About a decade ago, the scales of Anabaptism tipped to what we’ve taken to calling the Global South. This means that there are more Mennonites outside of Canada, Europe and the United States than within the boundaries of European tradition. While we’ve noted this as the relative success of 20th century missionary efforts, we’ve not anticipated a secondary outcome in the midst of global migration—the rapid reshaping of Anabaptism in the European, US and Canadian contexts by persons from the Global South.
Across the Mennonite Church USA, conferences are feeling the pull of this change as migration brings Christians from different cultural backgrounds into our formerly Eurocentric context. In California, what it means to be Mennonite is defined by Indonesian, Latino and African voices more often than EuroAmerican tradition. In Florida, the balance wavers between Florida’s Southwest Gulf Coast (Sarasota) which is predominantly EuroAmerican and Flordia’s Southeast Atlantic Coast (Miami) which is mostly Haitian and Latino. The balance in Mennonite Church USA’s midsection (Kansas, Oklahoma and Texas) continues to shift from the Russian and German immigrant communities of Kansas to rapidly growing Mexican American communities in Texas. Fuller Seminary professor and Mennonite leader Juan Martinez suggests that this pattern might be part of God’s intention to invigorate communities through a renewed encounter with the Good News.
For Franconia Conference, our 300 year history has deep roots in Euro-instigated tradition. It’s only been in the last 100 hears of our history that we’ve moved toward figuring a way toward multi-ethnicity. However, within the last generation that reality has accelerated. At times for those of us from EuroAmerican tradition, this change is disorienting, inviting us to move into unfamiliar spaces of having to explain our position as one among an array of expression.
The challenge in the midst of this shift–which includes Spanish-speakers at Franconia congregation, a significant population of persons from South Asia at Plains, growth in urban congregations like Norristown and a growing network of communities rooted in the recent immigrant experience–is that the shift in the global Christian community is increasingly in our conference meetings, in our Sunday morning worship. While it may be invigorating in theory–in practice it requires a change of mind and heart. The stranger no longer is only someone to be encountered far away but the stranger (those with different surnames, different food preferences, different ways of experiencing God and encounhtering the world) is increasingly a part of us.
This requires much from the EuroAmerican community—a willingness to listen, to learn, to embrace, to empower, to share and to reimagine ourselves as not only part of a globally diverse family, but part of a locally incarnated family of faith with differing traditions and ethnicities that honor God and the Anabaptist/Mennonite tradition. It requires all of us to reimagine our ways of leading and being to be one way of doing things—not the only way. This emerging reality invites us to admit that Christ alone is the Way—and that we’ve been called together to represent the possibilities of inbreaking Shalom in which God’s love is made real in the world, through flesh and blood, in the midst of hope and fear.
“Would you mind straightening your grandmother’s painting before you sit down?” my grandfather asked. “Not at all,” I replied, “so long as you give me a guided tour.” Every morning my grandfather begins his day by staring at my grandmother’s painting of her childhood home in Perkasie, vividly remembering stories, furniture and food that was part of the “Yoder House.”
After he had finished describing what he remembered about my grandmother’s home, I asked if we could “walk” through my grandparents’ former residence in Allentown.
I often think of this house in Allentown—grilling with my grandfather in the backyard, eating Christmas and Easter dinners around the picnic table in the basement, and walking to J. Birney Crum Stadium to watch high school football games. Many of my favorite childhood memories took place in and around that house.
As my grandfather and I “walked” through the living room, the kitchen, the bedrooms, his office, and the basement, I became aware, not only of special memories that were made in those rooms, but of how that house was significant to my spiritual formation.
My grandparents moved to Allentown in 1946 to help with the Allentown Mission, and although Souderton and Allentown were not separated far by geography, Allentown was a world away from where they were raised. By choosing to live in a community where neighbors didn’t speak Pennsylvania Dutch or understand the significance of head coverings, my grandparents were forced to become self-reflective. “What does it mean to maintain a Mennonite identity in a neighborhood that doesn’t have other Mennonites?” and “How do we effectively communicate who we are?” were questions that challenged their spiritual formation in ways they did not experience in Souderton. Life in the city ensured the continual presence of these questions in their lives, and the ways they attempted to answer these questions made spiritual formation a dynamic, on-going process for their children and grandchildren.
One place I observed my grandparents communicate their faith was on their front porch. Many summer evenings my parents, along with my grandparents, aunts and uncles would sit and talk on the porch while my cousins and I would play “run-down” in the front yard. When folks from the neighborhood would pass by on walks with their dogs or families, one thing was certain: they didn’t pass by without receiving a greeting from my grandfather. Sometimes conversations took place at a distance with simple greetings and pleasantries exchanged, while other times neighbors joined us on the porch for conversation and Diet Coke or iced tea.
