NOTE: THIS POST CONSISTS OF CERTAIN FACTS, SIFTED FROM A WIDE VARIETY OF SOURCES, AND INTERPRETED FROM MY PERSPECTIVE. FROM CERTAIN EVENTS THAT UNFOLDED MORE THAN EIGHTEEN YEARS AGO, EVENTS NOW SHROUDED BY THE FOG OF YEARS.

MY OPINIONS, OBSERVATIONS AND CONCLUSIONS ARE MY OWN, AND MAY DIFFER FROM THE READER’S.
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“Let us reason together.”

—Elmo Stoll
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It was a Friday afternoon. Special church services were being held in honor of a visiting minister. He had lived in the area for a few years, then moved away. After moving, he had been ordained. The congregation now sat expectantly as the people waited to hear from this former lay brother who would stand before them and preach.

After a short opening sermon by a home preacher, and the reading of Scripture, the visiting minister stood to take the floor.

Head bowed, he fumbled briefly with his opening statements. He was glad to return to the area, even with his increased responsibilities. It had been good, he said, to visit with his old neighbors and friends. To visit his old home area. The congregation settled in.

But then a strange thing happened. The visiting minister could not preach. Instead, he wept and wept. At times almost uncontrollably. He tugged at the white handkerchief in his pocket and wiped his eyes. It was soon soaked with tears.

“Oh, there is a dark cloud on the horizon, and it is coming right into this community,” he cried. “You are going to experience some dark, dark times.”

He seemed, for a moment, to seize control of himself. He blew his nose and wiped the tears away again. Tried to flow into the natural course of his sermon.

But the tears would not stop. Again and again, like a biblical prophet of doom, he cried out, warning of dark clouds and dark times on the horizon. The congregation stirred, restless. What did the preacher see? What was he talking about? What dark times was he describing?

The congregation was assembled in Aylmer, Ontario, in June, 1990. The visiting minister was Alvin Fisher of Somerset, PA.

The night before, Alvin Fisher had stayed at the house of his friend, Elmo Stoll. The two of them had sat up and talked all night, in a sleepless vigil.

**********

After October, 1976, when my family moved from Aylmer to Bloomfield IA, Elmo Stoll stepped into the spot vacated by my father and became the editor of Family Life. Under his guidance, the magazine continued to prosper and expand its audience. His articles and editorials were among the few actually worth reading each month.

He was a man with a vision. On a mission. To convince the Amish world to repent of its old evil ways and renew itself on a more spiritual path. He used all the tools in his arsenal and all his powers of persuasion. He boldly wrote and spoke and preached his conscience, regardless of whose toes got crushed. And in the pursuance of his vision, he persisted in molding the Aylmer church into the image of what he thought it should be.

A few years after he was ordained, Aylmer, which then consisted of only one district, ordained a Bishop to replace Pete Yoder, who had moved to Marshfield, MO. Elmo and Jake Eicher were the only two in the lot. It fell on Jake.

Jake was a kindly, good-hearted man. My favorite preacher as a child. In a normal setting, he would have fulfilled his leadership duties with little difficulty. But this was not a normal setting. And Jake simply could not withstand the powerful combined force of Elmo’s charismatic personality and leadership skills. Before long, Elmo led, and Jake followed. A figurehead leader only. After Elmo’s brother Stephen Stoll, a deacon, moved back to Aylmer from Honduras and resumed his deaconly duties, the two of them simply overwhelmed any leadership opposition. Things went the way they dictated. Backwards, mostly.

While I realize this fact may be difficult for some to face and absorb, it is simply the truth.

As I mentioned before, the Aylmer church at this time thought more highly of itself than it ought. As the shining light for other communities to emulate, it madly plunged about this way and that, searching for ever increasing, and ever more difficult, ways to please that furious frowning God who could never be placated. Or ways the leaders thought would please God. There was no stability. What was OK today was banned tomorrow. What was pleasing to God today suddenly was pronounced unacceptable and would draw His wrath.

This state of raw hubris simply could not stand. The day of reckoning approached. In the distant horizon like a tiny cloud the size of a man’s fist.

