Mennonite Lit--Bringing it all Together

            When I began this journey through Mennonite Literature at the start of the semester, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. I considered myself a Mennonite, but I wasn’t sure if anyone else would. I found out early the difference between ethnic Mennonites and religious Mennonites. As often as there are religious Mennonites like myself, there are also those who are ethnic Mennonites but no longer follow the religious aspect of the faith. I thought then, how can people who identify as a member of a faith not believe in the faith part?

            If I were to teach this class, I think I would have taught books in chronological order. I found out from Katya the Mennonite history in Russia before coming over to Canada. Of course there is much more history before Russia, to Prussia, eventually back to Menno Simons, and even further back to Martin Luther and his 95 Theses. But what was more meaningful than learning a blunt history of maneuvering from one country to the next in search of land and exemption from armed forces, was watching someone live it. Katya let me live the Russian Revolution through the eyes of a young girl. I saw how she was uprooted, and more importantly I saw how it affected her. I felt how she felt when it claimed the lives of her family members. I experienced the trauma of that era of the Mennonites to understand it in a new way.

            We read Peace Shall Destroy Many before that, but it comes chronologically after the storyline of Katya. It shows the hardships of living in a Canadian Mennonite settlement and the relationship with the Native Canadians on a very surface level, but as the story develops, the book focuses on an element that Katya began to develop: internal church policies, moralities, and the virtue of being Mennonite. While I would say Katya put a sub-focus on critiquing the Mennonite church, PSDM puts a main focus on it. This is where I learned about the inner qualms between Mennonites. Questioning the value of pacifism, the value of separating the community from the rest of the world, and the value of clinging on to the teachings of the past. These qualms set up perfectly the next stage in Mennonite development in A Complicated Kindness.

            Coming full circle, Nomi in A Complicated Kindness criticizes heavily the Mennonite church and its founder Menno Simons. Miriam Toews writes the book as heavily satirical, treats the issues that were developed in PSDM as if they are common knowledge, and moves on to exaggerate those issues and symbolize them all over the place through the life of a teenage girl growing up in an almost modern Mennonite society. At this point, I have a very clear idea of where the Mennonite tradition came from and where it is ending up in our current day and age. Most importantly, I can see at this point what makes the Mennonite tradition so fascinating to write about and why Mennonite Literature is a type of ethnic literature.

            I know now that to be a Mennonite means much more than believing in Jesus, Pacifism, and not being part of the world. I understand how ethnic Mennonites can abandon the faith and still be Mennonites. They share a common history of hardship. They traveled together across the world to find refuge, and then they discovered deeply concerning questions within the heart of the church doctrine that have created great divides. And that’s where contemporary Mennonite Literature comes in.

            We read snippets of Mennonite in a Little Black Dress by Rhoda Janzen, various bits of poetry by Julia Kasdorf, Di Brandt, Sylvia Bubalo, and many others, and I personally read The Juliet Stories by Carrie Snyder, all of which step into the Mennonite Literature field after the creation of the ethnic Mennonite, the problems within that community divide its members, and critics of Mennonite culture, both currently and formerly within the Mennonite tradition come into the literary field.

            So after a full semester of engaging in Mennonite literature through the ages, I understand how the big question of Mennonite literature right now has come to be: What does the Mennonite writer owe to the narrative? In finishing the semester, I read a critical essay by Paul Tiessen in various more modern Mennonite novels such as A Complicated Kindness by Toews, and Children of the Day by Sandra Birdsell that dealt mainly with this question: how are modern critiques and satirizations of the Mennonite community affecting the nationwide or even global view of Mennonites as a whole. The result was that Tiessen believes these new and “complicated” narratives don’t so much establish the Mennonite narrative for our time but open new spaces to talk about Mennonite culture in new ways and at new angles, creating many diverse narratives.

            Now after reading all of the vast collection of Mennonite Literature from the different eras of Mennonite history, I can say I disagree. I see a trend in which satirized versions of Mennonite culture and comedic post-modern vantage points of Mennonites are becoming more and more common, and books like Katya and perhaps Blush by Sherley Showalter that show Mennonites in a more positive light are dwindling. I think Mennonite writers absolutely must keep this in mind when contributing to the Mennonite narrative, which is whenever they write anything at all, but that is not to say they must limit what they write. They must simply keep in mind what outcome may arise from their contribution to the narrative.

Unattainable Standards in A Complicated Kindness

“Why not offer some goddamn encouragement?” Nomi asks near the end of chapter 21 (175). More importantly, near the end of what control of herself that she has left. That quote asks an important question. When does the church stop pushing and start pulling? How do themes of the hardship of being Christian or Mennonite weigh in with themes of love and hope in the Gospel? We know that in East Town, under the rule of The Mouth, they don’t weigh in at all.

