Long Haul Hope: Ash Wednesday Thoughts

Ash Wednesday thoughts on wilderness, identifying with Jesus, and the tenacity of a few Colombian human rights workers

by Samantha E. Lioi

(This blog has been edited for length. Download the full article here.)

Driven by the Holy Spirit, Jesus is in the wilderness with a lot of people these days. It’s crowded, and the scarcity of resources keenly felt. Even so, it is a place of surprising and dogged hope.

Last July I traveled to Colombia for two weeks on a Christian Peacemaker Teams delegation. A truly international group of us – from Massachusetts, Texas, Pennsylvania, Ethiopia, India, and Illinois – became a team who would learn from, accompany, and support the CPT Colombia team and their partners, especially leaders of peasant-farmer or campesino organizations struggling to remain on their land or return to it.

Jesus was driven by the Spirit into the wilderness.

More than 5 million Colombians have been driven from their homes by armed men paid by international companies who will strip the land of resources until it is barren, then move on to take more. Colombians who have done small-scale mining on their ancestral land for generations have been driven into a wilderness of displacement, into life as refugees in their own country. They have organized to advocate for themselves, their communities and their livelihoods, continuing day after day, month after month into years to call for what is right, to demand that their land, their dignity, and their lives be respected.

Since July, I haven’t found very many words to speak about my time in Colombia. But when I remembered Lent was coming, one of the Ash Wednesday texts from the second letter to the Corinthians reminded me of the Colombian human rights workers. And it’s also talking to us.

Now is the time to be reconciled, it says – to God, yes, and to each other. Now is the day of salvation, that is, holistic well-being and abundant life, peace between parent and child and man and woman and paramilitary and campesino, and peace between peoples and nations. This is the hope of our faith.

So about hope.

Here in the U.S., especially among Anglos, despair is a very different choice than it is in Colombia. If we give up hope, if we are no longer able or willing to care, if we become paralyzed by the horror and injustice of the truth of so many people’s lives, and if we become overwhelmed by the weight of evil in the world, nothing happens to our homes or our livelihoods. Something happens to the kind of people we are – our character, our integrity – but we do not, in choosing apathy or hopelessness, immediately put our lives at risk.

It’s not that I never experienced fear while I was in Colombia. But my experience of being vulnerable to violence felt so minor compared to the fear of our Colombian partners that it mainly served to help me understand my U.S. passport-privilege more deeply. Unlike some of our partners, I have no idea what it feels like to receive threats to my life and the lives of my family members, season after season, because I am telling the truth and calling for justice. Recently, the high-profile community of Las Pavas, whose people have returned to their land, has been accused of never having lived there to begin with, and are being prosecuted for invading and occupying private land – victims and survivors turned into criminals. No wonder one finds Jesus among them.

When I came back home and resumed my day to day U.S. life, I asked myself a lot of questions: Why do this work explicitly as a Christian, when Christians are failing to act like Jesus left and right? Do I really believe the kingdom of God is coming? It seems far away. The wolf lying down with the lamb and not eating it? Really? Every tear wiped away from our eyes, and no more death? Really? The end of death?

The end of death?

But as these next 40 days of Lent stretch out in front of us, I still come back, hauling my doubt and cynicism, desiring to follow Jesus into the desert again. I must believe this craziness. The Bible itself–crazy and beautiful and comforting and deeply challenging to status-quos everywhere. A God who brings life out of death. A God who receives our most disordered, dysfunctional parts and gets them singing.

Almost as unbelievably, our partners in Colombia keep going. With a faith and hope I wonder at and don’t quite understand, they keep struggling. They keep imagining a time of justice, living their belief that people are created with the capacity to treat each other with dignity. How can I quit if they haven’t quit? What keeps me from being as bold and persistent as they are?

Somehow underneath my temptations to despair and give up, I do believe that all creatures, all that was made, all the universe, was created from love and for love. That this love is underneath everything, that there is plenty of it. That there is a pull, a wind, the Spirit of Jesus whispering among us, and perhaps shouting above the din, “Come with me and be awake to your hope and your fear.” Beneath the sounds of killing and anxious constant motion, and in the spaces of clarity and quiet within us, the voice of a poor Nazarene teacher pulling us into the new things that are coming.

