Final Post

After one semester of studying Mennonite Literature, what I took from the course was not necessarily what I was expecting. After reading works from Canadian authors, poets, essayists, and the like, I am feeling encouraged.

The stories that we read were not always the most beautiful, the most modern, or the easiest to read, but they sure were stories that needed to be told. Reading Miriam Toews' A Complicated Kindness and reading works from Di Brandt helped me to realize that I, too, have a story to tell. Just because the culture that I grew up in doesn't necessarily celebrate or encourage the sharing of the tough stuff does not mean that I need to keep quiet. Those two women played a huge role in my recognition of that.

I learned more about myself than I was ever expecting from this course.For my final project, I let myself be vulnerable. I shared some things that were difficult for me for a number of reasons. There are moments when I crave the community of my home congregation, however, I have strong issues with the theology. I greatly value my Mennonite heritage but think that the Mennonite church has a long ways to go yet, regarding a number of things--race and sexuality being the two that stick out to me.

Now that the course is over, I am interested in reading more from other communities of Mennonites. In fact, I'm curious to see what the next generation of Mennonite writers will offer for us.

Deal With It

"Somehow all the problems of the world managed to get into our town but not the strategies to deal with them."

This summer, I had the privilege of attending the Mennonite Convention in Phoenix, Arizona. I attended because I was leading a seminar called, "Conversations for bi-racial teens," and I was also played a role in Pat Lehman's play, "Heavenly Voices." The two reasons that I attended the convention concerned the topic of race in the Mennonite Church. In addition, with the convention being held in Phoenix, there was intentional conversation about the church's stance on immigration. And if that wasn't enough, the Pink Menno Movement did some good stuff as well!

After the convention, I left for home (Hesston, Kansas) with high-spirits, and hope for the future of the church.  Upon my return, the verdict of the Trayvon Martin case was emerging, and, in my opinion, it wasn't good news. Being the token minorities in our home church, my mother was asked by our Sunday School leaders to share her opinion on the case.

To make a long story short, my mother's sharing lead to two weeks of discussion and during the second week, a man who had missed the first week was incredibly vocal on the situation. However, he had a drastically different idea of the situation than that of my mother. My mother was desperate for her white Sunday schoolmates to speak out, to explain to the man how cold, unjust, and un-Christlike for pete's sake, he was being. Instead, nothing. Silence. No one said anything.

The following Sunday, I was asked to share a little about my experience at convention. I stood in front of my congregation and shared something along the lines of, "the roles that I played at convention justified the fact that minorities are a fast-growing population in the Mennonite church. We, as a church, need to work on inclusivity in a variety of forms." Normally, after a young person says something in front of the church, they're overwhelmed with thank-yous from older folks in the church. But, again, nothing. How could I  feel so rejuvenated and hopeful post-convention, while the church that I have attended since birth, could make me feel so small and unimportant?

This is only my personal story regarding the ways that I feel that my town has "all the problems of the world," and lacks any sort of strategy to deal with them. Even if we did have a strategy, I wouldn't want to just "deal" with the issue, I want them solved.

In this quote, I think that Toews could be hinting at a situation that is felt in so many Mennonite communities around the world. Or even other religious communities that have a rather passive way of communication. Too often, I feel as though we, in the Mennonite church discern too much and act too little. This seems similar to the community of Nomi Nickel.

Katya and what it means to be a Mennonite

In all honesty, I knew very little about the migration of Russian Mennonites to places like Canada and South America prior to taking this course. I knew even less about the lives of Mennonites while they were actually in Russia. Because of this, I found Katya to be a great novel but also a great history lesson into the lives of Russian Mennonites.

One aspect of the novel that intrigued me was the representation of Mennonites through the Sudermann and Vogt families. Okay, I know that even today, there is a sort of spectrum, if you will, of Mennonites, but this novel really shed light on some of these differences. To me, Peter Vogt pretty much epitomized what a traditional Mennonite would look like. Other than his temper--which he kept under control by using a hole in the wall as a reminder--Peter Vogt seemed to reflect the core belief system in all aspects of his life, as the reader knew him. On the other hand, we have Abram Sudermann. A man who comes off as overly wealthy, greedy, dishonest, and a womanizer among other things.