Sometime around the late 1970s/early 1980s, four young men, two of whom had joined the church, finally could not take it anymore and rebelled. (That’s the simplistic version. The issues, as usual, were more complicated.) I grew up with these guys. They were my friends. They left the Amish, but stayed in the area. The Aylmer church reacted as one would expect, by cutting off any attempts at effective communication and lowering the boom on the young men with the full force of its awesome might.

The official position was that the young men were bad to the bone. Rebellious. They must be broken of their own strong will. And submit unconditionally. The two who were members, of course, were summarily excommunicated. All four of the young men were ostracized and scorned. Most eventually left the area.

Despite its flaws, the Aylmer community prospered and grew, and in 1984, two districts were formed from the one. Now another Bishop was needed. The ordination was held on October 10th. Elmo Stoll and Simon Wagler were in the lot. This time it fell on Elmo Stoll. He had now reached the office in which he would rise to the apex of his power and influence.

He was already widely known throughout the Amish world as a writer and a preacher. So it did not take long for other communities to request his assistance whenever outside Bishops, or “fremda Mann,” were needed to settle church or personality disputes. He traveled widely and soon gained quite a reputation as a man who gave wise and Godly counsel.

As the years passed, Elmo mellowed a bit from his earlier habits of always demanding his way, in his time frame, usually right now. But he never lost them entirely. And he never quite lost his habit of constantly stirring about, always pursuing some issue, small or large, to fuss about and fret over. At least not while in Aylmer.

At one point, he decided that the motor powered lawn mowers were too worldly. Too handy. He labeled them “flying boats” and began his usual campaign strategy to ban them. But this time his message did not resonate. Motor powered lawn mowers had been allowed in Aylmer since its inception. People were unwilling to give them up. And when Elmo tried to stir up public support to ban them, he was simply ignored. This defeat was highly unusual.

Eventually he saw his wishes would not come to pass. So he remarked that if everyone else has the flying boats, then he will get one too. And he did.

As Bishop, he could be and often was a harsh disciplinarian. Once, a group of Aylmer young people visited the community of Mio, Michigan. While there, several of the youth boys rode around on bicycles. Unfortunately, one of the young men fell off his bike and broke a bone (possibly his collar bone). So their sin was found out.

The fact that they were riding bicycles caused a huge and furious uproar back home in Aylmer. Unfathomable and senseless to us who view the incident in retrospect over the years. But true. Riding a bicycle was a SIN. The young man who broke a bone was not a church member, but others in the group were. All who were members were required by Elmo to make a public confession in church. They did. The yoke he inflicted was heavy.

Elmo insisted on another strict and strange and far-reaching policy. Over the years, some members of the Aylmer church moved away to other Amish communities, perhaps a bit more progressive. Some of these former Aylmer members, years later, left their then-current Amish church and joined a Beachy or Mennonite church that allowed cars. The standard method among Amish churches was to allow the church the member actually left to deal with it. And decide whether or not to excommunicate.

This did not fly with Elmo. He insisted that anyone who ever was a member of the Aylmer church who ever left the Amish, anywhere, anytime, was still under his jurisdiction. I can’t verify that he actually did so, but he threatened to excommunicate people he hadn’t seen in years, and barely knew. Formally hand them over to Satan. Just because they had once been members in Aylmer. The yoke he inflicted was heavy.

After posting my first “Elmo blog,” I heard from many people who knew him and lived under all stages of his leadership. Some I knew. Some I didn’t. But they all felt compelled to join the conversation, for which I’m grateful. They contacted me through letters, emails and on the phone. I heard it all.

From those who loved him. And from those whose memories of him bring only pain.

Some told me of how, after the strident early years, he mellowed and developed open relationships with the young people in the community. How he gained their trust. How they respected and liked him, and looked up to him, even the ones who disagreed with him, because they knew he really cared for them. How easy he was to approach and talk to. How sympathetic he was to the struggles that others endured. How they listen-ed, mesmerized, to the stories he told.

But I heard, too, from the least among them. The ones who could never do anything right. The ones who were openly persecuted and harassed. The scorned. The unloved. Not just by Elmo, but by certain other members of the leadership. These people were second class, the ones who never had a voice.

