from nature, not from the physician.
Therefore the physician must start from nature, with an open mind.

— Philipus Aureolus Paracelsus
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Seems like every Amish community has one. Its local expert on natural cures. The man or woman who will prescribe concoctions of herbs and mixtures of who knows what for just about any ailment.

The Amish are particularly gullible to natural fads. They believe what they are told by scurrilous quacks. Are maddeningly susceptible to any claims published in a book or magazine. If it’s in print, it must be true. It never seems to cross anyone’s mind that lies can be printed as well as told. Used to be one could identify the latest scams by scanning the pages of The Budget. Always good-sized box ads proclaiming eternal youth, joint health, snake oil guaranteeing a brand new heart, ointments for every imaginable sprain or bruise. The Budget is probably still a valid barometer.

Not that I don’t believe in natural treatments and cures. With age, I am increasingly hostile to all pharmaceuticals. I’ll take prescription drugs only in severe emergencies. And then get off them as soon as possible. I’ve taken a daily regimen of vitamins for about ten years now. For the last five, I’ve faithfully drunk my Superfood mixture twice a day. Great stuff. I wouldn’t do without it.

But I don’t buy all the wild claims made by herbal manufacturers. Anyone can claim anything. I research all herbs and vitamins before using them. It’s easy to do, on the internet. I also ask the opinions of those I trust, those who harbor knowledge far advanced to mine.

My father, in his later years, became quite involved with natural foods. Every year or two, it seemed, he wrote another extensive expose on his latest discovery. In the 90s, it was fiber. Then bread baked from fresh ground whole wheat kernels. Then COQ10, a miracle vitamin for the heart. And those are only a few I can remember, of the many. It got so that when he launched into his latest magical discovery, I would just kind of let it flow in one ear and roll out the other.

So it was with extreme skepticism that I greeted his latest “discovery” a few years back. My parents still lived in Bloomfield. I think it was in January, 2007, when Ellen and I made our final trip home as a married couple. We were there a few days. It was winter, ice was everywhere, the roads were slicker than snot.

When we arrived, Dad was gimping about the house, busy as always, firing the wood stove and pounding away at his manual typewriter. He and Mom greeted us cheerfully. He paused from his work and sat on his rocker, arms folded, to visit awhile. It didn’t take long.

“Have you ever heard of John Keim?” He asked, rocking vigorously, glancing at me sideways, as he tends to do.

“Nope, can’t say I have,” I answered.

“He’s an Amish naturalist. He lives in Ohio,” Dad said.

Oh, boy, here we go already, I thought to myself. “Oh, is that right?” I grunted.

Oblivious, Dad was just getting warmed up. In the next half hour, I learned far more than I ever cared to know about a man named John Keim.

He was a man, Dad claimed, who had invented a natural ointment that healed burns. And wounds. But mostly burns. The Amish are particularly interested in burn treat-ment. They get burned more than average because some child or adult is always pouring white gas into a kerosene lamp, it seems, and poof, a split second later, an explosion and skin is peeling off from third degree burns. Or that old classic, pouring gasoline on an open fire. That’s probably caused more severe burns than anything else in the world.

John Keim named his concoction B&W Ointment. For Burns and Wounds. The product is entirely natural. A mixture of various herbs, with a base of raw honey. In recent years, he traveled around to Amish communities, holding meetings, and teaching others how to apply B&W treatment to severely burned victims. And, Dad claimed, the ointment actually causes natural skin to regrow, even where there had been the worst burns, third degree. Something modern medicine cannot do. Burn doctors do painful skin grafts, because they can’t make burned skin grow again.

After a burn accident, the victim is slathered with the B&W over the burned area, then the ointment is covered with burdock leaves. Then everything wrapped in gauze. New treatments are applied each day. In seven days or less, new skin is growing. Rarely, if ever, do any scars remain.

I was dubious. But I listened. It could be true, I reckoned. It all sounded pretty simple to me. Like an “Amish” story. Lots of fantastic claims, but short on facts. Not that I doubted the power of natural remedies. But a concoction that would heal burns and grow new skin? If true, the medical profession would have to pay attention.