           

            Throughout Nomi’s story, she is constantly oppressed or avoiding discipline from the church, as is most of her entire family. Looking at the Mennonite church as a whole through the lives of those we encounter in A Complicated Kindness, it is portrayed as a place of burden—of rules and standards to be lived up to. In the case of Nomi’s family, it is a place of standards that will never be lived up too, save possibly Ray. While The Mouth’s Mennonite Church seems to be a more exaggerated version of an overly-strict church, this is a theme in most Mennonite literature and among the current Mennonite Church.

            Part of being a Mennonite is embracing a past of hardship. It is a focus on the past and on tradition. Mennonite action is always reliant on the stances of those who came before you because they are revered as increasingly righteous the farther back in time you look. This, coupled with the idea of not being of the world, creates a build-up of rules and expectations kept from generation to generation. And this is where Nomi enters the equation. She gets the build-up of all those generations of expectations thrust upon her. Or, firstly, Trudie and Tash recieve those expectations and can’t handle them. "It's killing me! Mom, it really is!" Tash yells before she leaves. And then Trudie says something that Nomi doesn't expect: "I know, honey. I know it is" (146). We realize here that those expectations are killing both of them. In the end, we find out that Mr. Quiring was controlling Trudie by threatening her with those standards, and Nomi is also shunned for not being to conform. As a child, Nomi is convinced her sister will burn in Hell because of her actions, and Trudie struggles to find a sense of hope to present to Nomi.

            Without standards, we are weak Christians. We now have massive mega-churches surrounding my home town in Dover, Ohio. People go, listen to the sermon, participate in the groups if asked, watch a movie at the church’s movie theater, and go home to act like every other non-Christian. There are no standards for a well-lived life, so no one tries to act any differently. This is what Mennonites try to avoid. Last year, Keith Graber Miller, while giving a lecture in Religion and Sexuality, mentioned that Mennonites, above most other Christian sects, criticize acts that are viewed as sinful—instead, they will debate among themselves until it is seen as righteous, and then they accept it. The Mennonite church has always been hard on sin, unlike denominations like Catholicism, who take the approach of accepting sin as unavoidable and offer regular forgiveness. Before I was a Christian, I was attracted to the Mennonite church because it was different. People seemed to live differently.

            I know that having high standards can inspire greatness and righteousness in how we live as well as give fulfillment to our lives, but Nomi asks the important question, when is it too much? Because of the harsh standards, Nomi’s entire life falls apart. By the end, she is on drugs, is mentally unbalanced, has dropped out of high school, has lost both parents and her sister to abandonment, and lost complete faith in the faith that should have been striving to guide her continually toward God. We see from this that too far is when people want to strive toward standards but can never reach them. Standards are only good as long as most of them are attainable. They need not be so easy that anyone can waltz in and conform, but they cannot be so impossible as to drive people away or drive them crazy. Nomi’s story shows us what can happen under a church that is so unbalanced in this way.

Katya and Wastefulness

Katya was an emotional roller coaster near its end. I was taken by shock when Katya's whole family was killed, even though I'd seen the obituary at the beginning. I cried for deaths of the nobles charachters, and like Katya, I was most taken by the loss of Greta. But one of the most interesting aspects of the Kootzy's invasion scene is the one thing that really got Peter Vogt upset: wastefulness. Simeon Pravda and is followers kick Abram and his family out of their house, steal everything of value, trash the house, threaten to take the Vogt's house, and Peter is still calm, but when he notices the men destroying all of the canned food by throwing it out windows, he can't take it. "I have to say this, here, is wrong. Take the food,but don't spoil it. You could eat well this winter," Peter reasons with Pravda to steal the food, anything but wasting it. Peter Vogt is also portrayed as being the most honorable and dedicated Mennonite in Privol'noye, most representative of the ideal Mennonite values.
Those ideas together, we can discern that the the misdeed of wastefulness is actually seen as a higher sin than theft or brutality. Mennonites do not engage in brutality, but they understand the idea of taking something you want. They do not understand the idea of destroying something completely when it could be used for at least someone's benefit, even if not their own. This fact is actually what sets Peter off to the fact that Pravda and his men were severely dangerous, because they were unstable for wanting to waste. It was the instinct that wastefulness indicated mental instability, then, that allowed Katya and her sisters to live.
Later on, the idea of wastefulness comes up again: Katya is reported to some kind of community enforcement squad for wastefulness. The fact that she was reported is irrelevant because Liese would have reported her for something, but the fact that wastefulness was a crime that you could be executed for (as Willy Khran almost was) shows how important a value it was for the Mennonite community. And it still is an important value. Still today, frugality is celebrated and wastefulness of any kind will give you a poor reputation among the Mennonite community for ages, even among college-age Mennonite friend-groups. The value that kept Mennonites alive while they were impoverished and constantly migrating has become a permanent Mennonite value instilled in new and old, religious and cultural Mennonites alike.