Now is the day of salvation – wholesale healing. Now is the time to choose life, to choose a practice, something simple that will enable us, at the very least, to be aware of our own resistance to following Jesus. To return to our God, or at least to admit we don’t know how, for that is a step toward a wilderness that could teach us something. God, with a great sense of humor, trusts us.

Remarkable.

Hope for the duration, for the long haul – modeled for us by people who could have given up long ago.

Read a more detailed update on the Las Pavas community

Download a pdf of the full article.

A thrill of hope, the weary soul rejoices

by Tom Albright, Ripple Allentown

Christmas Eve, and Allentown has had its 4th murder in a week. What are people thinking? Is it about money? Passion? Retribution? Evil? Fear? Lack of choices?

It is a hard week full of the usual busyness and expectations that accompany the holiday. Where is the Christmas spirit? Where is the hope? I found myself awake at 3am again. It is not fear, but sadness, futility, and concern.

Then an idea–what if we spent Christmas Eve at the site of the double murder six blocks from our home? What would it be like to light candles and sing carols in the darkness of the alleyway where the shotgun had rung out and the car had run over bodies only a few days before? The thought would not leave me.

Christmas Eve morning I decided to walk and pray as I visited the sobering locations of the recent violence. It was cold and windy and I forgot the address of the first death. I walked up and down the street and realized that God knows.

But where are you, God–why do you not act?

The sun was shining when I started but as I walked the clouds increased and it became colder. I tried greeting people on the street by smiling and saying, “Merry Christmas,” but my heart was not in it. I wandered around past the site of the stabbing, and headed toward the site where a young couple was murdered.

I passed am old Lutheran church that reaches out to the homeless through meals, an overnight shelter, and a parish nurse, and I saw a small sign advertising their Christmas Eve service at 10:30 that evening. I found the house and walked half a block with a lady pulling her laundry cart. I asked if she heard about the killings. “Of course,” she said. “My husband woke up and heard the shots–I heard when they got run over by the car. I wanted to get out. This kind of thing shouldn’t be happening. The murdered woman was a crossing guard for the kids.”

The neighbor and I stood between the three memorials that had been created. About thirty tall glass candles covered with pictures of Mary, Jesus, and Saint Michael had all been extinguished by heavy rain. There must have been twenty-four colorful silk tulips laid beside the candles.

I got on my knees in front of the candles and prayed. It felt hard and cold and vulnerable. I thought of the carol, I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day:

I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet the words repeat
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

And in despair I bowed my head:
“There is no peace on earth,” I said,
“For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men.”

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
“God is not dead, nor doth he sleep;
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,
With peace on earth, good will to men.”

I got up off the damp concrete and left with a plan. That evening, my family went to the church’s Christmas Eve service. We sang the carols, heard the Christmas story, received communion, and left the sanctuary at a few minutes past midnight Christmas morning, while the organ played the “Hallelujah Chorus.” We drove around the block, taking our candles from the church service to light as many of the tall candles as we could – pouring the water off, shielding our small flames from the wind. Together we lit over two dozen candles.

And now there was light.

Then we laid a wreath of fragrant cedar boughs and prayed for the family, for the couple’s little girl, for the community, for justice and peace, for education, for new ways of handling disputes, for safety, restoration, and for hope in Jesus when all hope seems lost. We sang:

O holy night, the stars are brightly shining;
It is the night of the dear Savior’s birth!
Long lay the world in sin and error pining,
Till He appeared and the soul felt its worth.

A thrill of hope, the weary soul rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.
Fall on your knees, O hear the angel voices!
O night divine, O night when Christ was born!

Looking back at the candles, up at the stars, and at the lights on the windows around us – I was shaking with cold. We wondered how many people might be watching and if the police might be called. As one young man walked towards us down the windy street I felt tired, hopeful, and overwhelmed by it all.

Maybe that is what we need, someone to show us our weary souls and their true worth, and to rejoice on this night of our Savior’s birth–and every night.