In thinking about the differences between these two characters, I began to ask questions. If these two characters represent the same tradition, but live their lives in very different ways, does this reflect on the tradition, or the people? I then began to think of this concept of Neo Anabaptism that we discussed in class and realized that a) I still don't really understand what Neo Anabaptism is, but b) that if the way that I sort of understood the concept--a group of folks who want to go back to the way of the original Anabaptists--that is somewhat confusing, right? During the reformation, there was probably a lot less confusion about what it meant to call oneself an Anabaptist, but over the years, the concept has gained a number of different interpretations, endured a split in the Mennonite Church, and I would still say that there is definitely a spectrum of Mennonites today.

This was a very complicated way of asking, is there a right and wrong way to be Mennonite? If there are Mennonite folks who were overly wealthy, greedy, and womanizing but still called themselves Mennonite, who are we to tell them they're doing it wrong? What about non-pacifists? Is there a right and wrong way to be Mennonite?

Paraguay Primeval

While I thoroughly enjoyed having pianist and composer Carol Ann Weaver and singer Rebecca Campbell in class last week, I will say that I sort of struggled at the actual show.

In all honesty, I found the music to be bizarre. I am guessing that I was so taken aback because I had no idea what to expect from the performance. Then when I arrived at the show and finally heard the music, it was a type of musicality that I had never before experienced.

However, there were a couple of highlights for me. Regarding the songs, I really enjoyed "Lengua Women" and "Lobsang." I found the former to be rather catchy and the latter to be incredibly moving. With Weaver announcing the names of the five Amish girls who were killed, and explaining to the audience how close to home this was, listeners could definitely sense her feelings in this piece.

Reflecting on Pacifism

In the beginning of reading Rudy Wiebe's Peace Shall Destroy Many, I was unsure about how this could be such a controversial book. Now that it's over, though, I think I get it.

The end of the book makes the reader think that a couple of good Mennonite boys, Hank Unger and Thom Wiens, went out and joined the army. How could that be?!

Being raised in the Mennonite church, I sort of feel like pacifism is just a part of me--like it's engrained in me. And while I enjoyed this novel, I think that is why the ending made me feel a little uneasy. In all honesty, my uneasy feelings make me feel uneasy because saying these things makes me sound like some old person who hates change and is being overly protective of the Mennonite faith.

Anyway, part of me sort of thinks that the reader maybe could have predicted this situation. In chapter 2 we see a quote from Joseph that reads:

"Though Mennonites, because of their training, naturally abhor violence, yet they faintly admire it, somehow, in someone who without thought 'hews to it'! And if Germans are involved, this unconscious admiration is even bolstered a bit by our almost nationalistic interest in Germany. After all, we are displaced Germans, at least ethnically, and because we haven't had a true home for four hundred years, we subconsciously long for one. It will take this war to knock any silly German ideas out of our heads"(27).

While this is not the ending that I would have expected from a Mennonite writer, and while I do have unresolved feelings toward the book, I am so thankful that Rudy Wiebe did invoke those feelings for his readers. Too often, we get stuck in our Mennonite bubbles and forget what people in other parts of the world, or even people from our very own religious tradition, have to face on a daily basis. I'm sure that there have been many Mennonites who have grappled with the idea of pacifism and I am grateful to Wiebe for exposing the other side to us.

Gadfly

Last weekend, as I walked into Umble Center, I thought I knew what to expect from the play "Gadfly: Sam Steiner Dodges the Draft." However, I was actually rather surprised by what I saw.

Okay, let’s be honest, I didn’t do any research on the play. I just assumed that the story we read in class about the “Menno-Pause” publication was going to be the content of the play and the “draft-dodging” was just some unexplained aspect that I didn’t understand. 

Even though I came in with odd, incorrect expectations, I still greatly enjoyed the play. I found Sam’s story to be moving, inspiring, and also somewhat relatable. Now, I can’t say that as a Mennonite, I have ever had the desire to go and enlist in the army. But, I think that at some point in many of our lives, we have all wanted to rebel a little. My rebellious phase was when I decide to attend a non-Mennonite state school in the heart of Nebraska.  Considering the fact that I’m now studying here at Goshen College, the outcome of that phase is pretty predictable.