I listened to their tentative hesitant voices, probably as few before ever have. And heard them. Read their letters. And absorbed their words. It soon became clear to me that there are a number of such people out there today who harbor deep wounds from those times. The passage of the years has scabbed over the wounds so they no longer bleed. But under the right circumstances, the pent-up emotions release and come pouring forth in torrents.

My heart goes out to these people.

Some who participated in inflicting those wounds still live in Aylmer. And in at least one nearby settlement. In leadership positions. They know who they are. And they know who they wounded.

They can still do the right thing.

I last heard Elmo Stoll preach at the wedding of Bert Farmwald and Linda Wagler (my cousin). In Shipshewana, Indiana around 1987. Elmo conducted the marriage ceremony. It’s not the last time I saw him, just the last time I heard him preach. I can still remember some of the things he said that day.

As the 1980s decade approached its end, Elmo Stoll was at the very peak of his power and influence. As close to empire as any Amishman will ever achieve. At age 46, he was a Bishop. Leader. Editor and writer. With a national audience. He was known in every Amish community in North America, with the possible exception of some isolated Swartzentruber settlements. And maybe a few places like Big Valley in PA. He was at the top. The most powerful and well-known Amishman in the world. And, being human, he quite likely was quite aware of that fact.

But here, at the peak of the mountain where he stood alone, something was lacking inside. In his heart, he was unsatisfied and unhappy. The young man who had shown up hatless at his pre-baptismal meeting still stirred in him. The Amish church, he felt, was too materialistic, too focused on wealth. Too restrictive, too culturally dormant, not evangelical enough. Not open enough to those from the outside who were interested in the plain lifestyle and pure Anabaptist faith. Despite his efforts in writing and preaching, he saw little evidence of the changes he had expected.

And there were other influences. Some say this and some say that. That his heart was drawn to isolated communities like Gorrie. And that he had a burden for the outside seekers who desperately wanted to join the Amish, but who were hampered by the language barriers. Some claim that his sons were not content in Aylmer, and Elmo was afraid he would lose them. So he conformed his thinking to theirs. And while I couldn’t double-verify this particular fact, it does seem plausible. He wouldn’t have been the first father to do such a thing. Or the last.

When and to whom he first unveiled his “heretical” thoughts remains obscured. His brothers, I suppose, two of whom were also in the ministry in Aylmer at the time. What is true is that in late summer and fall of 1989, the Aylmer ministers held a series of private meetings in strictest secrecy. In November of that year, all church members from Aylmer’s three districts were summoned together one weekday afternoon. The entire meeting consisted of Elmo getting up and making confession after confession of his wrong and sinful thinking. Without really defining what that thinking was. He was formally forgiven, and people returned to their daily lives, utterly bewildered as to what had just happened.

And so things stood until the following June. A few quiet rumors persisted, whispered furtively from person to person. Until minister Alvin Fisher from Somerset, PA, stood before them and delivered his weeping non-sermon. Alvin had also heard the rumors, and to his credit, decided to travel to Aylmer and check their source for himself. That night, he stayed at Elmo’s house, and the two of them sat up all night, discussing the issues that troubled Elmo’s heart. And while I have heard second-hand some of the things that were supposedly said that night, I am not sufficiently convinced of their accuracy to disclose them.

The next day, Alvin Fisher stood before the church and wept. And from that day, the flood gates were swept open, never to be closed again. Elmo Stoll shocked the Aylmer community and the Amish world to its core.

He formally announced that he and his family, along with others, were moving to found a new settlement. Not just any settlement, but a commune, where all material belongings will be shared. A little socialistic haven for weary seekers. They would not be Amish, or associate with the Amish. They would be known simply as The Christian Community. This was a staggering, unprecedented development.

The Aylmer community reacted as one would expect. The leadership, now shorn of its own leader, clamped down hard on Elmo and any others who were considering the move. Elmo and his little flock of followers were ostracized within the community. Those not already attached to him were strenuously warned against doing so. A palpable tension pulsed through the settlement.