I realized how little I truly understood of the pain, hopes, and fears of this place where I live. But I have fallen on my knees and perhaps heard a faint sound of the angels’ voices. I have seen a bit of the manger – that rough, earthy feeding trough where God was laid, so vulnerable out on the streets. God was there and is there on the streets of Allentown on that Holy Night . . . and tonight.

[Join the Ripple community at 3:15pm on Sunday, January 8, 2012, for prayer and candlelighting at the Peace Pole in Allentown, followed by activities at the church.]

Leading without fear: being missional Christians in a fear-filled world

(adapted from Mark & Kathy Weaver Wenger’s message at the Pastors & Spouses Appreciation Breakfast on December 6, 2011)

“But the angel said to them, ‘Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people.’” (Luke 2:10)

Kathy and Mark Weaver Wenger speak about leading without fear. Photos by Tim Moyer.

Fear is one of our deepest instinctual responses from the “reptilian” part of the brain. To live without fear is unrealistic. Impossible. We may as well try to live without pain or suffering.

“Be afraid, be very afraid” – The fear-industry is Big Business that sells us lots of things – insurance, weapons, health products, relationships, consumer products. Fear, dread, worry, concern, anxiety. It’s a powerful motivator.

“Do not be afraid” is specifically mentioned 70 times in scripture. Some examples:

The Lord to Abraham – “Do not be afraid, I am your shield, your very great reward.” (Gen. 15:1)
Moses to the Israelites as the Egyptians closed in for the kill – “Do not be afraid. Stand firm and you will see the deliverance the Lord will bring you today.” (Ex. 14:13)
The Lord to Joshua after Moses’ death – “Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.” (Josh. 1:9)
The angel to Joseph—“Do not be afraid to take Mary home as your wife.” (Matt 1:20)
Jesus to his disciples: “Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.” (John 14:27)

Fear is usually portrayed negatively. It’s a bad thing, to be controlled and to be avoided. We are told to “lead without Fear” and that “There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear.” (1 John 4:18) But a fuller reading of Scripture gives another twist to the language of fear that we don’t pay much attention to:

“The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom, and knowledge of the Holy One is understanding.” (Proverbs 9:10)
“Show proper respect to everyone, love your fellow believers, fear God, honor the emperor.” (1 Peter 2:17)

Fear God??? What is going on? This sounds contradictory and confusing. Is God an enemy or cheat or torturer or tyrant or bully?

We get a sense of the “fear of God” in The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis – Aslan is a Lion, the Christ-figure. His roar shakes the mountains. Aslan is not a “tame lion” Nor is he a “safe lion.” But above all else, he is good and he is loving. He’s the King.

What does it mean “to fear God?” C.S. Lewis says it is to “feel awe and wonder and a certain shrinking.” It’s mystery. It is to acknowledge that God is sovereign and recognize and defer to God’s power, love, majesty, and superiority. It means respecting, reverencing, honoring God as sovereign and Lord.

Maybe this ancient language of “fearing God” provides a CLUE for “Leading without Fear in a Fear-filled World.” Being in right relationship with God is the key. To grasp deep in our souls (deeper than reptilian brain) that God is sovereign, God is the “Untamed One,” the “Not-to-be-played-with-Lord,” of the Universe. And that God is Good, God is Love.

And that God comes close to us at Christmas.

We can be come immobilized or possessed by terror when we forget God’s greatness and goodness to us in Jesus Christ. “The Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of the Father’s only Son, full of grace and truth.” (John 1:14)

In the Bible, God’s words of reassurance, “Don’t be afraid,” often preceded a great event. How many times have we missed God doing something good or great because we were afraid of something or someone, instead of trusting God? The angel’s reassurance to the shepherds turned them loose to find Jesus and tell the whole neighborhood about God’s good news.

Take a moment and reflect: What is a fear that gnaws at you? What anxiety keeps you from venturing into deeper water with God? What are you afraid of as a pastor, or as a pastor’s spouse? What are your co-workers and neighbors afraid of? What keeps them stressed and up at night?