The front porch was used as safe place for my grandparents and their neighbors to exchange snapshots of their lives. But more than a place to practice cordiality, the front porch was a place to practice the spiritual discipline of hospitality. Neighbors knew they was always a seat for them on the porch—it was a place where they would feel welcome, and a place where they could be heard. In the same way that my grandparents’ intentional choice to live in Allentown provided important questions that impacted my spiritual formation, their demonstration of hospitality on the front porch was also significant to my faith development. It was here where I witnessed clear examples of how to practice hospitality and how to do outreach.
When the weather changed and the porch furniture was brought in for the season, spiritual formation took place inside. Many winter evenings my siblings and I were picked up at school by my grandparents and spent a few hours doing our homework at their home while my parents were at work.
Homework always seemed easier, or at least more fun, at my grandparents’ house. My brother usually worked from a small table in the kitchen, while my sister and I studied from the dining room table where many helpful resources were at our disposal. For example, my grandmother allowed us to use her prized electronic spell-checker that she used to write her weekly newspaper column. Whenever we came across an unfamiliar country in Social Studies homework, or an unusual organ in Biology homework, we followed the example of my grandmother and researched it extensively in the Encyclopedia Britanica. And finally, if my grandfather was home during our homework sessions, he would play the role of archivist, and search in his office through magazines, books, or personal records that might help with our line of inquiry.
The way my grandparents valued questions I posed in their house was spiritually formational. The way in which they helped me search for fifth grade homework questions displayed a quiet confidence that big questions should be raised. As I grew older and my big questions were not easily found in encyclopedias, I never doubted the inherent value in raising big questions. My grandparents taught me that raising big questions doesn’t lead us away from faith, but draws us closer to God’s reality.
I doubt my grandparents are aware of how their Allentown home shaped me, and I’ve never heard either of them use the term “spiritual formation.” Although they moved away from Allentown almost five years ago, I’m grateful for times like last Saturday, when we get to “walk” through their home again. Their house in Allentown will forever be part of my spirituality. Because of its location, the front porch, and evenings spent doing homework, I will always be challenged to ask how I am making use of my current living space for the spiritual formation of my family and community.
The story is told of hungry and weary travelers who were refused hospitality by townspeople who wanted to keep what little they had for themselves. The travelers eventually borrowed a large pot and began to make soup with what was available—stones and water. When it was done they promised to share it with the whole village!
As the soup simmered, they “oohed” and “ahhed” over their creation. The curious townspeople looked on, and someone eventually offered to add a carrot or two, some potatoes, salt and pepper, and so on.
God is making stone soup and we’ve been invited to add our Anabaptist flavoring to the pot.
In January 2001 a then relatively unknown man named Brian McLaren challenged a gathering of Franconia Conference pastors and leaders to add our seasoning. In fact, according to my notes, he said that he thought Mennonites were 500 years ahead of time… that our Mennonite heritage has something important to offer the world in the dawning post modern era.
McLaren probably wasn’t the first person to say something like this, but recently I have heard the invitations growing in number and urgency.
In June Greg Boyd, pastor of the St. Paul, Minnesota, mega church, Woodland Hills, gave the key-note address at the gathering of Mennonite Church USA boards in Columbus, Ohio. Boyd is on a journey. In the 1990s he became increasingly uncomfortable with the direction of mainstream evangelicals. By 2004 he could no longer tolerate the pressure of the evangelicals to endorse political candidates based on narrowly defined issues. He preached a six part sermon on the cross and the sword and 700 people left his church. In case they didn’t quite “get it,” he preached further on this theme and another 300 left—a full 20% of his congregation!
The New York Times ran a front-page story about this which was picked up by a whole variety of papers, and eventually he was invited to participate with Mennonites in a conference at Hesston College in October 2007. Boyd came away from that encounter declaring, “It turns out I’m a Mennonite!”.
In his June 2008 presentation to the Mennonite Church USA boards, Boyd offered four specific words:
Cherish the treasure that you have! The Anabaptist heritage is centered on the Kingdom of God, it is clear, Christ-looking and utterly unique. All over the globe people are opening up to the understanding that being a Christian is about imitating Christ. But here’s what they don’t have—postmodern people don’t like the modernist idea that history begins with them—they want a rooting in history. And just when the world is running toward an Anabaptist vision, many Anabaptists are running from it.
Be utterly inflexible when it comes to the core principles of the Kingdom and become increasingly flexible to culture. In an attempt to modify our culture, don’t modify your understanding of the Kingdom. Hold fast to a theology of simplicity, non-violence, service, and self-sacrifice but be completely flexible on everything else.