Anyway, I found Sam’s passion for peace and equality to be greatly inspiring. I also think the fact that he stood by his beliefs and chose not to apply for CO status because he refused to apply on religious terms is somewhat admirable. 

The aspect of the play that I really enjoyed came in the question and answer time with some of the cast, Sam, and one of the musicians. I loved hearing the audience members stand up and ask questions. Some remembered the whole incident; some knew Sam or Sue—Sam’s wife—and one woman was even in the car when her family took Sam to Canada. I loved hearing the different aspects of the story that people remembered. 

Even though the play portrayed a rather unfortunate time in Goshen College’s history, I still think that the story of Sam Steiner is one that Goshen should be proud of.

Heavenly Voices

Growing up as a mixed-race Mennonite has not always been easy. Thankfully, in this course I have had the opportunity to share some of my anxieties about being a minority in the church. This summer, I had the opportunity to share stories of another woman of color in the play "Heavenly Voices."

Goshen College professor Pat Lehman and her colleague, Linda Christophel, took about six years to gather stories of Mennonite Women of color around the country. After the stories were collected, Pat put them together and turned them into an ethnographic drama--this just means that everything that was said on stage were the actual words of the women.

I played a woman named Vernelle Briddelle, a 50-something African-American woman from North Carolina. Vernelle's story is shaped around some unfortunate and intense mishaps she has experienced--this includes being arrested for doing crack, losing her first child, and some of her negative experiences with inmates in prison.

This group of women first performed this play in Phoenix, Arizona this summer at the Mennonite Conference, and lucky for me, Vernelle was actually able to attend! Memorizing lines by myself was so so tedious and boring but to have Vernelle sitting front and center in Phoenix was an absolute honor. As the one performing her story, I can only imagine the emotions she was feeling as she heard her story being shared aloud in front of a predominantly white audience. As she broke down and wept for most of her story, I began to realize the power that lives in story-telling. The combination of Vernelle's reaction, the audience's reaction, as well as the audience's willingness to receive these stories made for an ideal environment. The best word that I can come up with is sacred. It was almost as if there was a sense of holiness in the room as we each took our turns telling these stories.

Since being a part of this play, I feel that I can read the poems, essays, and other pieces of literature from the Mennonite tradition and from them take away something different than the average reader. These authors are putting their life into their works--their struggles, and come-to-Jesus moments, and triumphs, and memories. And we, as readers, need to be willing to open ourselves up to receive these stories.

Di Brandt

Di Brandt's poem that begins "when i was five," is a poem that was not new to me last week. I had previously read the poem for a Critical Theory course in the spring of 2013. At first, I found that the poem was difficult to read in a number of different ways.
What's with the lack of punctuation?
Where's that capitalization of letters?
Quotations?
Who's talking?

Beyond being forced to correct the "errors" for an exam, I felt the need to do so that I could actually read the poem.

This time around, I loved it. I felt that Brandt offers her readers the words and then leaves the rest to them in hopes that maybe they can read the poem whichever way they happen to interpret it.

In fact, I think that I almost prefer the lack of punctuation when reading the argument between the daughter and the father. When read aloud, the lack of punctuation seems to make the words flow faster, actually sounding like an argument.

As someone who is still fairly new at writing poetry, I love seeing new ways writing styles. When done well, no punctuation could work. However, as a new poet, I'm not sure I'm ready to take on that challenge. But, thank you, Di Brandt, for showing us a unique style.

Wyses, Detweilers, and Baers. Oh my!

I am one lucky lady. How lucky? Lucky enough to know my great-great grandpa--Oren Detweiler, father to my great grandmother Mary Wyse. I have vague memories of being at his 100th birthday party and have seen numerous pictures of my young cousins and I surrounding him on this special day. I never met his wife, though, Nettie (Miller) Detweiler, daughter of Jeffery Miller and Katherine Stutesman.