The arrow of Christmas is pointed directly at addressing and shrinking those fears, putting them into living relation to God, the Lord of Universe. The One who comes to us in Christ Jesus to save us. The One who will never leave us.

A parable: When I (Mark) was five, we lived in Ethiopia. Our family went on an evening picnic with several other families along the Awash River. After supper the grown-ups got to talking; we children raced and squealed in a game of tag. The sun set and dusk began to lower over the African landscape. Heedless in my dashing, I ran off the top of a bluff, tumbling about twelve feet to the bottom of a dusty dry creek bed. When I stood up, it was utter darkness. I could see absolutely nothing. I started howling at the top of my lungs, “I’m blind, I’m blind, I’m blind.” My dad heard my cries and came running. He couldn’t jump off the bluff; it was too high. So he had to take the long way around. He scooped me up, held me, and took me to the river. He washed my dust-coated eyeballs and I could see again.

Leading without Fear is born by calling out to a great God who in fact is reaching out to us. Leading without fear is undergirded by the character of God, the words of God – Do not be afraid. “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me.” (Ps. 23)

Young people need to be part of renewing the church

By Sheldon C. Good
Mennonite Weekly Review

I might get in trouble for saying this, but I think religion is failing young people. I believe the church is the living body of Christ, the primary vehicle for extending God’s love. But bad religion, and in some ways the church, is stifling good religion — our ability to more fully join in God’s movement in the world.

Young people can and must be part of renewing the church. There’s a movement of young people right now who are fired up about moral and spiritual issues. We need to tap into this energy.

A bit about people under 30: We’re some of the most educated, technologically savvy, globally connected people ever. But we’re coming of age in turbulent economic times and in a polarized political and religious climate.

Many young people love the church. They may have been baptized in a congregation and may have lots of church friends and mentors. But for many of us, church isn’t working and has been or perhaps still is painful.

So how and why is religion failing young people?

Partly because of increasing polarization, according to Robert D. Putnam and David E. Campbell. In the landmark book American Grace: How Religion Divides and Unites Us, they show how since the 1990s young people have disavowed religion at unprecedented rates.

Many young people, the authors say, are uneasy with the linkage between religion and conservative politics. The number of religious conservatives and secular liberals is growing, leaving a dwindling few religious moderates.

Pew research shows that more than a quarter of people under 30 say they have no religious affiliation — four times more than in any previous generation when they were young. People tend to become more religious as they age, yet young people today are the least overtly religious generation in modern U.S. history.

Yet those of us under 30 are fairly traditional in our religious beliefs and practices. We pray and believe in God at similar rates as our elders. We are no less convinced than previous generations that there are absolute standards of right and wrong. We believe the best faith is lived out in creative, Christlike love.

For too long, the church has reflected the polarization and miscommunication of society. Life isn’t about being right or wrong, Democrat or Republican, Catholic or Mennonite. Good religion addresses the world’s deepest moral and spiritual questions.

Young people need to be on the vanguard of renewing the church and the world. In fact, we already are.

Young people today are building bridges across faiths. Young people are challenging assumptions of what worship looks and sounds like. Young people are on the front lines, leading protests at military academies and protesting economic injustice and greed in Occupy demonstrations.

Here are two more opportunities for renewal in ourselves, in our churches and in our world.

1. We need to do Christian formation together. Though texting and Facebook are compelling ways of staying connected, young people want and need deep, face-to-face conversations. We need to move from living as individuals in worldwide webs of communication to intimate communities of believers sharing God’s redeeming love.
2. We need to heal our broken world together. Young people are increasingly liberal on social issues. We care less about the culture wars and more about broader social, economic and environmental justice. Rather than allowing our differing viewpoints to hinder conversations, we need to honestly listen rather than jump to defend ourselves.

I don’t think young people want to be less religious. We are plenty spiritual. But our generation will continue losing our religion unless we find ways to live and share the peaceable way of Jesus with a broken world.

Adapted from a chapel presentation given Nov. 30 at Christopher Dock Mennonite High School in Lansdale, Pa. Reprinted by permission of Mennonite Weekly Review.