Paraguay Primeval

When Carol Ann Weaver and Rebecca Campbell came into our clas on Thursday, they talked about the process of putting music to poems, bringing life to a work already written so well. Carol said she even has to change some word order around to fit the music or make different word choices.

It's one thing to be an editor of an anthology or a "Best U.S. Poems" book or something where deciding which poems to include and for what reasons is the hard part, which would really be difficult, but then there's the step further that Carol takes with the poems she chooses for her works. She is choosing the words that will tell a unique Mennonite story, and then choosing how to change them so that the music will flow through them and further tell that same story and communicate the emotions she's aiming for. I can only imagine the creative skill it would take to revise someone else's finished work for a different medium without changing the meaning too much, yet changing it completely for her use in music.

I haven't heard the music put to the words yet, but when I do, I will update this post.

Hope in Peace Shall Destroy Many

In class on Thursday, our guest speaker Ervin Beck asked the class if we thought there was hope given at the end of the book. Hope for reconciliation, of the sustained church, of a new mindset, or hope in a maintained mindset even. I said yes. There is a hope in the end, as Thom finds a middle ground in his internal war.

            Since the beginning of the book, Thom had struggled between ideas of total peacefulness and the fact they others were dying for their right to believe in peace. Between complete separation from the world, and living among the others and reaching out to non-Christians. These concepts waged war in his mind just as WWII waged on outside the community and the Mennonite community itself waged its own war against those very ideas, especially acceptance of the “half-breeds.” In the end, Thom punches Herb to protect his friend, Peter from his assault. He thinks about this, and he seems to come to terms with it as an action. This is what Thom decides is the right thing to do: act. In seeing Jackie Labret, Thom realizes that he must try to tell him the Good News in as pure a manner as possible, without interpretation one way or another, so that he might hear it as the disciples did from Jesus. He finds, as he did earlier, that “Truth must be followed as a Star, though the road is sometimes superhumanly difficult.” With this insight, he discovers the most hopeful message of the entire book: “Only a conquest by love unites the combatants.”

            His revelations at the end are somewhat vague in places and up to interpretation, but I feel that Thom rejects both the idea of fighting in the war and also staying in Wapiti and enjoying the luxury of peace that other buy for him. He decides on a middle way, a “conquest by love.” He will go out and act and teach and witness and wage his own war against the forces of darkness, not fought through violence, but through love and understanding and teaching. This is the hope in this very broken ending, and it is the hope for all the Christian world.

Gadfly

            Gadfly was very much a community event. The play brought together current students, former students who had gone to school with Sam Steiner, and even Sam Steiner and Sue themselves. The people in the audience baffled me by remembering the days when they were directly involved with Sam Steiner’s story. It blew me away.

            As in any story to be told, directors and writers must choose what parts of the story to be told, and I thought they chose well. They could have focused more on the aspect of homosexuality; they could have focused on Sam’s other male writing accomplices, James Wenger, Lowell Miller, and Tom Harley; they could have took the angle of an over-strict Goshen College president’s board and former president Paul Mininger’s regret later on. I feel all of these issues and aspects of the story are important, but not all are important to the story the Theatre of the Beat wanted to tell. They weren’t out to call attention to injustice and discrimination toward homosexuality or reprimand a former president for a harsh decision. They told the story of a young man encountering life in a unique way; they shared a personal testimony meant to give meaning to and take insight from a life of turmoil and counter-conformity. With this goal in mind, they did well in choosing which characters to include and which parts of the story to emphasize. Even in showing to non-Mennonite audiences, the play captures ideals and insights beyond that of community which both represent Mennonite culture through common threads and relate to the non-Mennonite audience on its level. 

