We are proud to be members of a ‘peace church,’ observes this Mennonite theologian from Indonesia, but do we really know the full extent of God’s peace?

Conscientious objectors share their stories

As the world remembered the 60th anniversary of the liberation of the infamous Auschwitz concentration camp last month, four Mennonite men met in the home of Norman and Sue Weber in Elmira, Ontario, to tell their stories of being conscientious objectors (COs) during World War II.

“My parents taught us not to be involved with soldiers,” said Oscar Martin, who attends the Waterloo-Markham Meetinghouse in Elmira of his reason for refusing military service.

Henry Martin, a member of the Martin’s

Mennonite conscientious objectors during World War II: Clayton R. Shantz, Henry Martin, Oscar Martin and Norman Weber.

meetinghouse in Waterloo, said his parents had a clear conviction that when the Bible says, “Thou shalt not kill,” that is exactly what it means, including not going to war.

Norm Weber, from the Elmira Mennonite Church (MCEC), recalled that at his baptism the emphasis was not to be involved with the world. In church membership classes he studied the 18 articles of Dordrecht, which included the instruction, “Love your enemies.” “How can you love them and kill them?” Weber asked.

Morgan Baer, from Shantz Mennonite Church (MCEC), pondered the possible link between a stance of nonconformity and Mennonite pacifism. “Non-conformity includes a lifestyle, and that includes a lifestyle of peace,” he said.

These men are in a long line of Mennonites who chose the way of peace in times of war. While a million Canadians signed up to fight in World War II, 10,000 young men chose another path – not to bear arms or go to war.

The general draft was aimed at young men 19 to 21 years old, or older if they were not married. Being married made one exempt. Another exemption was if one was needed to work on the farm. In most of Canada, men had to appear before a judge to ascertain whether they must do military service.

While there was considerable public hostility towards Mennonites who sought an exemption because of their religious beliefs, government documents dating back to World War I showed Mennonites and Brethren in Christ had been given exemptions at that time, though they paid dearly for this privilege by paying for bonds.

Any member of a historic peace church simply needed a letter from his pastor, to indicate that he was indeed a member of such a church. When they received their draft notice from the government, the young men had to go to the doctor to be checked regarding their suitability for the army.

Henry remembered that visit well. “My brother had a little hernia, so he was exempt. The doctor turned to me and said, ‘You’re the one that’s going.’”

Henry did go, but – thanks to the letter – it was into alternative service at Montreal River.

Norm recalled that the minister of agriculture at the time was highly sympathetic to the young Mennonite farm boys and their desire to do alternative service. He saw their usefulness in many sectors – planting trees in British Columbia, working on farms in Ontario, building roads in the north, and working in mines, among other duties. And he needed the farmers to keep the farm economy healthy.

For the four men who met around that dining room table in January, it was a reunion, since they all had been assigned to do their alternative service at Montreal River, where the Trans-Canada Highway was being built. As far as they understood at the time, they would be there for the duration of the war. As it turned out, they were there from December 15, 1942, to the following April or May.

Their assignment was to move a hill into a valley, by breaking the dirt and rock with picks and shoveling the fill by hand into four dump trucks. They worked from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m., with one hour for lunch, at the rate of 50 cents per day.

(left) Norm Weber and Oscar Martin recall their CO experiences of 60 years ago. Henry Martin and Morgan Baer (right) talk about their CO experiences.

“Sunday evenings the Russian Mennonite boys would sing for us,” said Henry. It was four-part gospel music. He recalled that David Wiens was in charge of some services as well.

It might be debated whether what they did had any real meaning – moving dirt from one pile to another. Years later, the road was completed, using heavy equipment. “Our work was in vain,” said Norm. “They needed a make-work project to get us out of the public view. ” Nonetheless, he has several times stood at the completed site and felt good about his contribution.

