Tourism in Holmes County and
the Ministry of Behalt

By Susan Biesecker-Mast

 

Introduction
In the spring of 1992, my spouse and I spent a weekend in Lancaster, Pennsylvania making what was for me my first tour of the area and its communities. At one point during our visit, we sat down on the front porch of a snack shop in Intercourse and from there witnessed what remains for me an unforgettable scene.

A group of adults who looked to be middle class and middle-aged tourists came out of the shop we'd just been in and walked down the sidewalk leading from the shop to the main street where their minivan was parked. At about the moment they reached their minivan, we could hear an Amish buggy coming down the main street in front of us. Just then one of the women in that group got an idea to get a picture of the buggy. But the buggy was moving pretty fast and by the time the woman had retrieved her camera out of her purse and set her bags down, the buggy was just passing the minivan. Not giving up, the woman took off running down the street with her camera outstretched before her. By her account on return, she got the shot, however blurred, of the back end of that buggy. Ever since that day, I have wondered about that woman chasing after that buggy.

Why would a middle class, middle-aged woman run down a main street after the back end of an Amish buggy?

This essay is, in part, an attempt to answer that question. But it also seeks to answer a broader question as well. While it would be unwise to generalize directly from that woman's behavior to the behavior of other tourists since most tourists don't run down main streets after buggies, I'm not sure that the more common practices of the millions of tourists every year who seek out the Amish are unrelated to that woman's rather more zealous attempt. Hence this essay addresses the following question as well: what is middle America seeking in its trips to "Amish Country"? In other words, just what is this tourist attraction? Finally, this essay considers Behalt as a response to that tourist attraction and argues that Behalt provides three important ministries each of which gives a powerful Christian witness in the context of this tourist attraction.

The Amish and Tourism in Eastern Ohio
I suppose I might have forgotten about that woman chasing the buggy in Lancaster were it not for the fact that that trip to Amish Country was followed by countless more to Holmes County. Over the course of those trips I have come to wonder about another curious phenomenon related to tourism, namely, the difference between Amish life and the tourist trade.

I have come to understand the Amish to be a people of vigilance who insist on being of the kingdom of God, rather than of the kingdom of the world. This insistence becomes evident as they choose plain dress, refuse electrical power service, continue the use of Pennsylvania Dutch, keep the telephone out of the house, submit the will of the individual to the authority of the body of believers, depend on the use of horse and buggy for regular transportation, convene church worship services in private dwellings or barns, and encourage farming as the primary family occupation. Thus, their collective practices constitute a religious community that is visible, simple, earthy, local, communalistic, slow, quiet, and rural. In a word, different -- from middle American culture.

Tourist sites in Holmes and Tuscarawas counties pose a sharp contrast to the life of the Amish. Whereas Amish farms are relatively unadorned, modest in size, and highly functional; the shops, restaurants, and hotels in area tourist towns are often elaborately decorated, sometimes grandiose, and often themed. Sugarcreek calls itself "Little Switzerland" and has developed from the ancestry of some of its inhabitants the look of a Swiss village nestled in a valley of the Alps. Berlin now features rustic western style stores that constitute a frontier theme. Walnut Creek with its Carlisle House Gifts and Carlisle Inn clearly offers a Victorian setting. Upon entering these impressive establishments, what we find are grand entrances, luxurious furnishings, and inviting displays. These inns, restaurants, and stores are built and decorated with tremendous skill. And the shops are generously stocked with fine china tea sets, scented candles, delicious chocolates, Asian rugs, lace dresses, gourmet coffees, and imported German Christmas ornaments. To sum up the contrast, then, these popular tourist destinations in Amish Country are decidedly non-Amish.

What are we to make of this sharp contrast? We could conclude that the primary connection these tourist attractions have to the Amish is proximity. Or, worse, we could say that these tourist attractions built on middle American curiosity about the Amish actually constitute an obstacle to that very curiosity. Donald Kraybill, sociologist and author of numerous books on Amish culture and life, argues that tourist sites do function as obstacles or "buffer zones," but that in doing so they are not simply problematic. Rather, as buffer zones or barriers to Amish life, tourist sites restrict the movement of tourists and, thereby, protect Amish communities from a total infiltration by millions of tourists who would surely undo Amish life.1