For the little group, these were difficult days. They met semi secretively. Made their plans. Felt persecuted, like their Anabaptist forefathers. And always, always, looked for guidance and strength from their natural leader, Elmo Stoll.

Having placed his hand to the plow, he cast no glances over his shoulders, but forged boldly ahead. He wrote, published and distributed a little booklet outlining his positions. It was entitled “Let Us Reason Together.” In it, he succinctly detailed the problems he had with certain positions of the Amish church, and the solutions as he saw them. How he would follow the truth, even if it cost him his editorship at Family Life, his office as Bishop, and his reputation and good name among the Amish churches.

In early September, 1990, Elmo Stoll and his small group purchased a 200 acre farm in Cookeville, Tennessee for $130,000.00. They had scouted for land in several states and Canada, but settled on Cookeville because of its proximity to a similarly minded group already settled in Scottsville. The farm they purchased was pretty much bare; all their buildings would have to be erected.

And so the dark days and dark times forecast by Alvin Fisher came to pass. Gloom and despondence descended upon Aylmer. The remaining leaders, several of them closely related to Elmo, struggled to deal with the crisis. And the shame of the world learning of the defection of Aylmer’s most famous son.

The raw hubris that had long plagued the community began to chip away. But not entirely. It was deeply entrenched and almost impossible to uproot. It would cling to life for a few more years. Until the Great Light of Truth finally invaded the sinister hidden crevices in which it cowered, and cast it out. Along with a lot of other things.

The shock of the news of Elmo’s plans cannot be overstated. Eighteen years later, people still discuss it as if it happened yesterday. Those involved on both sides remember it vividly. Details of minutiae would fill several volumes.

The news spread like a pestilent cloud. It caused an explosion of speculation and gossip in all the Amish world. Those in the more conservative communities clucked and shook their heads. See how it goes when one goes about reading and writing too much. You get a big head and lose your mind. Think you know it all. Better to stick with reading just the Bible and The Budget. They always were suspicious anyway of Aylmer and its superior attitudes. The news confirmed all they already knew. The progressive Amish groups also reacted virulently. Elmo was clearly off his rocker.

Whatever valid points he raised, and there were some, were lost in the turbulence. Other than the few in his group, almost no one listened and no one heard his message. He had chosen to leave the fold and now was considered deceived.

Elmo was unceremoniously stripped of his editorship of Family Life. He was not even allowed to honestly say good bye to his readers. Just a short statement saying he would no longer serve as editor or be writing for the magazine.

The little group forged ahead with their plans. Auctions were held, belongings sold, farms sold. Elmo continued his preaching duties right up to the last. He ordained his nephew, Peter Stoll, as Bishop to replace him when he left.

Sunday, September 30, was his last Sunday in Aylmer. Elmo preached the main sermon. It was a tense and sad affair, his last sermon as an Amish Bishop. On this day, there were no mellow lilting tones, no shimmering woven tapestries, only sparse and somber words. And tears. He solemnly thanked the community and the ministers for all they’d done over the years. But in true Elmo fashion, he also dramatically warned that unless the church in Aylmer changed directions, it would come to destruction.

The departure date arrived. Great clouds rolled in from the west and the heavens opened and poured forth driving torrents of sheeting rain. Elmo sent his family ahead in a van and stayed behind to load their final belongings on the large tractor trailer. The neighbors arrived to help with the loading. As they were finishing, Elmo suddenly disappeared into the house. The neighbors loaded the last few belongings and closed and locked the trailer doors. They stood there for a few minutes in the rain, waiting for Elmo to emerge from the house so they could say good-bye.

But he did not come out. After standing about forlornly for a few more minutes, the neighbors shrugged and departed for their homes. A short time later, some of them watched from inside their houses as the loaded tractor trailer crept slowly down the soft and muddy gravel road. Rain obscured the truck’s windows and they caught no glimpse of the man sitting in the passenger’s seat. The truck turned south toward Highway 3 and disappeared into the incessant downpour.

And thus Elmo Stoll departed from Aylmer, the community that had been his home for thirty-six years. The vineyard in which he had labored so tirelessly for so long. The people that he had led and shepherded for almost twenty years.

