The Mennonite Story

I've just returned from attending the Montreat College Conference, which was themed "God without Borders." At this conference, I went to an afternoon workshop called Storytelling. In this workshop, we talked about affective ways to tell stories, particularly about our interfaith experiences in order to promote more interfaith communication and cooperation. It was led by a man who works with the InterFaith Youth Core (IFYC), an organization that seeks to empower young people of different religious traditions to work together to serve others. Towards the end of the workshop, our leader asked us to tell an interfaith story aimed at a particular audience. For the final story, he asked for a volunteer to tell a story as if speaking to their college president, asking for funding for an interfaith council on their college campus. It was silent for an awkward minute, and before I knew it, I was sitting in front of the workshop about to tell my story. This story is one that I had told to many individuals and peers before. I've told it in abridged and extended versions. I've told it in it's entirety and in bits and pieces. But I had never told it before an audience. This is that story.

I was raised in the Presbyterian Church and have always been what I suppose you would call a typical, or maybe stereotypical, Presbyterian. I was an active leader in my church's youth group. I was a member of a Presbytery Youth Council. I was a small group leader at a middle school conference three years in a row during high school. I was an officer of the Presbyterian Student Association at Presbyterian College. I think you might be getting the picture, but to put the icing on the cake, I was a camp counselor at Montreat, a Presbyterian Mecca filled with energetic, God-loving youth and adults alike running around talking about our Presbyterian ways. Because of this, last summer I decided to try something different, something new, something challenging. Through the Presbyterian Church, surprisingly enough, I found out about a Mennonite organization called Sharing With Appalachian People (SWAP). It is a home-repair service organization with locations throughout the Appalachian mountains of Kentucky and West Virginia. I would be working in Wild and Wonderful West Virginia as a construction site coordinator for the groups of volunteers that came in each week. I was excited to be doing service, to be living in a new place, and to be learning more about the Mennonite Church, a religious tradition I knew very little about.

At the beginning of the summer, I had been out as a lesbian for almost two years. So I had a very pressing question on my mind: What do the Mennonites believe about homosexuality? I was very curious to find out, but I also deeply feared the answer. During our orientation week, while driving in a van with most of my coworkers and my two adult supervisors, I openly asked that question that had been on my mind for months previous to that moment. I was told, immediately, the exact answer that I so deeply feared: Homosexuality is a sin. God intended for marriage to be between a man and a woman. Clinging on to hope that that was the belief of their church, and not of these individuals, I asked if they agreed with the church's beliefs about homosexuality. One of my supervisors sternly repeated herself: Homosexuality is a sin. God intended for marriage to be between a man and a woman. One of my coworkers even took a solid amount of time to explain how God could and would never love a gay person. I conversed with them for a few minutes, even citing scriptures, to defend the other side of their argument. I quickly realized that it was an argument I was not going to be able to win in that moment. Not to mention that I was growing more and more angry and was bound to say something I regretted. So, at that moment, I took a giant step back into closet. I never brought the subject up again until I decided to come out to one of my coworkers who I had grown close to. I felt he would be understanding, compassionate, and trustworthy. And I was right and am very grateful for that.

But as the days went on, things got harder and harder for me. I was ashamed. I was angry. I was lying to my coworkers, my bosses, and to myself. I was uncomfortable. And I grew more and more depressed. And I feared my neighbors. I was terrified they would judge me, hate me, and try to "fix" me, or at least fire me. This got worse as I learned that my Mennonite supervisors, due to the nature of Elkhorn, WV were also Pentecostal. Every Friday evening, we would hear a message from a local Pentecostal preacher. Messages that were very different than any I had heard before. Messages that were difficult for me to accept. Messages that made me more afraid and more uncomfortable. Eventually, I reached a point were I could no longer live or work in that setting and that community. One of my supervisors had a metaphor he used often: SWAP is like a train, and it's coming fast. You can either get on, and have the ride of your life, or you can get run over. So, one evening, I sat down with him and told him I was getting run over and I needed to return home the upcoming weekend. I gave him some other reasons as to why my time with SWAP had come to an end, and he compassionately said they would see me off on Saturday. I was ready to be returning to places where I knew I would be welcomed no matter my sexual orientation, some places welcomed because of my sexual orientation. But I still couldn't leave without coming out and sharing why our God loves all people of all orientations. Hopeful to change the way my coworkers thought about homosexuality, or to at least get their wheels turning a little differently, I made a plan.