In addition to protecting Amish from tourists, tourist sites also serve an important function for tourists. According to Kraybill, by limiting access to Amish, tourist sites preserve the difference of the Amish and, thereby, the "authenticity" that the tourists seek. Finally, Kraybill argues, smart tourists do not fail to recognize this function: "Discerning tourists realize that they are being duped--that the representations of Amish life are not authentic, but merely front stage replicas. Thus the mystique of the backstage lingers."2

If Kraybill is right, then tourism's buffer zone may serve at least one other function as well. Perhaps by obstructing middle America's access to the difference or otherness of the Amish, tourism also reassures middle Americans that it is still possible to be otherwise in an America in which entirely too many of us sport the same brand of athletic shoe, thirst for only one of two different colas, and yearn for a sport utility vehicle. That is, perhaps tourism's buffer provides material encouragement for the idea that, after all, to be middle American is still some kind of choice.

I think Kraybill is right that the tourist industry functions this way. That is, even as it purports to provide access to the Amish, one of its primary functions is, in fact, to deny such access. But I also think that tourists do gain some significant access to Amish. That this is so seems clear in the disruptions in Amish life that tourism brings.

To live as an Amish person (or as plain dressing Mennonite) amidst tourism in Holmes County is to endure persistent surveillance. It means one is watched, questioned, and photographed. Just two decades ago such surveillance was a feature of daily life only during the summer and early fall months. Today it is a part of life nearly all year round. Further, to live amidst tourism also means dealing with the marketing and selling of Amish and Mennonite cultural distinctives in nearly every imaginable form: from raisin custard pie, to faceless Amish dolls, to buggy refrigerator magnets. Over the years, as the number of tourists has grown to something like four million per year, Mennonites and Amish have had to struggle with the impact of tourism on all facets of their religious/community life.

All this is to say that while tourism largely denies tourists access to the object of their attraction, it also allows for some significant interaction. To be sure, however, even when tourism allows for or enables some interaction it always mediates the encounter. In order to specify the significant and perhaps even positive interaction that is a part of this tourist attraction, I need first to say a bit about the context out of which these tourists come.

Consumer/Technology Culture and Tourism
Over the last twenty years an incredible transformation has occurred in American culture. American culture has become a digital culture capable of moving information from one side of the globe to the other in no time. Some of the markers of this digital revolution include email, voice mail, cable TV, the world wide web, pagers, cellular phones, electronic trade, compact discs, and, of course, the personal computer. These are just some of the technologies that the digital revolution has brought us. But what do these technologies mean for middle America's daily life? They mean that at work people spend less time talking to their colleagues and more time looking into their computer screens. They mean that people are digitally accessible almost all of the time whether by email, voice mail, answering machine, cellular phone, or pager. They mean that we increasingly see people talking on cellular phones while having dinner at a restaurant or walking through a park. They mean that most middle Americans choose to entertain themselves by watching television, playing a video game, or surfing the web. They mean that we can buy and sell stocks 24 hours a day.

Obviously there is much we could say about these technologies and about the habits and practices they make possible. We could talk about how these new technologies increase the speed of life, or cause information overload, or suck up our disposable income. But what I would like to talk about is perhaps the most basic feature of this digital culture-the fact that it is structured by mediation. By that I mean that human contact or communication is more and more mediated, less and less face to face. While we can talk to one another more often and from more locations, we must do so through a cellular phone which, by the way, interrupts the conversation we might have just been having across the table from our dinner partner. While we can enjoy graphically sophisticated movies without leaving the house any night of the week, we spend more time looking at the tube than looking at our children. While we can listen to classical music with perfect sound quality from our entertainment centers, we have more difficulty appreciating why we should venture out to a concert. This digital revolution, I am arguing, is about the insertion of technology between human beings. It promises connectivity but delivers instead a profound disconnect from family, from neighbor, from community, from our fellow human being.

In addition to this digital revolution, the last twenty years have also transformed America into a culture that is saturated by commercial messages. On average, most Americans see 1500 advertisements a day. Of course, we see these advertisements in the "usual" places-on television, in magazines, in newspapers, on web pages, and on billboards. More and more, however, we also see them in "unusual" places like the floors of supermarkets, much of our clothing, the back of grocery or ATM receipts, and even on the sides of school buses. We are a culture drenched in commercial messages. Although we do not pay attention to all of these messages, we do still live with their effects. To live every day in an environment of commercial messages is to become accustomed to being positioned as a consumer first--as one who needs to buy. Even more importantly, to live in an environment of commercial messages is to be ourselves bought and sold throughout the day.