The time has come for the vision entrusted to the Anabaptists! We can offer a tribe, history, and a sense of belonging to those who are coming to our understanding of the Kingdom of God. “Get your house in order—the world is running to you … it’s not a pride thing, it’s a Kingdom thing!” Embrace the center; let go of the periphery.
Whatever you do, attain Kingdom ends by Kingdom means! Do whatever we do not just “for the Kingdom” but “as the Kingdom.” Bring the Kingdom down into our midst through love and prayer. Keep God’s interests before your own interests.
And there are other voices around the globe echoing very similar things!
So how shall we respond? Will we continue to be the humble, quiet in the land? Or has God given us a treasure for the world whose time has come? And if the latter, how do we begin to open ourselves to offer a tribe and place to people who are discovering and embracing Anabaptist theology? How do we own it ourselves? How do we learn to be comfortable in our own skin rather than conforming to the culture around us?
Perhaps it’s more powerful to let others discover us and speak for us. Yet they wonder why we make it so hard for them to find us. They wonder if we really want them to find us, and they wonder why some of us are running away from our own theology just when they are finding it and looking to join a tribe of people who have tried to faithfully live it out for 500 plus years.
I have a large pot, some stones, and water. What’s in your garden? Together perhaps we can make something amazing and delicious … and we can invite others to join us for a feast!
Do you realize you’ve just politicized your faith? Jason’s question struck me as it made profound sense. Of course I knew that taking communion from a Mexican brother through the border fence between California and Mexico was a customs violation and I was therefore breaking the law. I just hadn’t connected the fact that my decision to commit an act of civil disobedience by taking part in a religious tradition was therefore also a political act of faith.
I joined my friend and Pacific Southwest Mennonite Conference colleague Jason Evans and other members of the Ecclesia Collective in San Diego’s Friendship Park that bright Sunday afternoon on World Communion Day knowing that I’d be breaking a law. Why? The righteous answer is that I did it because I was seeking to bring exposing light to the dark and increasing injustices of our country’s immigration policies. The personal answer is that I did it for my friends here in Philadelphia who struggle with immigration issues everyday, adding stress and fear to already busy lives.
If I’m truthful I knew what I was going to do long before I stepped foot in San Diego earlier that week. In my search for cheap travel reading I raided the magazine racks at the Conference Center and happened across Christian Century’s October 8th issue. This issue just so happened to include an article written by Pastor John Fanestil, the man officiating communion services at Friendship Park for several months. As I read his article on my way to California goosebumps ran down my arms. Suddenly what I would be doing on Sunday became very real and I was aware that if the Border Patrol so chose, I could be arrested for taking communion through the fence. In an instant Jennifer Knapp’s simple version of the Lord’s Prayer, entitled “Hallowed” which we sang this year at Franconia Conference Assembly, played in my head and I was calm.
In actuality the risk of arrest was slim to none. The Border Patrol stayed a good 50 yards back from the crowd of around 100 people participating in the sacrament and did not disturb us even once. Even the forceful group of Minutemen, who had harassed participants in weeks before, stayed away on World Communion Day.
So why bother with such a small act in the face of such an insurmountable giant? Pastor Fanestil began his vigil soon after he learned that despite public protest Friendship Park will be shut down for public access in the near future. In place of the chain link fence, which replaced a mere chain in the 70s, three wall-like fences, with service roads in between, will be erected. No longer will people be able to visit family and friends through the fence, no longer will global Christians be able to face each other across the border and break bread together.
Jason helped officiate this service because he wishes to expose the racism that is inherent in immigration restrictions and anti-immigrant attitudes. In his blog response to the World Communion Day service, entitled The Body, The Blood, The Border, Jason revealed a more personal encounter with the racism embedded in the anti-immigrant attitudes that he grew up with. He looks back at his own beliefs and actions towards the Hispanic migrant farmers who lived nearby with dismay.
A June article in Sojourners magazine about young American Christians finding their own way in expressing their faith happened to address the issue of racism in immigration policy. The article’s author, Amy Green, followed Rusty Poulette, program director at Gainesville, Florida’s Presbyterian and Disciples of Christ Student Center, as he met with his church in a pub, over dinner and during a Sunday evening contemplative service. One of those meetings the group discussed a recent trip to Arizona where they engaged an ecumenical group of ministry leaders working to address immigration issues. “Those who participated in the trip,” reported Green, “compared the outreach [to immigrants] to the illegal but moral service Christians provided to African Americans in the late 1800s as they fled slavery through the underground railroad.”