Church Lives

By Ben Sutter, benjamins5@goshen.edu

What is Church? This summer, as a ministry inquiry intern with Franconia Conference, I have seen Church live in so many ways. I’ve interacted and reacted to people, thoughts, and spiritual movements around me. I’ve asked questions. I have seen the incredible similarities and vast differences between what people call ‘Church.’

Can a conference be Church? What about a denomination? Can one person start Church? Can Church be one person? What is Church anyway? Am I a part of Church? How do I even start to define it?

The first encounter I had with Church this summer was at a Fund for Theological Education Conference in New Orleans. I spent five days with other undergraduate and graduate students talking about the role of Church in our lives and how it will continue to shape our futures.

During a tour of the city, we visited First Grace Methodist Church, a post-Katrina congregation born in the merging of a historically black congregation with a historically white congregation. One of our guides suggested that Church is like gumbo. She described this gumbo-Church as a bunch of stuff all thrown together that makes something wonderful—but you don’t really want to know what’s in it.

Church can feel like that sometimes.

Pittsburgh convention this July offered another view of Church, this time within the denominational structure of Mennonite Church USA. People joined together from across the country to define where the denomination now finds itself. There were discussions, conversation rooms, and delegate sessions full of people sharing their stories. Many of these stories included pain. People and institutions can habitually and unintentionally harm those around them.

Does Church hurt people?

After convention, I traveled to Baltimore to visit Nueva Esperanza Baltimore, a Spanish-speaking church plant. The neighborhood of the church plant was desolate; it didn’t take much effort to spot a drug deal, a fist fight, or a prostitute—all in the middle of the day. Ubaldo Rodriguez, Nueva Esperanza’s pastor, hopes to build something from that desolation. But when does it become more than a pastor trying to build a congregation?

When does it become Church?

I also traveled with a group to Mexico City to build relationships with Church. The Bible School we helped with was an outreach that impacted the neighborhood. Alicia Alvarez and Ariel Avila, our hosts, had hearts for God and an incredible work ethic. But Fraternidad Christiana Prensa, their congregation, is in the midst of conflict. The long-time families of the church find themselves on opposing sides of many different issues and unable to agree.

Does Church argue?

Last Sunday evening I was driving home with my roommate, Ardi. When I told him I was writing a blog post about Church, he chimed in.

“Many people think that church is the building, that it’s just what they do on Sunday morning,” he said. “Each one of us is Church. Church happens every day, all the time, whenever we connect with God. We become sanctuaries for God, the Church.”

Cutting through all my questions, an unanticipated comment provides an answer. What is Church? These moments are Church. Church is something beautiful, something beautiful that lives.

We are Church.

Lessons from the little ones: Building bridges in Pittsburgh

by Emily Ralph, eralph@franconiaconference.org

He was sitting in a chair with his back to a room full of Mennonite preschoolers. He wouldn’t make eye contact with me as I sat down on the floor next to him, using everything I had in my bag of tricks. I had offered my afternoon to help with the preschool class at Mennonite USA Convention and something drew me to this little loner. Every question I asked was greeted with a shake of his head and a mournful whimper.

Little by little, we made progress. Within a couple of moments, he was forcing his mouth into an “I’m not going to let you see me smile” frown that told me we were almost there. Soon, he erupted into a laugh as he delighted in bouncing the ball past me so that I had to run after it. And once the dam broke, his joy and energy filled the room as he engaged me in play.

About an hour later, I noticed a little girl tucked in a play tent, staring sadly at the ground. My new little friend followed me over to her. The instant I climbed in and plopped myself down next to her, the frown turned into a whimper and a trembling lip. “I want my moooommy.”

“Do you want me to read you a story?” I asked.

“Nooo.” The end of the word came out like a moan.

“Do you want to color a picture?”

“Noooo.”

I looked up and realized that my little friend had disappeared. A moment later he returned with a coloring page and some crayons. Instantly, the girl perked up. Just as instantly, the trembling lip resurfaced.

“I only want to color with pink and purple,” she sighed, fingering the orange crayon. Her benefactor disappeared again.