A brief example will make my point more clear. In a radio news report a day or two prior to last year's Super Bowl game, a journalist was interviewing an advertiser about the phenomenal cost of one- minute commercial spots during the game. For the right just to air the commercial (not to produce it) advertisers paid one million dollars. When the journalist exclaimed about that price, the advertiser pointed out that with that one million dollars, he could reach 15 million pairs of eyeballs. "One million bucks for 15 million pairs of eyeballs," he said, "is not a bad price." It is not time the advertisers are buying or space, it is eyeballs. It is us they are buying.

In sum, then, what I am arguing is that over the last twenty years our context has changed rather dramatically. As our culture has become more focused on consumption, the efforts of the advertising industry have transformed us into the primary commodity that is bought and sold. From the perspective of that consumer culture, we are less human beings than market commodities. Further, as we have moved through the digital revolution, being humanly connected has been replaced by being "plugged in." Thus we increasingly give over face-to-face interaction to technologically mediated communication.

That Woman and the Buggy
I want to return to that woman and the buggy and propose an answer to the question I raised at the outset of this presentation: namely, why would that woman chase the back end of a buggy down main street. To answer that question, I turn to an appeal made by an image of tourism in Holmes County-namely, a sign that used to hang above a shop called "Amish Collection" in Berlin, the center of tourism in Holmes County.

The sign was a huge plywood cut-out painted to look like the back end of a buggy. From the view offered by the sign, you could see in the background silhouettes of what looked like the backs of two Amish adults, presumably a mother and father, and in the foreground full color images of presumably their two Amish children. The wheels that stuck out of the sign suggested that we should see the buggy as if it were moving down the street in front of us. Notably, the children were sitting securely inside the back of the buggy with their parents in the driver's seat. The children were painted as watching us and smiling at us.

Thus they were figured by the sign as both well within Amish culture but also fully capable of expressing pleasure toward the outer world. In this sense they were both inside and out of Amish life. Indeed, perhaps like real Amish children who live in the church but have not joined it, these painted children were complex for us. They were not simply fully Amish (just as Amish children are not fully Amish prior to their decision of membership) and certainly not simply middle American (as they were clearly being raised Amish). They were somewhere in between. And, again, they were looking at us. Thus, in an important reversal of the relationship of the middle American tourist to the Amish "spectacle," it is the tourist that is being watched. In an important reversal of the typical relationship in tourism between "native" and tourist, the tourist is the object of the "native's" gaze.

How, as we look at this sign, are we constituted by their gaze? Who are we as they look upon us? In the instance of this sign and since they are smiling at us, we appear to be the source of some pleasure. Importantly, I think their pleasure gives us a certain delight. Indeed, judging from the many tourists I have seen stop to take a picture of this sign, I think we enjoy their smile quite a bit. So, what is the nature of our delight in their apparent pleasure from us?

I have been arguing that our culture constitutes middle Americans as commodities-as items to be bought or sold-who spend increasing amounts of time engaged in technologically mediated communication. I have also suggested that Amish children occupy a unique place in our culture as persons who are neither fully Amish nor certainly middle American. As such, I think, they represent for middle Americans a unique instance of humanity that still has the capacity for meaningful choice. The Amish child lives in between worlds, fully expected to choose either to live in "the world," a world of intensifying consumption and technological mediation, or in the Amish church, a community characterized by simplicity and face-to-face interaction. This is a choice that the middle American child is trained never to see. Indeed, our commercial culture is dedicated to making sure that before the middle American child ever reaches adolescence, he or she will not be able to imagine life without consumption and technology. Perhaps in this context, then, we enjoy this sign insofar as we delight in the pleasure that these as yet un-thoroughly-mediated, un-thoroughly-commodified human beings seem to take in us. Perhaps when they smile at us we become de-commodified and re-connected.

Of course, this was only an image of Amish children painted on plywood. But what if there were a real buggy going down the street? What if, as is often the case, there were children sitting in the back of that buggy? Might they look through the small window or peer out from the open door? If so, might they smile at us? Or would they seem indifferent?

As I have thought about this sign, I have wondered whether that woman in Lancaster wasn't so much chasing the back end of a buggy as she was seeking an answer to questions such as these. Whatever the case, I don't think tourism simply functions as a buffer, although it certainly does do that. Indeed, without that buffer, the Amish child may have already become the middle American child. I think tourism does hold out the promise, however small, of a human communicative interaction (even if it is as brief and small as a child's smile) that has the capacity to transform the Amish from the object of surveillance to the subject of the gaze and to transform middle Americans from human commodities back into human beings. The possibility of these transformations, I am suggesting, is at the root of the tourist attraction.