After the group of volunteers left on Saturday morning, I informed my colleagues I would be leaving that day and returning home. I then asked them to join me in watching For The Bible Tells Me So, a documentary film that follows the stories of multiple families of various Christian denominations and their experiences with homosexuality in the church, and how these families were or were not able to overcome the hatred and pain that occurs within the church when homosexual people are persecuted. It also reveals how the Bible doesn't actually say anything about homosexuality being a sin. I didn't tell them anything about this movie before I played it, though I gathered one girl knew the general gist of the film as she told me, "Oh, they played this movie at my school. I didn't go." I replied, "Well, I suppose now you have to see it, don't you?" and pushed play. After it had ended, I stood up, in tears of course, and said to the group, "I'm not sure if you've figured this out or not, but I'm gay. And believe it or not, I'm also still a Christian." The two girls sitting directly in front of where I stood, one of whom was the same that missed her first opportunity to see the film, quickly dropped their jaws to the floor in shock. I know I hadn't come out to them, and I suppose it's a good thing they didn't make any assumptions, but I really thought the cargo shorts and all the flannel would have tipped at least a couple people off. One of my supervisors explained how when I had brought up the subject earlier in the summer, he and his wife had determined that I was gay, and decided to do their best to work with me anyway. After all, we're all sinners...I tried to explain that, in fact, me living as the person who God created me to be is not a sin, but his opinion was not going to change. I don't care much for the "Hate the sin, not the sinner" sentiment, but I suppose it's a start. We continued to have some interfaith dialogue, and the coworker who had originally explained God's lack of love for homosexuals, surprisingly explained, "If you condemn someone to hell because of who they love, and then call yourself a Christian, you're lying because you clearly don't have Christ in your heart." I was shockingly pleased, touched, and grateful to hear her make this statement. And I was honestly quite proud. She'd made a complete 180 degree turn by seeing For The Bible Tells Me So and I was the one who had showed it to her. My other, younger, Mennonite coworkers began to come around in their own special ways, saying things like "It's totally ok that you're gay. I knew some gay kids at my high school and they were cool. You're totally cool even though you're gay." I think it will be a while, due to their limited exposure to much of the real world, to really get the full picture, but some positive steps were made. My other supervisor even privately came to me and apologized for anything she may have said that made me feel judged, hated, or condemned. I simply said, "It's ok. You've been thinking that way a long time. I know I alone can't change you're beliefs, but I'm trying to." We then went out for a goodbye lunch at one of those Golden Corral type places before I hit the road for, you guessed it, my Presbyterian Mecca full of liberals and fellow homosexuals: Montreat.

While I was working with SWAP, I found it so difficult and impossible to live in that community. But now, looking back, I see how, on that last day, when we truly began an important interfaith dialogue, I could have more easily coexisted and we could have lived in a more positive interfaith community if I had only come out sooner. However, I sure was glad to get back to my people and be the Lesbyterian that I'm proud to be.

those mennies...

So I'm working this summer with a Mennonite organization called Sharing With Appalachian People. Every since I heard about it, I expected it to be a very good and rewarding job. I also was very apprehensive. We host volunteer groups and do home repair projects. I've been here for two weeks, and the first group of volunteers arrived tonight. When we held a little orientation meeting the group, the Location Coordinators (my bosses) encouraged them to do some journaling. I decided after that I would finally sit down and start blogging about SWAP, which I've been planning to do since I arrived.

One of the things that definitely makes this experience very interesting is that my faith is very different from all of my coworkers. The majority of them are Mennonite. Keith and Charlene, the Location Coordinators, have Mennonite background, but now attend a Pentecostal Church of God. One coworker is not Mennonite, like myself, but seems to me to be a Southern Baptist type (she doesn't associate herself with a particular denomination, but that's what her religious behavior reminds me of.) And here I sit, a liberal Presbyterian Meher Baba lover that, when makes it to church, goes to a Unitarian Universalist one. I knew getting into this, that it would be a very religious and spiritual job (part of the reason I was interested in it) and I also knew it would be different from anything I've experienced before. But I was never really sure what quite to expect.

But despite these differences, one thing that I've noticed is that there are a few commonalities as well. And those commonalities just so happen to be things that are most important in my faith. The people I'm living with, working with, and interacting with use terms and language I've never used or try not to. Things like "eternal damnation," "born again," and a very extensive use of "Father" for God. The latter of which I'm used to to an extent, but they use it quite frequently and I try to use more inclusive language.

I'll elaborate with examples. Last Sunday, I went to church with everyone at the Church of God up the road. I was honestly a bit uncomfortable worshiping there. There was so much focus on sin and hell. Hell was a more common topic than grace - something I'm not used to and am opposed to. However, there were a few things I did appreciate. The main one being that everyone in the congregation called each other brother and sister. That was a habit I tried to get myself into years ago at camp, but it faded after a while. I love the feeling of community and comradeship it creates within their congregation. But for me, I would extend the use of brother and sister to those that "aren't saved." They use it to remind themselves that they are all one in Christ. I would use it more widely to remind us that we are all one in this Earth. What I surely wasn't used to, and honestly don't really buy, even though I witnessed it right in front of my face, is a lot of the hooting and hollering and practically speaking in tongues that happened in this church. At one point, people went to the front of the church to be prayed for. As the pastor was praying for one woman, her mouth was just running and running and I couldn't understand I single word. Then her body began shaking and she nearly fell to the floor. I still don't know what I think of this. It's really just something else. But another thing I did appreciate was during Sunday School, the leader made one point that whenever we come to God, we must free our minds and spirits of everything else going on in our lives. I like this because I agree, and I found it especially interesting because I very recently just read about Baba making the exact same point. The paths, the worship, the prayer, is so very different - but that one point was exactly the same. And that point is the most important aspect of that Sunday school and lesson and of that particular message of Baba. I dig that.