Dad had a vision to publicize the B&W regimen in his monthly news magazine, “Plain Interests.” Also personal testimonies. The plan, he said, was to have an appointed person in each Amish settlement, a person trained by John Keim. When there was a burn accident, that person would be summoned to come and apply the treatment.

And as my father rocked back and forth and talked incessantly about this latest “discovery,” I sensed that this was more than his usual health kick. That he was excited. And firmly convinced of the quality and claims of this product. He is not a stupid man. I decided to keep my eyes open, to see for myself if the B&W Ointment was all it was cracked up to be.

And so I did, after we returned home. Read the occasional account in Plain Interests and The Budget. Stories of how someone, usually a child, was badly burned. How the B&W treatment was applied.

From testimony after testimony, I’ve concluded the stuff does work. Exactly as Dad had claimed. Dozens of successful treatment cases have been meticulously recorded by John Keim and others, including Mark Stoll of Aylmer. They have taught others. In many Amish communities today, burn victims are immediately treated with B&W ointment. And, except in two cases, I think, they have been completely healed. The two cases involved infants or very young children who died from their burns.

Recently, a family in Aylmer was not allowed to use B&W on their badly burned little girl. The doctor, who had previously allowed it at his hospital, flatly refused and instead did painful skin grafts on the child’s burned leg. After the girl was finally released to return home, the parents fled with her to Mexico. There, they somehow convinced the extremely dubious and slightly horrified Mexican doctors to remove the skin graft. They applied B&W, and the wound was soon covered with new natural skin.

Completely healed. Something modern medicine cannot do. Just think about that for a moment. Let it soak in.

Because that’s really the bottom line. Whatever valid criticisms might surface, and there may be some, that central fact cannot be refuted. A simple Amish man with no formal education has developed a natural remedy that outperforms all the known burn treatments ever devised by modern medicine. It flat out boggles the mind.

And it’s not a secret. The Amish freely share their knowledge with anyone who cares to inquire. In certain few hospitals scattered about (Kansas City and London, Ontario and maybe one or two others), they even allow the Amish to come in and apply the B&W treatment to their own members who were burned. The doctors witness it. They see the results. They know it works. And yet, it has caused no stir, no shock waves in the medical world.

Why would a person supposedly devoted to healing ignore such a simple solution? Suppress a remedy that costs almost nothing and could heal thousands who writhe in constant pain? Several reasons, probably. There have been no controlled studies of B&W. Until that happens, it will be viewed as a quack cure. I did find one critical analysis on the web. And there’s always peer pressure. Unwillingness to risk stepping outside established boundaries. And deep suspicion of anything outside mainstream thought and teaching.

It all reminds me of the Old Testament story of Naaman, the Syrian captain. He was told to dip himself in the Jordan River to cure his leprosy. But that was too simple. He expected more fanfare, a bit of recognition of who he was. Some acknowledgment of his office. You’ve got to be kidding, he thought to himself. Here I travel all the way to this desolate country and this hick prophet tells me to go dip in a dirty river. I’ve got the best doctors in the world. And they can’t heal me. Who does this guy think he is? He was storming off in a huff until his servants calmed him and somehow convinced him to consider Elisha’s very simple directions. He relented and returned. And dipped himself seven times in the River of Jordan. Only then was he healed.

The comparison may be a bit of a stretch. But the simplicity of the remedies is similar. And the bull-headed resistance of the powers that be. There is one huge distinction. The doctors who ignore B&W do so to the detriment not of themselves, but of their patients. Contrary to their sworn duty to heal.

I’m not against doctors. They are callously and relentlessly demonized as the Obama administration muscles to pass into law the abomination of universal “health care.” Most doctors work hard and do the best they know, the best they can. Not to mention the long years and endless hours they spent on their educations. All I’m saying is that they should examine the readily available evidence and consider the implications of natural treatment for burn victims. Would that there were one, or even a few, who might dare to shed the shackles of the State and reject all government funded programs. And open private clinics that would include the option of natural remedies.

And then there’s always the drug companies. Vast conglomerates who will commit any act to protect their billions in research investment. Thousands of burn victims can writhe in agony as their wounds are wire-brushed. No way that an unlearned Amish-man and his natural formula will ever be allowed to jeopardize their precious profit.