Heavenly Voices

Heavenly Voices, a play birthed from the Mennonite Women of Color Oral History Project which tells the stories of 10 Mennonite women of color in their own words through the Ethnodrama theater filter, was a learning experience for me. While these women shared their stories from childhood through faith stories until late adulthood, I tried to understand their realities and add their stories into the collective story of all Mennonites in my mind. One of the main themes that struck me in each of their stories was the way their lives were filled with so much joy.
Coming into the play, I imagined I would hear of the hardship they each faced being women of color and even just being women in the Mennonite church, likely coming from other churches. There were times of hardship for all of them, but they didn't focus on this aspect over the course of the play. The focus was on the good times. Many of them said the faced very little racism in their lives but went on to talk about instances of racism later in their stories. The told of the Mennonite Church as well as other denominations of Christian churches helping them find peace and get their feet under them, not trying to bog them down or change them.
Maybe part of it is because they were already in Heaven, looking back on lives well lived, but each of the women told her story starting with beautiful parts of life, things she was thankful for, later told of the hardships, and ultimately came back to positive endings. They were joyful stories. They didn't tell of being outsiders in the Mennonite church (though many may well have felt like it at some point), but remembered quilting at the church with others and embracing their traditional songs and dances.
Those stories showed me that Mennonites overcome many different obstacles, not always including an immigration from Germany to Russia to The U.S. and struggling to overcome patriarchy in a small Kansas community, but maybe including drugs and poverty and racism and opposition to education or to their ethnic background. However, those stories also demonstrated how joyful and strong the lives of women  could certainly be in spite of those obstacles from engaging in loving community and giving one's life to the Lord.

Todd Davis and Nature's Simplicity

Todd Davis brought a new theme to my idea of Mennonite Literature. Nearly all of the Mennonite writers I have studied so far have written about nature in some way: Di Brandt’s “This land that I love, this wide, wide prairie” and her “The Zone: <le Détroit>” series,  Sylvia Bubalo’s “WHEN YOU MENTION APOCALYPSE,” Brandt’s comment that she cannot “write the land,”  etc. However, they all use the context of nature’s beauty and reverence. Sylvia uses nature to give God credit for creating such beauty. Di Brandt uses nature’s beauty juxtaposed with pollution and environmental issue to encourage environmental awareness.

Davis’s relationship with nature is much different than each of those. He sees nature in its raw forms and loves its simplicity. He depicts images of car crashes caused by a foggy cliff in “Veil,” an osprey killing its prey quickly and without hesitation in “Doctrine,” his father turning into compost and joining earth in “Turning the Compost at 50,” and burning the earth for its own good and competing against coyotes for the life of their sheep in “Taxonomy.” Davis seems to see nature in its simplest form, and he loves that simplicity. He embraces natures ability to take brutal action without overthinking the situation. Perhaps this is something he didn’t have in his own life growing up. Or perhaps this idea happily contrasts to the new Mennonite theme of approaching nature and God from extremely academic standpoints. 

Love, Mennonite Style

In reading "nonresistance, or love Mennonite style" by Di Brandt, I was made aware of the massive problem nonresistance can pose for young Mennonite Women. I know many more conservative Mennonite communities are highly patriarchal, and all Mennonite communities out a stress on peace and nonresistance. I had thought of the latter as a noble virtue for anyone to embrace, at least physical nonresistance, but this poem showed me that patriarchy combined with nonresistance can create a terrible ideal that women, especially young women must not talk back or fight against a man, even against something as terrible as sexual assault.

Brandt writes about when "your uncle / kisses you too long on the lips...& you want to run away but / you can't because he's a man like your father." Sexual assault kills me. It is the most vile thing i can think of at any given moment. It has become all too common on college campuses like Goshen, and a part of the problem lies here, with Brandt's childhood experience. She doesn't stand up for herself. She won't fight back. Even if she is worried for her body. Because she is more worried about being reprimanded for speaking up.
Brandt later continues in the same poem, "the / only way you'll be saved is by submitting quietly to your grandfather's house." She felt at that moment that the only way to save herself was to be quiet, to submit, to do whatever the men told her to. That is a dangerous way to be raised, no matter what tradition someone is from.

This issue has been expressed by other Mennonite female poets as well such as Julia Kasdorf and Sylvia Bubalo. In Kasdorf's poem, "Ghost," she talks about watching terrible things happen to herself in third person, unable to do anything about it. Her boyfriend touches her inappriately, and all she can do is watch. She watches and doesn't scream or fight back in a scene that implies her own rape (lines 15-18) ensues. She "rage[s] against the vulnerable socket" implying self-mutilation from the trauma of the rape. In lines 20-28, she pushes herself to be strong. She finds her solace in refusing to be the weak, obedient female she is expected to be.

Both Kasdorf and Brandt grew up in a seemingly typical environment in the Mennonite comminity, but these experiences force us to reevaluate what the Mennonite convictions are and what they tel children and adult alike about how they are to behave and interact with others.