Our Mennonite forefathers and mothers spoke against slavery when they first arrived here in the US some 300 years ago and later on there were many Mennonites who participated in the underground railroad. They committed illegal acts, some as small as helping one person find freedom, against the giant of slavery because they believed they were doing the right and faithful thing. In the Parable of the Yeast Christ tells us that the kingdom of heaven is like yeast that a woman works though a large amount of dough until it has permeated the whole batch. I committed the small act of accepting communion through the border fence because I believe in the yeast like power of the kingdom of heaven to spread though one voice, one action, one life committed to faithfully follow Jesus Christ.
American philosopher Calvin O. Schrag in his book The Self After Postmodernity describes the emerging “self” as “a praxis-oriented self, defined by its communicative practices, oriented toward understanding itself in its discourse, its action, its being with others.” In less philosophical terms, our understanding of who we are as people is given meaning and direction by our daily conversations with others and the opportunities for action that are created. As humans, we are always making conversation, sometimes even without words. We are always communicating, we are always moving, going somewhere.
The joy of my work this summer has been the privilege to create new webs of conversations and simultaneously jump in the middle of webs that have long been woven. Within these webs of conversation and communication, I’ve been able to further discern God’s speaking in my interconnected spiritual, social, and political life, but more importantly, I’ve witnessed the movement of God’s reign in the midst of communities of women and men striving to follow the ways of Christ in today’s ever-evolving, ever-expanding world. The questions are unending and the challenges never cease, but if in nothing else, the continued conversation leads to hope. As more webs of conversation flower and build hope, the old weeds of pessimism wither and can be forgotten.
The conversations I’ve taken part in are hopeful but they don’t ignore the intense reality of confusion and struggle that is evident in all congregations and their respective local communities. A church willing to jump into the webs of conversation circulating in the communities of the world will no doubt encounter vast struggle and loss. Yet a church that takes this challenge on will recognize the exciting possibilities for creative, transformative ministry. For when conversations lead to redemption in Christ, hope lives on.
My conversations this summer have been all across the spectrum, from discussions about frakturs to globalization to opening the door of hospitality to kids who like vampires. These webs of continued conversation, however bizarre or practical, sustain hope. They give meaning and direction to us as Christian individuals and communities seeking to shed light onto the healing reign of God in our beautifully tragic world awaiting its redemption.
I’ve been in conversation with other young leaders finding their niche in the midst of their immersion into church ministry. I’ve worshiped while in conversation with sisters and brothers translating sermons and songs in a diversity of languages. I’ve been in conversations with subversive Christians seeking to rescue people from our politically numb society. I’ve been in conversations with our elderly folk, learning to reciprocate Anabaptist Christianity in the 21st century, finding that we have much commonality.
As I have learned personally this summer, conversations are hopeful because they breed interconnectedness, solidarity, and communication. They make webs, between those of us who are Christian and our neighbors whom we seek to embrace. These webs of conversation are endlessly loaded with potential and ensure that, if treated with care, the church has a future, a bright one.
Nearly everyone I meet asks me what I do and the answer is a bit complex. The short version is this: I do a lot of the things a pastor does. In other words, I preach, teach children’s Sunday school some, go to a number of meetings, read a lot of literature, write articles for the local church magazine, and do some other smaller, though equally important tasks.
In the first three weeks of my internship this summer, I have rediscovered my love for preaching. Even more than the actual delivery of my sermons, I love the researching and writing that a good sermon requires. Writing sermons gives me the perfect opportunity to learn about things I want to without the extremely full and busy schedule of school, which takes up most of my year. So far I’ve written and preached two sermons. This summer, Methacton is following the series “Things that Make for Peace” from the Leader magazine. Last summer, I chose what I wanted to learn and preach about, but this summer, with the sermon series, it has been much more stretching for me. For me, it’s harder to write a sermon on a pre-chosen text and tie it into a larger theme. It’s been a different experience, but it has certainly been fun and valuable and has made me see a number of Old Testament texts from a new perspective.
The importance of prayer and silence have also been reinforced this summer. Dawn Ruth Nelson, lead pastor and my supervisor at Methacton, has a heart for spiritual formation, silence and prayer. During the last few days of the group portion of the !Explore program, the group had a few hours of silence. To my surprise, I really enjoyed being silent and surrounded by nature, with no technology (not even my watch or ipod). Because of that positive experience and Dawn’s encouragement, I went on a silent retreat near the end last summer’s internship. This summer, just a few weeks after beginning my work with Methacton, several people from the church, including Dawn went to Mariawald Retreat Center for a silent retreat. The retreat was 24 hours long, and included several group sessions to help people focus on a specific theme. There was also the opportunity to have spiritual direction which was something that I knew about but had never participated in. The retreat helped me get out of “school mode,” or the mindset of due dates, papers, and grades, and helped me connect more closely with God and others in the congregation. It was the perfect way to truly begin my summer work. It was an incredibly positive experience and reinforced the importance of silence which gives rest and renewal. This retreat has been the highlight of my summer thus far.