Not that I have anything against profit or against the drug companies’ right to pursue it. But when their minions run crying to the government to shut down competition, and outlaw natural treatments, that is beyond despicable.

We are, I think, entering the dawn of a dark age in our civilization. We will see and experience hitherto unimaginable things. Terrible things that no one alive has seen or experienced before. An age of upheaval and fire and blood. When government intrusion will dictate every aspect of our lives from cradle to grave. When the elderly will be assisted in their passage to the afterlife because of lack of “affordable” care. When natural treatments will be outlawed and people who persist in providing such treatment will be prosecuted, imprisoned, and forced underground into the black market. An age when the less you have to do with any governmental programs, the better off you will be. And the longer you will live.

In such a time, it would behoove all of us to step into the “River of Jordan.” To be aware of simple remedies like B&W, as well as a host of other natural products. To know how to use them. Where they come from. And how to get more. Not only for our own benefit. But also for those around us.

Those who refuse to prepare with available knowledge and plentiful resources will have little recourse when the dark times come. And even less excuse.

All the art of living lies in a fine mingling of letting go and holding on.

—Havelock Ellis
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About once a year or so, it seems, they trot out another one. This one was shown in England last weekend. An Amish-themed documentary entitled “Trouble in Amish Paradise”. One more film about a fascinating backwards culture, one more tidbit for the ravenous maw of mainstream appetite, one more attempt to satiate a hunger that can never quite find its fill.

It featured two local Amish couples who set out, some time ago, on a quest for truth. And followed that path to its ultimate end. They began to question the established church practices and beliefs. And as the title suggests, their queries created a great firestorm of trouble. One of the two couples was excommunicated. Of the other couple, only the husband was. Someone emailed me a link to the film and I watched a few minutes of it. Later that day, I logged on to see the remaining fifty or so minutes, and the link was gone. So I didn’t get to see it all. A few friends who did see it reported they thought it was pretty fair and tastefully done. And honest.

I don’t know the two couples and their families. They both reside here in Lancaster County. I don’t know what triggered their discontent, their search and the subsequent journey of faith they traveled. But I feel for them. I can imagine the pain and uncertainty they faced. The intense stressors they encountered. From a whole lot of sources. Family. Relatives. Friends. And, not least, the Amish church. It’s tough, to be forced to choose a path that estranges you from all you have ever known. To walk away from the security and structure of such a close-knit community life. Especially with young children.

Technically, I have no problem with their decision to allow the filming of their journey and its immediate aftermath. That was their choice to make. I do not fault them for it. And it’s really none of my business. If they felt comfortable doing it, more power to them. It’s not like I don’t do something very similar, in much of my own writing. I have few illusions on that point. But for the rare insider perspective of my Amish back- ground, my stories would attract only a fraction of my current readers.

And yet, I have mixed feelings about the documentary. About spilling out for all the world to see the intricate details of the journey. Not because of the details themselves. Anything that happens to anyone is fair game. But because the events are so close. So fresh, so recent. It all just happened. And the drama continues. How can anyone be in a frame of mind to discuss the events rationally in so short a time? I’m not saying they weren’t rational, the couples. I didn’t see most of the documentary. But from my own experiences and from what I’ve seen of others, it’s almost impossible to absorb and process the pain of cultural separation and rejection absent the passage of substantial time.

I have seen them, encountered them again and again over the years. Individuals and families who had left the Amish. Joined the Beachy church. The Mennonites. Charity. Mainstream Protestants. Some are outright “English” and wander alone, with no claims of affiliation.

I have spoken to them and listened to their stories. You can soon tell which ones have dealt with the wounds of the past and which ones are still struggling and which ones probably never will get over it. They have a hungry bitter eagerness, those who still struggle, to speak of it incessantly. Of how they were wronged. How cruelly they were treated. How patriarchal and dictatorial the Amish system is. The manmade rules, how unscriptural they are. How arbitrarily applied. How the Amish are lost. Some few even state with grim certainty that one cannot be Amish and be a Christian.

When I talk to such people, there is no question their pain is real. You can see it in their eyes. The hard lines on their faces. The constant mental strain. I feel sorry for them.