A New Mennonite Replies to David Wright

As far as I can tell, most of our quilts are from our parents.

A parting gift as we journey to our own little Mennonite world,

But I’ve never even heard of Borscht.

We have pasta salad and cheesy potato casserole.

Meat Balls and Fruit-filled Jell-O.

Someone made peanut salad last Sunday.

Every week we have a hymn sing somewhere on campus.

It’s optional of course, so I stay in my dorm room,

Studying with a gay blonde guy.

His name is My Best Friend.

And here, others will fight for him more than he’ll fight for himself.
He tells me the speed of light is the same in all reference frames.
I write blog posts, trying to avoid "resonating" with something for the 4th time.

In convocation, we hope for academics,

Because Lord knows we can’t play the name game.

Neither can my Southern Baptist Friend.

We meet up on Wednesdays to talk Liberal politics,

After all, it’s only type of politics,

here.

I mean did Mitt Romney ever have a chance anyway?

Oh, Republicans.

So many thrifty Mennonites,

Driving used minivans and Oldsmobile’s,

Destination Goodwill or Aldi—never Walmart.

(Did he say Walmart? He supports child slave labor!)

We park ourselves in rowed-up chairs next to Real Mennonites,

With chin-strap beards and an iPad Mini.

Our theme this year is Passionately Following Jesus,

Unlike last year when we followed Obama instead.

“Our Father in Heaven, Hallowed be Your name.

Your…..come….your…be done,

As Earth as it is in Heaven.

…ah, our daily bread!

And…oh yes, our trespasses, As we…”

I mumble sounds where I don’t know the words,

Lest someone realize I don’t know Our Lord’s Prayer!

Though hymns have never been my favorite,

The four-part harmony never ceases to amaze (though I need the book on 606).

And we make our way through some piano-led tunes,

Or a traditional hymn with two accordions and a hammer dulcimer.

Our pastors change every week,

But they all graduated from here.

My favorite always prays for the college athletic teams.

“May they race for you in their hearts, Lord.”

After church we retire to the dorm to eat leftover ham salad—when there’s no potluck.

But today we eat at Los Primos—high class.

We speak to our waitress in Spanish, and notice a woman behind us,

Wearing a head covering and a plain blue dress.

We say nothing.

We are all Mennonites here. 

Sylvia Bubalo

Sylvia Bubalo, a Mennonite artist and poet, grew up feeling a deeply spiritual connection to God. She was able to listen to God and use the divine to guide her actions. So she became an artist: because she was called to do so.

Of her work is one painting in particular: "Evidence of Things Not Seen, Hebrews 11:1." It resonated with me because of how it both reinforces and debates the contents of Hebrews 11:1. The Bible verse in Hebrews refers to "faith" as the evidence of things not seen. It says that faith in now the assurance of our God, not things we can see. Bubalo's painting seems to reinforce this, by depicting a divine being beautiful and great to behold by the viewer of the painting, but completely shrouded from the view of the religious community below. It shows that the community must have faith without the sight of the divine. However, Bubalo's painting of the divine being also incorporates elements of the world we can see. The head is made to look like a radiant moon, surround by the bright night's stars. The body is comprised ot stripes of a rainbow. Those elements are all wonderful and beautiful elements of the visible world, implying that we can still the see proof of the divine in the world around us if we attribute those beauties to God. It implicitly suggests that evidence can be seen if the religious community would look up.

Invisible Ethnicity

I feel I am without ethnicity. If ethnicity is defined by being part of a group in which its members all share qualities in terms of geographical location, religious and political beliefs, immigration history, racial stock, traditions, food preferences, language, etc., then I feel i have none. I am white. I am male. I am an Ohioan. Being from Ohio is hardly an ethnicity. The people I am associated with are usually of all different races, places, and faces. Different histories, theories, and political policies. Tradition and immigration have been laid by the wayside where I'm from.

Maybe I'm wrong--maybe there's is a group of people I relate to more than I realize. But I know I may be entering a new ethnicity quite soon either way. The Mennonites are an ethnic group. They have immigrated from Europe where they were once called Anabaptists, split with Menno Simons, and even branched to the Amish. They are a faith group but have a common culture. They have strong roots in Russia. I don't know everything about the Mennonites, but I am becoming one of them. I don't know if that would make me ethnic or not, since none of the above distinctions are true of me whether I consider myself Mennonite or not. But I guess I'll find out.

This is a journey through the Mennonite ethnic literature and how it relates to my own ethnic history (or lack thereof).