As a second year pastoral intern, I get a lot of questions similar to, “So, you’re going to be a pastor then, right?” I usually smile and answer with an evasive, “I don’t know,” because I honestly don’t know. I love the work I’m doing this summer—the fact that I have returned for a second summer of pastoral work speaks to that, and as I continue this work, I have learned to truly enjoy my job much more than I thought I could enjoy a job. So is this a calling? Perhaps. Is this my only calling? I don’t think so. For now, I’ll just enjoy working closely with God, the pastoral team, and my wonderful congregation, appreciating the learning that happens on all sides, and leave the future up to God.
Emily Graber of Red Hill, Pa. completed her Ministry Inquiry Program experience this month after serving with Methacton Mennonite Church and Franconia Conference. She returns to Goshen College this fall and calls Methacton her home congregation.
“What good is anger?” I wondered as I participated in the Damascus Road Anti-Racism Process. I often avoid situations that I know will provoke my anger and agitation. For example, I haven’t watched the movie “Crash” yet because I know it will leave me feeling angry and helpless toward the injustices our society perpetuates. This combination of emotions only leads me to one thing…retreat from the world around me so that I can find a way to recover. But there’s got to be something positive I can do with this emotion of anger, right?
I’m angry for good reason…I’m angry at the injustices of racism, a social construct that was created and/or promoted whether intentionally or not by my ancestors. I’m angry that this social construct has stripped away the valuable cultural resources of my Irish and German heritage only to leave a white American identity that is wrapped up in oppressive conformity devaluing those who are not “white.” I’m angry that I have unknowingly participated in the systemic racism of our society. I’m angry that people I care about are constantly oppressed and that it feels as if there is nothing I can do to truly relieve that oppression.
I have often felt disempowered–as an introvert I felt like the underdog at times out-shined by peers whose extroversion was valued over my quiet steadfastness. But going through this anti-racism process helped me become more aware of just how much power I do have…I am in a position that asks me to tell the stories of 43 churches and 24 ministries, to help shape the types of leadership training provided for the leaders of these churches and ministries and to build relationships with and provide resources for young leaders across the country. I realize that I have more opportunity to influence than I ever imagined I could as a teenager. Though I have struggles to be heard as a young woman leader in the Mennonite Church I have to acknowledge that my voice is more likely to be heard in the broader society than that of my Black, Latina or Asian counterpart.
The weekend after I participated in Damascus Road I headed to Seattle, Wa. to attend “The New Conspirators: What in the world is God doing?”, a gathering of practitioners from four new streams of “renewal” in the church: Emerging, Missional, New Monastic and Mosaic. All but Mosaic are largely expressions of renewal in Euro-centric North American, United Kingdom, Australian and New Zealand realities. That is not to downplay the leaps and bounds each of these streams contributes toward bringing the Kingdom that Jesus spoke about into our current earthly reality.
The Mosaic stream however is a largely urban movement of new churches with a missional bent started by young leaders looking for a more multi-cultural church. These churches are young, diverse and often influenced by hip-hop culture in worship expressions.
On Saturday morning of the conference, Pastor Efrem Smith, co-author of “The Hip Hop Church” and Senior Pastor of Sanctuary Covenant Church in Minneapolis, Mn., shared with us how Martin Luther King Jr.’s vision of the “Beloved Community” requires a “Beloved Church.” Pastor Smith stuck it to his mostly white audience speaking on the issues of systemic racism I had just reflected on the weekend before. I sat amazed at how God was bringing my experiences together full circle.
“We have got to embrace and live in to our identity as God’s Beloved!!” he proclaimed. “Forget about trying to get your ‘white card’! Women, forget about trying to get your ‘man card’! We have lost so much of our selves and our cultures trying to all be alike when our only true identity is that of God’s Beloved!”
It was all I could do to hold back the tears coming to my eyes as Pastor Smith’s words spoke into my life. Suddenly I realized my response to “what good is anger?”
Anger is good when it makes you aware of things you hadn’t seen or could easily ignore before and motivates toward positive action. Moved by that sense of anger and loss, I will seek to embrace and re-discover my cultural heritage from the men and women who traveled from Ireland and Germany to escape religious persecution. With my anger, I will acknowledge that I do have power and influence and seek to promote and create possibilities for the variety of under-privileged and under-heard voices around me. More importantly with my anger I will remember that my identity lies in being God’s Beloved and will empower others to acknowledge their own identity as God’s Beloved.
