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.
Friday, December 13, 2013
Monday, December 2, 2013
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.
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.
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