The Ministry of Behalt Amidst Tourism
If it is true that this tourist attraction has something to do with the search for human communicative interaction and a re-constitution of both Amish and middle Americans as human beings not spectacles or commodities, then I think that our Mennonite information centers, in general, and Behalt, in particular, perform three crucial ministries.

The first is the ministry of hospitality. By this ministry tourists are transformed into visitors whose questions, whether silly or provocative, are received as worthy of response. By this ministry too, these visitors are invited to enter into one of our most precious possessions -- our story and our heritage. Importantly, they are brought to the story through face-to-face communication -- that is, by storytellers from our communities who, as they tell the story over and over in all its intricate detail become authorities in matters of history and faith for the tourist. Although the visitor does see an introductory video at Behalt, the story that is at the core of who we are, the story that makes sense of our convictions and our practices, is not conveyed by recording device but, rather, is always told in the here and now and presence of a member of the community.

The second is perhaps easily missed and that is the ministry of inquiry. Behalt does not offer as do the vast majority of museums, a gift shop. When you exit the tour you do not enter a place in which you can purchase all manner of souvenirs. Instead, you are sent out into the lobby. From there you might exit the building, which many people do. Or you might visit with one of the hosts. Or you might, if you are really interested in the possibility of a purchase, browse the bookstore. There, again, you will not be bombarded with trinkets but, rather, will come to shelves and shelves of books on Mennonites, Amish, Hutterites, etc. Importantly, then, this is not a gift shop that offers you some memento by which to remember your visit to "Amish Country." Instead this is a resource room that invites you to pursue your curiosity.

Finally, third, I think Behalt provides a ministry of witness toward the possibility of transgressing digital and consumer culture. When we make the slow trip around the periphery of the huge octagonal room upon whose walls a mural depicting the struggle of our heritage is hung, our perspective shifts so that we glimpse the possibility of becoming otherwise. As we move around, the storyteller directs our gaze from one image to the next and tells us a story of the radicals of the reformation, the martyrs of the faith, the emigrants to religious freedom, the builders of our institutions, the witnesses to peace, and ultimately, of the global church. Through all of these images we cannot help but notice the complexity of our story of faith and in culture-the theological debates and discipleship struggles that constitute so much of what it has always meant to live as Amish or Mennonite.

Importantly, no tourist or local visitor can see the whole painting in one glance. No one can look upon it as a single thing. Indeed it is difficult even to see just one image, to hold just one figure in one's mind, as its image slips into another. In addition, to see the painting requires moving along the periphery of the room with one's back to the center and one's gaze turned outward. Thus, to see the whole painting, is to be put on the move, to pass through, as it were, the origins and the stories, the images and the voices that constitute a cacophony of struggles and triumphs, screams and prayers that are the Anabaptist stories. And as visitors complete the circle, as they make their way from Jesus through the martyrs to the immigrants and back again they are invited to allow their visit to become an experience of transformation. That is, they are invited to join or recommit themselves to an Anabaptist vision that is also a global church.

As you may know, "Behalt" means to hold onto or to remember. But even as this mural and its ministry do oblige us to remember that story and, in that sense, to hold onto it, it also only exists and functions insofar as we give it away in each of its tellings to those who pass through. Thus, I believe, Behalt is perhaps less a holding onto than it is a remembering that is done through a telling and that is, therefore, a gift. But it is not a gift of the sort a tourist might pick up in a gift shop. Indeed, it cannot be consumed. It is not a gift to be possessed but instead it can only be embraced if, as the tourist passes beneath the global church and Jesus' outstretched arms, they are transformed and, thereby, enter the story themselves.3

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Susan Biesecker-Mast teaches communication at Bluffton College, and is a member at First Mennonite Church, Bluffton, Ohio.

 

Notes

1. Donald Kraybill, The Riddle of Amish Culture (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP, 1989) 228-229.

2. Kraybill 230.

3. For a more developed version of this interpretation of the mural as well as a history of Behalt, see my "Behalt: a Rhetoric of Rememberance and Transformation," Mennonite Quarterly Review 73 (1999):601-614

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Mennonite Historical Bulletin, January, 2000