For many of us, the word fasting conjures up images of going without food, depriving ourselves of needed nourishment so that we can spend more time in prayer. It is not always a positive image, the idea of giving up something that is so important to life and we wonder what difference it makes when we pray? Jesus assumed his disciples would fast. In Matthew 6:16-18, he uses the word, “when”, before he gives his followers instructions about fasting.
I propose that our experience with fasting could become much more positive if we begin to view it in a different light. Jesus actually taught his disciples to anticipate it with joy by washing their faces and putting oil on their heads, an act reserved for joyous occasions. Is it possible that fasting is a way of entering into God’s presence unlike any other? Does giving to God the time and attention that we usually reserve for food or another activity change us in such a way that we can “hear” God better?
Fasting is usually associated with giving up of food, but there may be other fasts that are helpful as well. When Jesus went into the wilderness for 40 days, he went away by himself, thereby eliminating distractions of the world in which he lived. I wonder if fasting from some of the many activities in our world today, namely the media, might be a valuable fast for us living in 2008.
Rather than seeing fasting just as a denial of ones physical needs, we might begin to see it as an opportunity to enter into a closer relationship with God, an invitation to experience the graciousness of our God. Joel 2:12 helps us to see fasting in the light of our relationship with God,
“Yet even now, says the Lord, return to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping and with mourning; rend your hearts and not your clothing. Return to the Lord, your God, for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love.”
Franconia Mennonite Conference is inviting all churches to join with the regional southeastern PA church in 40 Days of prayer and fasting during Lent, February 6 – March 21, 2008.
The purpose of this fast is threefold:
Deepen our love for God
Deepen our love for our neighbors
Seek reform in the Church and revival in our communities
For more information about the 40 Days of prayer and fasting, contact Sandy Landes, Prayer Ministry Coordinator, slandes@franconiaconference.org or 215-723-5513, ext. 121.
God is always inviting us, the church, the bride of Christ, into a closer relationship. Fasting is one of the ways we can eliminate the distractions that keep us from being close to God. You are invited to come close!
My first Sunday in Indonesia, we attended Jakarta Praise Community Church. It’s a community of about 5,000 worshippers who gather on Sundays in a large auditorium in Jakarta’s Central Business District. It’s a JKI (Jemaat Kristen Indonesia) congregation, part of the global Mennonite family through Mennonite World Conference. We arrived late and had to line up at the door, ended up sitting with around 200 or so others in a foyer and watched the service through the open door and by closed circuit TV. It was really unlike any Mennonite congregation I’d ever attended before, both in size and techno-savvy.
I traveled to Indonesia before Christmas to attend a Conference on the Peace Church in the Asian Context and to connect with partner congregations in Indonesia. I visited with Troy Landis from Franconia congregation and Andre who attended Philadelphia Praise Center. I met with Dan and Jeanne Yantzi who are members of West Philadelphia Mennonite Fellowship and talked with former Mennonite Central Committee interns Nofika and Henny. It was a real privilege and gift to see the vibrancy of Franconia Conference connections literally on the other side of the world.
Before my trip, I stopped at the Mennonite Heritage Center in Harleysville (Pa) to purchase some gifts of hospitality. I took small fraktur prints by Roma Ruth, redware pottery and quilted potholders, symbols of Pennsylvania Dutch Mennonite life. I carried them carefully to Indonesia, exchanging them for intricate batik cloth and bright Balinese prints. I returned knowing a few more words in Indonesian and with a deeper understanding of the complexities that our Indonesian brothers and sisters face as they worship and work both in Indonesia and abroad.
Indonesia is the world’s largest Muslim country and the fourth most populous nation in the world, after the United States. It’s scattered across hundreds of islands and bears the scars and the fruit of years of interaction with other cultures, from Indian to Arabic, to Dutch, Japanese and US American. It’s an amalgamated nation in many ways, constructed from a plurality of island cultures and tribes. I was overwhelmed by islander hospitality frequently.
The Mennonite Church is present in various incarnations in Indonesia. Our relationships in Franconia Conference with the emerging Indonesian Anabaptist community on the East Coast have been primarily forged through ties with GKMI (Gereja Kristen Muria Indonesia), an Indonesian-originated Mennonite movement that connected with the Dutch. However, we continue to build new relationships, discovering the resonance of Anabaptist perspective with a people who have faced persecution, are committed to justice and peacemaking and searching for God in the midst of migrations.