Oren is the son of Samuel W. Detweiler and Malinda Kauffman. In doing a little research, I discovered that Malinda is from Wayne County, Ohio--a hub for Amish Mennonites. In addition, she was baptized at Bethel Mennonite Church in West Liberty, Ohio--a church whose history claims that the church was founded when "a group of Amish young adults...requested to be baptized into the Mennonite church rather than the Amish Mennonite Church" (http://www.bethelchurchwl.org). Sweet. Seems like my great-great-great grandmother was a rebel.

The names of my great grandfather's, Lawrence Wyse, parents were Albert Wyse and Abigail Baer. I never knew them, but I think my mom did.

The other half of my maternal grandparents include a whole different, very different, multitude of people. My great grandmother, Ida Stokes, is still living. In fact, she was at my high school graduation when there were four generations of women in my family represented. Ida is the daughter of Curtis Smith and Viola Moon.

For one reason or another, I almost feel overwhelmed by all of this information. I immediately feel the need to want to know everything about all of these people, look at every family photo, read our family history books (that I had no idea existed), and visit everywhere from Wayne County, Ohio to Uniontown, Pennsylvania.

I feel proud. I feel contented. I feel pleased, and intrigued, and inquisitive all at once. I feel full.

In the words of my mother, "My cup runneth over."

A Mennonite Writing About "Mennonites" and "A New Mennonite..."

Interestingly enough, two of this weeks assigned poems really resonated with me. First, "Mennonites" by Julia Kasdorf. There were a couple of lines in this poem that reminded me of my very own line of Mennonite-ness along the varying Mennonite backgrounds. The line, "We clean up his disasters. No one has to call; we just show up in the wake of tornadoes with hammers, after floods with buckets" immediately caught my attention. Along with being a major aspect in the Mennonite tradition, service is also of great importance in my family. When I think of servanthood, I immediately think of my Grandpa. His uncle-- my great-great uncle, Lowell Detweiler--worked with Mennonite Disaster Service (MDS) for a good number of years and wrote a book entitled, The Hammer Rings Hope: Photos and Stories from Fifty Years of Mennonite Disaster Service. Being from Kansas, we have had our fair share of help from organizations like MDS, especially during tornado season.

The second part of this poem that really resonated with me was when Kasdorf writes, "why we eat 'til we're drunk on shoofly and moon pies and borscht." If I had a dime for every Relief Sale dinner, Sunday potluck, or German buffet Friday that I have eaten far too much shoofly and borscht, I would be a very wealthy woman. There is just something about the overly sweet gooey deliciousness of shoofly, and the savory taste of my family's dear friend/adopted grandmother/Ukranian Mennonite immigrant Justina's borscht that bring all kinds of happiness to my heart, and my stomach.
As for David Wright's poem "A New Mennonite Replies to Julia Kasdorf," one line in particular sticks out to me for a number of reasons-- "Should we tell her?"..."That we're Mennonites too?"

How thankful I am to be a part of a tradition with such a rich, unique history, but how unfortunate that this tradition is associated with a rather specific identity.

"I Choose Christ."

I'm going to be honest, here. I know nothing about interpreting art. Thankfully, one of the pieces I resonated with the most had a caption!

The photo, Untitled (Sylvia's Baptism), is a pencil sketch of what looks like a pastor-- a man of course-- who is preparing to baptize the young girl kneeling in front of him that we can assume is Sylvia. Looking on is a motherly figure. All are dressed in plain clothes with the motherly figure wearing a head covering. Below the picture, the caption reads:

"So in baptism the said: 'Do you
choose Christ and / (or) the church?"
And she said: "I choose Christ.
(I can't handle the church.)"

I have found that in the Anabaptist tradition, at least at the church that I grew up in, there is still pressure to be baptized at a fairly early age. I would know, I was baptized when I was only 13. At that age, I had no idea what I would be thinking about my decision to be baptized so young, but the last two lines of the caption for this piece seems to sum up my feelings toward the church.**

Throughout her works, Bubalo expressed a number of themes that resonated well with me. I greatly admire those who are able to challenge their belief system in a way that provides also enriches and encourages the asking of questions.

La Paloma. Another favorite.

First post!

My first blog! The purpose of this blog is for me to reflect on assignments for my Mennonite Literature course. Check in for updates!