After a few seconds, he returned with a handful of purple crayons, dumping them onto my open palms. In awe, I watched this little champion, this loner who had become the comforter.

“I’m going to go get another activity,” he stated strongly in accented English, laughing when I had to ask him several times to repeat himself. “An ac-tiv-i-ty!” he said again, leaning in close to yell into my ear so that I would get it that time.

He was back sooner than expected, his eyes twinkling. “Do you want to play with bubbles?” he asked, peering at her through the tent opening. That’s all she needed to hear. They were off, a little girl and a five-year-old Jesus, building bridges with bubbles and crayons.

On flattening the Mennonite world: a view from Singapore

by Steve Kriss
skriss@franconiaconference.org

New York Times writer Thomas Friedman Singapore suggested in the World is Flat that flourishing businesses would need to be both global and local in the emerging interconnected age. It’s a comment that I’ve taken pretty seriously as a pastoral leader trying to imagine how local congregations might flourish and thrive in this time as well. In my work over the past five years in Franconia Conference, it’s been easy to see lively connections that link our largely Pennsylvania-based congregations to far flung places like Jakarta, Mexico City, London and the Mekong Delta. Sometimes, the conversations I’ve had in those places are as pertinent and relevant to congregational life in the States as what happens at the Conference Center in Harleysville.

As part of my Franconia Conference position focusing on leadership cultivation, Biblical Seminary contracts with a portion of my time to build on the foundations of our global relationships to help in the formation of their students toward missional leadership. Several times over the last three years, I’ve had the privilege to travel for 10 days with a group of about a dozen students, most of whom aren’t Mennonite, and to offer an Anabaptist way of engaging the world. We traveled this year to Vietnam and Cambodia.

On the way back, I stopped in Singapore—a glistening, overly perfected city/nation/island on the straits between Malaysia and Indonesia. It’s safe, clean and tightly controlled but with a fascinating cultural mix that represents both the west and the east. I was energized by the city despite its Truman Show-like (un)reality. While there, I met with two young Mennonite leaders who give a hopeful and thoughtful glimpse of future church leadership. Both embody the face and soul of global Anabaptist movement with savvy, integrity and intelligence. It was a gift to spend time with Elina and Wilson—these cosmopolitan business leaders who travel between their Singapore residences, their respective native lands (Indonesia and China), and the United States.

One conversation that lingers for me was a request to understand where the upcoming Mennonite World Conference gathering would be, an attempt to understand the significance and importance of meeting in Harrisburg (which I said is close to Philadelphia and in the one of the world’s largest concentrations of Anabaptists and had to clarify again that it’s “close to New York”). What I heard in this question was a desire to understand the US American church as a partner, not a parent. For global Mennonite leaders, Harrisburg and Philadelphia are just another Bulawayo or Ascunsion. In these questions, though, I sensed a hope that the American church would understand how costly and potentially difficult this decision to meet in Pennsylvania will be for the global church community.

One thing that I’ve learned is that incarnation and making things real is costly and complicated. After my Singapore conversations (where we also talked about partnerships to initiate new Indonesian-speaking Anabaptist congregations on the Arabian peninsula), I’ve realized that the global church is set to come to Pennsylvania not because it holds us in esteem—but because it wants to help the church here to understand a global reality. This upcoming gathering can help the us begin to grasp how deep, how wide, how long, how far the message of the Good News has spread and rooted. It’s an opportunity to invite US American Anabaptists to situate ourselves in this new space—not as the center of activity or authority–rather as part of a global and local movement called to be wise as serpents, innocent as doves and a glimpse of the Real Eternal One in the midst of a flattening world.

Perfect Fellowship

By Emily Ralph, FMC Staff

“We didn’t grow up hearing about this,” one of the bishop’s staff members told me.

Some of the leaders gathered at the Southeast Pennsylvania Synod of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America’s assembly had heard about the reconciliation process, but for others, this was a brand new story. “In the 16th century, the early Lutheran reformers, furious that the so-called Anabaptists did not share the same theology of baptism, used their influence and power to persecute Mennonite Christians,” Lutheran Bishop Claire Burkat said. Her words were greeted with an audible response and she nodded her acknowledgement at the horror. “Not just harass,” she added, “but torture and murder those with whom they disagreed theologically.”