Dutch Mennonites wondered whether those of us who would become the originating community of Mennonites in eastern Pennsylvania really needed to be migrating from their European homeland. They questioned the need, but continued to support their brothers and sisters as they streamed out of the continental interior to find places of freedom in William Penn’s colony. Indonesian Christians face much the same situation as those colonial migrating Swiss-Germans, a generalized anxiety from past persecution and occasional hostilities that remain. They sought a freedom from that persecution and anxiety in the same way, seeking passage to Philadelphia.
There is a deep resonance with our history and a deep hope for our future as we work together. Though the situations are not the same, the contemporary situation for Indonesians in the United States echoes Mennonite history. When I told the story of Indonesian Christians to the sons and daughters of Russian Mennonite émigrés in Canada, they immediately asked how it would be possible to help, insisting that its our responsibility to help persons facing persecution or the possibility of persecution to escape before it’s too late.
This Christmas Eve in Indonesia, the current president invited Christians to the government palace for dinner as an act of reconciliation and recognition. In Washington D.C., the Franconia Conference connected emerging Indonesian congregation was invited to gather at the Indonesian embassy. There is indeed a move intended as a reminder in Indonesia that the nation is open to its religious minorities, both Hindus and Christians. However, the current political climate is deeply affected by interpretations of both secularization and fundamentalism, much like the United States. It’s hard to predict future outcomes.
As Sunday evening worship began at a small Mennonite congregation in suburban Jakarta, the adhan (Muslim call to prayer) bellowed from a speaker on a nearby mosque. It was loud and overwhelmed the small space. It was the first time that I have ever been preparing for Mennonite worship as the call to prayer also beckoned. The gathered congregation didn’t notice it really and continued to move toward Christian worship. I was the only one distracted by the newness of the situation.
There are many things that I bring back from my encounters with our Indonesian brothers and sisters, but what stands out most is the vibrancy of faith and witness in the midst of religious otherness. The message of the Good News remains in the midst of fear and uneasiness. The message of the Good News continues to call to us . . .even in the midst of the adhan.
In the morning I often go into the old Nazareth market to buy fresh pita bread for breakfast, where a small bakery is located on the corner near the White Mosque. The bakery is a maze of clockwork conveyor belts that passes dough through the oven, depositing hot puffed pita balloons onto the tray below, where I can watch them deflate as they cool. The store is run by a hunched-over greying Muslim man with glowing eyes. He speaks English well and is always friendly when I come to buy my daily bread.
The other day when I went to get a pita pizza at the bakery, I decided to take an opportunity to practice my developing Arabic skills. I began with Marhaba (hello), and he responded, Keef halak (how are you doing?). After I replied Mabsut (good), he corrected me by stating that I should say instead, Hamdu l’Allah, meaning “Thanks be to God.”
He asked me how we should respond to this and I ventured, Allah Akbar, meaning “God is greater.” Happy with my correct reply, he went on to tell me that we should first thank God before saying we are doing well because God is greater than what we want or how we are feeling. He reminded me it is because of God that we can do well, as God is greater and we must submit with gratitude.
The White Mosque was originally constructed to foster better relations between Christians and Muslims in Nazareth. A blessing of accountability was given to the mosque, indicating that if a Muslim preacher ever spoke against the Christian community in Nazareth, the minaret would crash to the ground and destroy the building. To this day the mosque stands near the center of the Old Market, where many come to converse, trade, and interact.
I am challenged by the initiative of the Muslims of Nazareth to extend a hand of coexistent hospitality to their Christian neighbors. I am encouraged by the 138 Muslim scholars, clerics, and intellectuals who came together in October to unanimously declare the common ground between Christianity and Islam in a historic document entitled, “A Common Word Between Us and You.” Their invitation to the global Christian community is that we take Jesus’ two greatest commandments seriously, to love God and to love our neighbors.
Learning a new language is a humbling experience; one that teaches much about the contexts and cultures of our neighbors’ lives. It is a deliberate decision to learn to love what is unfamiliar and greater than ourselves, which directs our attention to God.
Choosing a humble learner’s approach is the act that begins the process of mutual understanding, the essential initial building blocks of peacemaking through transformational relationships. This is the bridge to taking the next difficult step that Jesus requires of us, to love our enemies as well as our neighbors.
By living in a place where I am required to interact with Jews, Muslims, and Christians on a daily basis in order to go about my life, I am continually learning that indeed, God is greater than our differences. Open and honest relationships, like God, acknowledge and transcend the labels we have constructed to separate ourselves from each other. The invitation to love our neighbors is open and awaiting our participation.