Henry commented of their alternate service work after Montreal River until the end of the war: “They decided we would be worth more on the farm.” If conscientious objectors had no family farm to return to, they were placed on other farms in Ontario, including tobacco farms in the Chatham district. Oscar worked in a factory in Brantford, canning vegetables. The policy was that half their wages was given to the Red Cross.

Many of them continued to contribute to the Red Cross afterwards. Weber sees that the alternative services program gave impetus to, or was foundational for, future Mennonite Central Committee relief efforts, the work of Mennonite Disaster Service and Voluntary Service. It created a “habit of the heart” for the next generations to emulate, he said.

The men reflected on their peers at Montreal River. Most of the men had girlfriends back home. Henry married his in 1945. Oscar married “a different girlfriend” in 1947, he said.

Not all of the men were Mennonites. Oscar remembered that one of the camp administrators was a Baptist— Jack Bieman—who had initially joined the army for active duty. When he saw his first bayonet practice, he knew he could never do that to a man. So he was sent to Montreal River to do non-combatant duty.

The question that lingered in the air as the conversation around the dining room table in the Weber home came to a conclusion was: What would our Mennonite young people do today if there were once again a military conscription?—Maurice Martin

Defying the law

Last summer I committed a federal crime. When I turned 18 and was required to register with the Selective Service System, I did not do so.

Failing to register is a criminal act punishable by up to five years in prison and a $250,000 fine. I am willing to be prosecuted but do not expect it. The primary punishment has been the withholding of financial aid for college.

Registration is a prerequisite to the draft and therefore intended to facilitate war. If I registered I would be considered a war asset because there is no option for conscientious objectors on the registration form.

I wouldn’t want my compliance or silence to imply my consent with the war machine that endorses killing as a solution. Instead of joining the military, I’d be willing to go to the Middle East to engage in nonviolent mediation and direct action.

Ultimately, my objection to registering stems from my allegiance to God and Jesus Christ. When choosing between inflicting suffering upon others or taking it upon myself, I strive to follow the way of Jesus.

I’m committed to pursuing peaceful solutions. In doing that I’d be willing to die, but not to kill.—Jason Shenk

The writer is from Goshen, Indiana.

Sometimes peacemaking feels 'like sand in the mouth'

I grew up in the pacifist Mennonite tradition, attending Springridge Mennonite Church in Pincher Creek, Alberta. In the back of my mind I was always interested in the peace side of my church tradition, but it wasn’t until I graduated with an engineering degree that I started to think about how peacemaking was a part of living my faith as well.

I joined a Mennonite Central Committee Work and Learn Tour to El Salvador in 2001, and in learning about that country’s conflict-ridden history, I started to think more about what Mennonites might be doing to actively reduce violence around the world.

I discovered Christian Peacemaker Teams (CPT) through the Mennonite Church Canada website, and decided to go on a CPT delegation to learn more about this organization. While on a CPT trip to Colombia I was drawn to CPT’s spiritually-based, intentional-community style of being a presence in a conflict situation and actively working to “get in the way” of violence.

After some time back home in Calgary thinking and praying about what I was to do with this experience, I decided to quit my job as a computer programmer and join CPT full time. I participated in the month-long CPT training in January 2003 and committed myself to three years working full-time with CPT. I spend about two-thirds of each year working on a CPT project, and the times in between speaking about my CPT experiences, as well as resting.

Soon after training I joined the team in Hebron, where we provide a presence for the civilian population, and work with Palestinian and Israeli peace groups to reduce the violence that is a result of the military occupation of the Palestinian Territories.

You may have read about the two attacks on CPT members near Hebron by masked Israeli settlers while we were accompanying Palestinian children from their village to the village where their school is located (Oct. 18, page 23). Maybe your question is: What in the world is CPT still doing there if it is not safe?

My simple answer is that as CPT members we are aware that violent acts might be committed against us; however, this doesn’t stop us from getting in the way of violence. But we do not “seek” violence. We have many discussions about situations, our actions, and what might happen. As foreigners, we have the choice to leave. Who stays behind if we do that? People who cannot leave and who are without witnesses from outside who can spread their stories to the world.