On Friday night, our neighbor Randy, who is a preacher and a business partner with Keith, came and spoke to us. He isn't the typical preacher I would be a fan of, but again, I appreciate to similarities more than I criticize the differences. (Which it took me a few days to get to that attitude, I'll admit.) One of the first things I noticed is his obvious passion and love for God, which I admire and love witnessing. When he opened in prayer, and every other time he prayed, almost every other word was "God" or "Jesus" or something along those lines. He spoke so quickly, I was almost annoyed by it. But then I made a connection. His prayer reminded me of Baba telling to keep God's name (whatever it may be) on your heart and have your heart and mind always be saying God's name. Randy's heart and mind, and mouth, were clearly repeating God's name. When Randy got to speaking, he spoke mostly of being born again. He told the story of when he was saved and when he was born again and proclaimed that everyone must be born again to go to heaven. When left at that, I disagree on many levels. But as he continued, he said "maybe you don't call it born again - but whatever you call it - everyone should have a time in their lives when God transforms them." Now that I can handle. I was easily reminded of two specific moments in my life when God certainly provoked a change in me. I cherish those moments and recognize and appreciate God's presence in my life before and after those moments, but I would never say I was born again. But once I got past my stubborn disapproval of that term - I appreciated Randy's message.

So far, I've certainly already changed spiritually a lot. I can see that I have - but I can't quite say how. We shall see...

obama

Our sexuality is such a small part of who we are.

It'd be good to have a friendly face in the crowd.




I've grown so much. But I still have so far to go.


That's all.

peace in gaza

This evening, a one Russ Kerr and I ventured down to Charlotte for a peace vigil for the current Palestinian/Israeli conflict. It was a good time, with a good crowd of good people, and a good amount of support from people who passed us. We just stood at an intersection, holding signs and candles. We ourselves were a diverse group. I'm really glad I went. I love being a part of these things. CODE Pink, one of the groups that sponsored it, does it every week. Which is awesome. Duh. Anywho, I stole these pictures from a girl who was there:

Never Blend In

"My name is Harvey Milk and I am here to recruit you."

I saw Milk tonight. It was an amazing film, one that I'm still trying to articulate my reaction to. But I figure right after seeing it is the best time get down some initial thoughts. I think one of the hardest thing is that now, 30 years later, we are still fighting the same fight they were in the 70's. Things have come far, but there is still so far to go. Milk's fight against Prop 6 parallels, for obvious reasons, our recent fight against Prop 8. But that fight was won. Only to face more struggles down the road. The fight never ends. Not only are we fighting to gain rights, we have to fight to keep them. It's difficult to wrap my mind around the fact that lives have to be taken in the process. People are beaten to death, shot and killed, because of who they love. How can so much hate develop from something based on love?

Milk, the man and the movie, are incredibly motivating and inspirational as well. Though I hate that the fight must happen, I'm glad to see and be a part of the Gay Rights Movement. I love that Milk refused to clump gay rights into human rights. He insisted that it stick out, that it be a direct fight, a direct demand. Despite multiple assassination threats, Milk stood strong and put himself out there: a bravery I'm proud to see exists, a bravery I hope I possess.

I'm also disappointed that the film isn't more mainstream. But I also have the feeling that it will be a quiet success in certain circles, then word will spread, and it will be a hot topic everywhere.

For the High School Musical fans, (Emily!) Lucas Grabeel who plays Ryan in HSM plays Danny Nicoletta in Milk. I was glad to see him in a film where he plays a gay man, and openly so. We all know he's a giant queen in HSM, but of course they couldn't say that there.

May more and more people be recruited every day. One of Milk's points to gain support was that everyone come out. If "they" know one of "us" they'll be in support.

Maybe it's time.
I've got some Republicans to convert.

transition for change

I'm settling in after transferring from Presbyterian College to Warren Wilson College. It's an interesting transition, but I believe an improvement. The question of faith has been present for me since I've been here. I left a place where it's harder to say "I'm gay" than it is to say "I'm Christian" to a place where I'm embraced when I say "I'm gay" and get a questioning look when I say "I'm Christian." I hope everyone can see what's messed up with that. So which is better? Being around people with my same faith that judge me for who I am, or being around people that act like Jesus but aren't fans of Christianity? Christians are judged and looked down upon for various reasons, and lately I've felt that's valid. Men are more often the leaders of a congregation than women. Youth aren't always given a fair opportunity. The Presbyterian Church doesn't allow homosexuals to be ordained across the board. Baptist churches insist homosexuality is a sin and condemn people to hell. People are excluded from a faith that the most important lesson is to love. Love. That's it. The exact opposite of exclusion. We are called to live as Jesus lived before us. Doesn't that mean seeing a person as a person and not a label? I know more atheists that act like Christians should than I do Christians that do. I've slowly been reading a book that includes personal accounts from folks that like Jesus but don't like the Church. They dislike the hierarchy and hypocrisy. And I don't really blame them. I feel like the Church today doesn't follow what the church itself teaches. There's a lot in the Bible we can delve into, and study and question and debate over. But what's so hard to understand about "Love your neighbor"?