They just can’t let it go. Can’t let it rest. Not with the passing of time. Not for any reason. Like Christian in Pilgrim’s Progress, they stumble along the footpath, stooped and bowed by the great weight of baggage on their backs.

And that simply is not healthy. Can’t be.

I’m not saying the couples in the documentary were like that, or are like that. Or will be like that. I am saying that the painful events they experienced are probably still way too fresh for them to have dealt with and processed the resulting emotional turmoil.

The Amish church was founded around three hundred years ago. It’s not going anywhere, regardless of the myriad doomsayers who somewhat gleefully predict its imminent demise. It is solid and it will endure.

The structure of the Amish church has remained largely unchanged since its inception. Yes, the power is centered on the ministers and bishops, regardless of how much they might protest they are just “servants.” They are not servants. They are leaders, with a lot of raw power. They can be dictatorial. Decisions are often made that simply make no sense, however one looks at them. Yes, members are expected to submit to the church’s authority in all matters. Yes, it can be a hard road for anyone with a spark of individuality. And yes, it can be almost impossible to break away without losing your mind.

But it can be done.

Sometimes the Amish lifestyle in general makes little sense, even to those of us who emerged from it. And the further one is removed, the less sense it makes. But I try to keep in mind that the structure and rules are a survival mechanism, without which the culture would be swept into the mainstream, probably within a generation. No longer separated. No longer distinct.

Which to me wouldn’t be a big deal. But it is to them.

Here I directly address those who were raised Amish or in some other similar plain setting. You can always choose to leave. Maybe you already have left. As a lot of us did. But if you make or have already made that choice, it seems to me, there should be no expectations of changing the cultural structure that has anchored the church for so long. A structure that was in place long before you were born. And will be here long after you are gone.

If you suddenly see the light, and conclude that all those manmade traditions and rules are unbiblical, that the bishop has too much power, whatever, by all means follow your own conscience. State your position. Do what you have to do. But then, don’t complain when the inevitable consequences follow. Don’t expect an entire culture to see things your way. That’s like kicking a concrete wall, expecting it to give. It won’t. You’ll only hurt yourself. And endure a lot of needless suffering.

We all have to find our own equilibrium, those of us who left. Our own sense of who we are, where we’re going, and how we’ll get there. And how we absorb and deal with the daily consequences of our choices.

Some deal with it one way and some another. Some never do.

Letting go is the only answer. Let go the rage, the anguish, the hurts, the wrongs. Life’s not fair. Just let it rest. That doesn’t mean there won’t be flashbacks. Or that you never have to deal with the issues again. Or that you won’t have to vent occasionally, when something sneaks up and whaps you upside the head. And that’s OK.

It does mean you can take control and live a productive life without allowing the hurts of the past to control your present well being. That you can walk in calmness, with a peaceful heart. You can even reach a point where you respect and honor the good things the Amish hold on to, of which there are many.

Not that you have to reach that point. But you can.

Only by letting go will you ever be truly free.

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I’ve always been quite vocally opposed to tanning beds. The oven-like contraptions you lay in to get a fake tan. The people you see strolling about in the dead of winter with dark tans, most of them, get it from artificial sources. I’ve always proclaimed they will pay for every minute spent in a tanning bed. It just can’t be healthy. Can’t be. Common sense tells you that.

Now I’m not so sure. May have reevaluate my position. Last week the Feds came out with a study showing that lying in a tanning bed is equivalent to soaking in arsenic. Pretty nasty stuff. My natural inclination is always to take any federal study and conclude that the opposite is true. I remember all the hype and hysteria about caffeine, second hand smoke, fiber, and so on, ad infinitum. It’s always something. What will kill you one year may well be proclaimed healthy the next. 1984, anyone?

So I may have to try the tanning bed this winter. In any case, the activity will be taxed soon enough. Anything that’s perceived as bad for you is taxable. There’s a reason this particular study was released now, when tax revenues are plummeting everywhere. And with the insane wackos now running the country, nothing is off limits.

This week, I took somber note as Big Blue cranked over his 30,000th mile. Wow. Can’t believe it. Where has the time gone? Seems like only a couple of months ago that I proudly drove the truck off the lot, glistening and brand spanking new.