The familiar platform at Franconia Mennonite Meetinghouse was covered by the symbols of the Lutheran faith: the bread and the cup on the altar, the staff and the cross, the large bowl of incense, and candles, lots of candles. The room was packed with people of all shapes and sizes, men and women, white-haired clergy in collars and trendy young adults.

Pastor Charlie Ness and Bishop Claire Burkat share tears and exchange symbols of reconciliation. Photo by Emily Ralph.

Bishop Burkat was emotional as she offered Pastor Charlie Ness from Perkiomenville Mennonite Church an apology on behalf of her Synod. And as Pastor Ness accepted and extended forgiveness, he too choked up with the power of this moment. Twice, the congregation spontaneously rose to their feet to join in with applause. This action was not just one of denominational leadership—the Lutheran laypeople wanted to participate in the healing as well.

And as I stood there, frantically snapping pictures of their smiles and tears, I felt loved. Truly and completely loved.

Growing up, I was aware of my heritage. I was proud of my ancestors who stood firm in the face of persecution and terror. I ached to have the same strength, the same passion. I struggled to respect Martin Luther as a hero of the faith when in my eyes he was tarnished by the persecution he endorsed.

I knew the story and I knew it well. And here I was, surrounded by brothers and sisters in Christ some of whom had only discovered this story in the last decade. Their hearts were broken as they came to grips with an ugly chapter of their history. And they were reaching out to us for restoration.

As Mennonites, we’ve always identified ourselves as the martyrs. Our peoplehood is wrapped up in being the oppressed, the rejected. But as I experienced the grace of these lovely people, saw the seats of honor they gave to our pastors, their submission as we worked on crafting common language, I realized that, for the first time in nearly five hundred years, we were respected, accepted, and loved. Truly and completely loved.

There is disequilibrium in this place. How do we function here? If forgiveness means releasing others from their experience of guilt, if it means no longer lingering in the pain of the past, then how can we forge a new identity that still honors the sacrifices of our ancestors while recognizing that we are no longer rejected, but loved?

This is the task of God’s people, said Bishop Burkat. “In Christ, God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting the message of reconciliation to us (2 Corinthians 5). . . it means [reconciling] those who are at odds with each other, to return to a state of harmony, and receive a former enemy into good favor.”

That morning, we were surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses, both Lutheran and Mennonite, who, in the presence of Jesus, have found that Christ’s blood brings about complete reconciliation. As they worship God together, these former enemies—saints—of long ago are no longer broken by doctrinal or political differences; they are, even now, in perfect fellowship with the Father . . . and with one another. What they have experienced for five hundred years, we now realize on earth.

We are no longer persecuted; we are called to defend the oppressed. We are no longer rejected; we are called to love the forsaken. “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.” (2 Corinthians 1:3-5 NIV) May we become a people who extend our healing to the world!

Stories of faith: Experiences that change what we care about

Maria Byler

I have been hard pressed to find a clear and concise way of saying what I did for my Ministry Inquiry Program assignment.

I worked for the Mennonite church –– but I didn’t work in a church. I worked with a group of people of faith who care about recent immigrants and I worked with immigrants who are people of faith. I tried to help discover how Franconia Conference congregations can align their practices regarding immigrants with their values of welcoming the stranger and loving our neighbor as ourselves. And I tried to fit my own thoughts into the already buzzing conversations in this diverse and changing conference.

Though I can’t express the work I did in a few sentences, one theme keeps calling my attention: issues are more real to us when we live them or when people we know live them.

Here are some examples from my summer…

Part of my time was spent listening to stories of people of faith who are from other countries.

The people in our churches who have come here themselves from Mexico, Indonesia, China, India, El Salvador, the Congo can give those of us who were born in the U.S. a lot of insight. They have personal knowledge of values and customs that we can benefit from. Their stories of coming to the United States and experiences of the immigration process give our conference areas to act. I saw all of this happening this summer.