For more information on the letter “A Common Word Between Us and You” sent October 13, 2007 and the Mennonite Church USA response visit: Mennoweekly.org
Across the Mennonite Church USA, conferences are feeling the pull of this change as migration brings Christians from different cultural backgrounds into our formerly Eurocentric context. In California, what it means to be Mennonite is defined by Indonesian, Latino and African voices more often than EuroAmerican tradition. In Florida, the balance wavers between Florida’s Southwest Gulf Coast (Sarasota) which is predominantly EuroAmerican and Flordia’s Southeast Atlantic Coast (Miami) which is mostly Haitian and Latino. The balance in Mennonite Church USA’s midsection (Kansas, Oklahoma and Texas) continues to shift from the Russian and German immigrant communities of Kansas to rapidly growing Mexican American communities in Texas. Fuller Seminary professor and Mennonite leader Juan Martinez suggests that this pattern might be part of God’s intention to invigorate communities through a renewed encounter with the Good News.
This requires much from the EuroAmerican community—a willingness to listen, to learn, to embrace, to empower, to share and to reimagine ourselves as not only part of a globally diverse family, but part of a locally incarnated family of faith with differing traditions and ethnicities that honor God and the Anabaptist/Mennonite tradition. It requires all of us to reimagine our ways of leading and being to be one way of doing things—not the only way. This emerging reality invites us to admit that Christ alone is the Way—and that we’ve been called together to represent the possibilities of inbreaking Shalom in which God’s love is made real in the world, through flesh and blood, in the midst of hope and fear.
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I often think of this house in Allentown—grilling with my grandfather in the backyard, eating Christmas and Easter dinners around the picnic table in the basement, and walking to J. Birney Crum Stadium to watch high school football games. Many of my favorite childhood memories took place in and around that house.
One place I observed my grandparents communicate their faith was on their front porch. Many summer evenings my parents, along with my grandparents, aunts and uncles would sit and talk on the porch while my cousins and I would play “run-down” in the front yard. When folks from the neighborhood would pass by on walks with their dogs or families, one thing was certain: they didn’t pass by without receiving a greeting from my grandfather. Sometimes conversations took place at a distance with simple greetings and pleasantries exchanged, while other times neighbors joined us on the porch for conversation and Diet Coke or iced tea.
The way my grandparents valued questions I posed in their house was spiritually formational. The way in which they helped me search for fifth grade homework questions displayed a quiet confidence that big questions should be raised. As I grew older and my big questions were not easily found in encyclopedias, I never doubted the inherent value in raising big questions. My grandparents taught me that raising big questions doesn’t lead us away from faith, but draws us closer to God’s reality.
As the soup simmered, they “oohed” and “ahhed” over their creation. The curious townspeople looked on, and someone eventually offered to add a carrot or two, some potatoes, salt and pepper, and so on.
Perhaps it’s more powerful to let others discover us and speak for us. Yet they wonder why we make it so hard for them to find us. They wonder if we really want them to find us, and they wonder why some of us are running away from our own theology just when they are finding it and looking to join a tribe of people who have tried to faithfully live it out for 500 plus years.
Do you realize you’ve just politicized your faith? Jason’s question struck me as it made profound sense. Of course I knew that taking communion from a Mexican brother through the border fence between California and Mexico was a customs violation and I was therefore breaking the law. I just hadn’t connected the fact that my decision to commit an act of civil disobedience by taking part in a religious tradition was therefore also a political act of faith.
Jason helped officiate this service because he wishes to expose the racism that is inherent in immigration restrictions and anti-immigrant attitudes. In his blog response to the World Communion Day service, entitled 
Last summer I was part of the 
I traveled to Indonesia before Christmas to attend a Conference on the Peace Church in the Asian Context and to connect with partner congregations in Indonesia. I visited with Troy Landis from 
There is a deep resonance with our history and a deep hope for our future as we work together. Though the situations are not the same, the contemporary situation for Indonesians in the United States echoes Mennonite history. When I told the story of Indonesian Christians to the sons and daughters of Russian Mennonite émigrés in Canada, they immediately asked how it would be possible to help, insisting that its our responsibility to help persons facing persecution or the possibility of persecution to escape before it’s too late.
In the morning I often go into the old Nazareth market to buy fresh pita bread for breakfast, where a small bakery is located on the corner near the White Mosque. The bakery is a maze of clockwork conveyor belts that passes dough through the oven, depositing hot puffed pita balloons onto the tray below, where I can watch them deflate as they cool. The store is run by a hunched-over greying Muslim man with glowing eyes. He speaks English well and is always friendly when I come to buy my daily bread.
I am challenged by the initiative of the Muslims of Nazareth to extend a hand of coexistent hospitality to their Christian neighbors. I am encouraged by the 138 Muslim scholars, clerics, and intellectuals who came together in October to unanimously declare the common ground between Christianity and Islam in a historic document entitled, “