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!