Through hearing these stories, I became friends with the tellers. Through our relationship, the stories became more significant to me. The excitement they bring and the problems they face have shaped what I care about.

One example in particular has affected me very much. I got to know one church family very well. I heard about the village in Mexico where they grew up, and the difficulties they faced that drove them to leave. I heard about their struggles with English, with immigration, and with paying their rent. That relationship is a huge part of why I care about immigration. It’s also a huge part of why I think personal experiences are important.

I also spent a lot of time hearing what experiences move those born in the United States to care about the issue of immigration. Some who are born in the U.S. see the issue through the teachings and stories of the Bible, which emphasize hospitality. Some want fairness for immigrants because of the experience of their ancestors – many Mennonites share a history of immigration in search of religious freedom, and feel they can personally identify. And others who are from the U.S. have relationships with immigrants as I did, hear their life experiences, and are moved.

We each have had different experiences, and we know different stories. Even the experiences we have move us to see issues differently.

What experiences have you had that have changed what you care about? What stories have you heard that have changed what you care about?

I thank God for the ways we are changed by the stories of our brothers and sisters, and I pray that our individual experiences shape us as a body to be more and more Christ-like.

Maria Byler served as a Ministry Inquiry Program participant this summer through Franconia Conference working on issues of immigration awareness and solidarity. Nearly half of Franconia Conference congregations are faced with issues of immigration and migration on a daily basis. She worked with a variety of initiatives based in Philadelphia and worshiped with Cento de Alabanza de Filadefia (Philadelphia Praise Center) who helped provide housing for her this summer.

Unto you a gift is given

Noel Santiago
nsantiago@franconiaconference.org

“For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.” Luke 2:11

What was the best Christmas present you ever received?

“Oh wow!” I cried, when I saw the foot long tractor trailer toy truck, complete with realistic turning radius. It had a red cab and green trailer with doors that opened and a little ramp for cattle to climb up on.

I was at my cousins’ house in New Holland, Pa. They had just arrived from Puerto Rico almost a year earlier – all nine of them – and had lived in the attic of our house for three months before finding their own home. I was nine years old and loved playing with my cousin Jose.

I was not expecting to get a gift for Christmas this year because my family wanted to give my cousins the experience of Christmas, complete with the meal, the gifts and the singing. So imagine my surprise when as the names on the gifts where being read and given to each person, that my name was called out.

“Is this right?” I thought. But sure enough there was a long rectangular box, wrapped in beautiful Christmas paper with a bow on top and my name on it. What an unexpected surprise!

I wonder if this might have been something like what those shepherds in the fields might have felt (in addition to overwhelming fear). It was an ordinary night–watching sheep, talking around a campfire and trying to keep warm in the cool night. Suddenly, a voice calls out–and it’s addressing them. What a surprise! Unexpected! Is this real?

The news comes to them that a gift has been given – a savior in the form of a baby; in a manger, wrapped, not with beautiful, ornate Christmas paper, but lowly, humble, swaddling clothes. It’s hardly what they would have expected. Yet as if to confirm that they were not dreaming a multitude of angels appeared, all bearing a word of great joy, the tidings of this grand, good news! Unbelievable!

What about you today? How have you been unexpectedly surprised by a gift given? A gift not earned; not worked for by you; not expected. Just given.

There’s a second part to this wonderful gift given to humanity – and that is the need to receive that gift. Many of us have received the gift of Christ given long ago and continue to do so everyday. Yet, many people haven’t yet received this wonderful, glorious gift. Who around us this year needs a gift? What gift does the One given want to give? How can you and I be the messengers of this wonderful gift of good news for all people?

I’m grateful to my Mennonite/Anabaptist sisters and brothers. I received a gift long ago, unexpectedly, because of these sisters and brothers in the faith. They pulled together a collection of gifts to ensure that everyone in the house that day could hold wide their hands and receive a gift.

May all of us in this Christmas season hold wide the hands of our hearts in receiving, first the gift of the life of God’s son and to be a messenger of the good news that “Unto you a gift is given.”