His face was set toward the south and the west. Toward the vision that burned in his heart and called him away. Toward a new flock, in fresh pastures, in an unfamiliar land. Toward Cookeville, Tennessee and the beginning of what would be the final chapter of his life.
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Editor’s Note: The third, AND FINAL, installment on the Elmo Stoll saga, “The Shepherd at Dusk; His Vision and Legacy,” will be written and posted when and as the muse strikes me. Not before. Could be next week (NOT), next month, or next year. Don’t look for it until you see it posted.

“One should fight……the temptation to think well
of editors. They are all, without exception – at
least some of the time, incompetent or crazy.”

—John Gardner
___________________________________________

It’s no secret that I’ve had a rocky, hostile relationship with local newspaper editors for years. Scoundrels, the lot of them. Way too subservient to the very power structure they’re supposed to keep in check. Used to be I’d fire off a letter to the editor, raging about this or that. Mostly, they published the raging letters pretty much as I’d written them. It was a matter of pride to me.

But then one day they didn’t. One of my last letters, submitted about five years ago, was severely edited. One sentence was changed so that it stated almost the exact opposite of what I’d written. I was horrified. Fired off a nasty note to the editor and admonished him in fairly graphic terms. All in love, of course, for his own benefit. Unfortunately, this was not well received. And things only went downhill from there. Let’s just say that my letter writing to the local newspapers hit a brick wall. Stopped right there. A shame too, as I would’ve had lots of wisdom to impart since that time. Ah, well. Their loss.

And so I’ve maintained a glowering distance from all local newspapers, other than reading them daily. Until the Levi Stoltzfoos thing came down.

Because I felt so strongly about it, and the issue was so important to me, I decided to rewrite my June 27th blog and submit it as a guest op-ed. So I spent some time revising and editing, chopping a sentence here, adding an updated fact there. Didn’t take too long, as the main body pretty much stayed intact. But it was mighty long, about three pages.

Then I emailed it off to the Sunday News. Wrote a polite note. Asked them, if they couldn’t use it, to let me know, and I’d submit it somewhere else. Days passed. Then a full week. I chafed impatiently. Still nothing. Nobody ever responded. Par for the course.

I despaired. But decided to keep plugging. So the following weekend, I printed three hard copies, added a short cover letter and mailed one to each of the three local pap-ers. The Sunday News (moderate), the morning Intelligencer (Intel) Journal (liberal), and the afternoon New Era (conservative). My expectations dropped to zero. No one would publish it. Too hostile and critical of local and state government. Besides, they didn’t like me. I was on their black list.

But then, on the way home from work a few nights later, my cell phone rang. Unidenti-fied caller. I answered. The guy on the other end was the opinion page editor for the liberal Intel. He had just read my submission and seemed impressed. He wanted to discuss it.

His name was Earle Cornelius. He would publish it, he claimed, if I’d email him an elec-tronic copy. Sure, I said. When would he publish? Friday or Monday. Would he do ex-tensive editing? He didn’t think so. I thanked him and hung up. That evening I emailed him the op-ed.

And waited. I don’t trust editors. They think they’re God. And in a sense, I guess they are, as far as their papers are concerned. Friday came. No publication. I’ve been lied to before, so held only a glimmer of hope that Monday would be any different.

Early Monday morning. I parked Big Blue at Sheetz and stumbled in, bleary-eyed, to get my morning coffee. I flipped open a copy of the Intel and checked the Opinion page. Glanced through. And there it was. On the left side. At the top. The most prom-inent spot. Looked like it was all there pretty much as I’d written it. I scooped up five copies to take with me.

Earle had kept his word. Yeah, some minimal editing, dropped a few sentences here and there. Combined others to make the op-ed fit the allotted space. But overall, fan-tastic. I was psyched.

Later that morning, I thought about what must be happening in Lancaster in the halls of Leviathan. In the judges’ chambers, at the District Attorney’s office, at Leviathan’s offices all across the city. They had come to work this fine Monday morning. With per-haps nothing more on their minds than wondering which poor schmuck’s freedoms they could crush today. Sipping gourmet coffee. Sitting there in plush, soft chairs. All was as it should be. The citizenry cowed. The world under their heels. Then they open-ed the morning paper. And saw it staring up at them. A Wrongful Prosecution. They read the words. Couldn’t help themselves.

I hope a few of them choked on their doughnuts. Or spilled their Starbucks lattes.

Almost immediately that morning the reactions began. My home voice mail held sever-al messages of support the first night. Emails arrived at my work station, one from Levi’s defense attorney, who is appealing the case. And also from those who supported the government’s actions.

One man called me at work, greatly perturbed, and told me how Levi used to work for him and how violent he got when he was terminated. The man claimed to fear for his life, which I don’t doubt. He allowed that Levi’s troubles might be the result of his own victims crying out to the Lord against him. I chuckled and replied that if Levi committed real crimes, he should be prosecuted for those. I have no problem with that. But I never backed down from my original contention, that the intrusive government had no business taking his money merely because he deposited it in cash and didn’t report it.

Now, I have some small grudging respect for at least one local editor. Earle Cornelius. He did what he promised. As he promised. He denied one thing; my request to mention my blog site at the end of the op-ed. Would have been great to attract local reader-ship. Guess Earle didn’t want people to be distracted when they should be reading his newspaper.

Funny thing, the Sunday News and the New Era, the area’s two conservative news-papers, wouldn’t touch my op-ed with a ten foot pole. I had to depend on the liberal left, whose social policies are anathema to me, to reach the local populace. Sure, their motives were less than pure; I’m sure they loved the way I slapped at the Republican Attorney General and the local Republican establishment. But still, I respect the Intel for the temporary alliance. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

A few weeks ago, I noticed a strong uptick in hits on my site in the middle of the week, which was highly unusual. Strange, I thought. Someone must have linked to me. Turns out that’s what it was. The editor of a popular cooking blog, Oasis Newsfeatures; The Amish Cook, (Lately the site has been down sporadically, for some reason.) had linked to my blog, The Road Not Taken. And commented very favorably. Scroll all the way down to the post entitled “Stalling, So Here’s An Interesting Read…”

The Amish Cook, I learned, is widely read in the northern Indiana area. Ah, northern Indiana, where men are known by such names as Jakie’s Alvin’s Sammy’s Joe’s John. That was twenty years ago. Probably have a few more names tagged on by now. How a guy deals with such a long moniker is beyond me. Always was.

So, welcome, you all, and thanks for checking out my site. I post every Friday. Make yourselves known, if you ever feel like it, by leaving a comment. And yep, I’m the guy who used to live in the area twenty years ago. In Topeka and Goshen. Goshen was the last place I ever was Amish.

A note about last week’s post. Many of you may have wondered what’s up with a guy who claims to have it all together one week, then posts a brooding, melancholy lament about his divorce the next. Don’t blame you. It does seem irrational. But both the posts were true.

What happened in the time frame between those two posts was the date of what would have been our eighth anniversary. I thought of it only briefly as the date approached. But on the actual day, it hit me like a sledgehammer. Deep gloom almost overwhelm-ed me. Inexplicably, I felt. I moped and brooded around the office all day. Talked about it with my co-workers, who were empathetic. But what could they say, really?

I was a bit surprised. Hadn’t expected anything like that. Last year our separation was still too close. And I was still mad. Not this time. Only sadness. But as the dark fog approached and settled, I embraced and absorbed it. All the way down, deep inside. The only way to deal with it, I’ve learned, is to deal with it as it comes. The sooner you do that, the sooner it’s gone.

That night I began to write it. That’s how I get it out of me. As the week passed, I wrote it out. And began to feel a lot better. By Friday, I was ready to post. And did. Despite the tone of the previous week.

Ultimately, that’s what the blog is for.

I’m OK now. Pretty much back to normal. Just wanted to let you know how and why it all came down.

Congratulations to Titus Aden Yutzy (my nephew) and Sheri Keupfer on their engage-ment. The big event is scheduled for Oct. 25th.

Finally, for all you who’ve been waiting, patiently or impatiently, the second Elmo Stoll installment should be ready to post by next week. One way or another. Unless some Leviathan-induced misfortune befalls me before then. (Just because I’m paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get me.)