One CPT trainer says our situation often feels “like sand in the mouth.” While I believe that God is calling me to work with CPT right now, I get scared and intimidated. The natural reaction is to retreat and go to a safe place. Going beyond this fear takes prayer and convincing by your inner self, and it tastes like sand in the mouth.

It’s going out the next morning after being attacked and walking through the same hills with the school children. It’s talking with the Israeli soldiers who stop you and tell you they cannot provide for your safety if you go with the children.

The strength for doing this work comes from many different places. The strength comes from following the example of Jesus in showing another way to respond to violence. The strength comes from knowing that my friends, family and church respect my calling to this work and support me financially, through prayer, and in showing interest in my work.

And the strength comes from remembering that there are many other people in history who have worked nonviolently towards peace, and that there are still more working today all over the world.—Diane Janzen

My journey toward peacemaking

The Anabaptist reformation started in the 1500s and in 1954, and in every year between and since, I suspect.

In 1954, my father was the pastor of a small Baptist church in Arizona. When I was five, my father asked me if I wanted to follow Jesus in entering the waters of baptism. God, however, impressed it upon me that this was not what he wanted me to do at that time. In this way God began the Anabaptist reformation in my life.

When my best friends were sent to fight in Vietnam, I began to meditate on the saying of Jesus, “My kingdom is not of this world. If it were my servants would fight.” My mother pleaded with me to apply for conscientious objector (CO) status.

Long before the war, I had been certain that God’s plans would take me to Canada. For me, the draft was getting in the way of seeking the kingdom of God’s Messiah and his righteousness.

In the essay required for my CO application, I asked: Can the army provide me an opportunity to serve the work that the Prince of Peace began in the world? I sat before a panel of men who looked like ex-marines.

The one with my file asked in a quiet, angry voice, “Did you write this essay?”

“Yes,” I said. He pointed and said, “There is the door.”

Another man asked, “Are you a Jehovah’s Witness or a Quaker?”

“I am a Baptist,” I said. The panel coldly dismissed me without a further word.

My parents seemed to believe in the logic of the Cold War. My father, a veteran himself, reminded me that my mother’s first husband died liberating France. “Had we not fought the Germans,” he said, “all the Jews in the world would have been exterminated.”

“If great armies of people were willing to give their lives fighting against the causes of war, instead of for them,” I responded, “perhaps that war and the Holocaust never would have happened.” I had never heard of Mennonites or Anabaptists, but the Anabaptist reformation was blazing in my heart.

Once in Canada I sought people who were looking for a civilization whose saviour was not the nuclear bomb. It was no easier in Canada for young radical idealists to find work than it was in the United States. I picked a plant from the forest used by florists for about 25 cents an hour, and ate discarded produce from behind supermarkets. I could not get welfare for five years.

Living in the world of Canadian poverty I learned about the deep relationship between broken-spirited people and the Gospel. I was baptized in my early 20s in the Georgia Strait off B.C.’s Sunshine Coast. Some years later, I attended Northwest Baptist Theological Seminary, searching desperately for a language of the Gospel of peace that could meet the need of the severely damaged people I was working with.

My search took me into the early centuries of the Free Church movement, then to the Anabaptist Reformation. It was only a matter of time before my family and I found Emmanuel Mennonite Church in Abbotsford and made it our home church.

Now in my middle years I understand that the way God overturned the process of baptism in my life was a message about the nature of his upside down kingdom. Our greatest witness to peace is our own adult repentance. Because of this, I do not labour for a gospel that simply helps those who are good at helping themselves. I seek to serve the Messiah about whom Mary sang: “The powerful he makes to stand aside. He lifts the poor up out of the ditch; he fills the hungry spirit with his own goods. For those who are satiated with wealth he has no gift.”

On my journey toward peacemaking I have learned one thing: When the world-wide vote for peace is finally held, they shall say, Peace! Peace! But there shall be no peace. But when the poorest spirits throughout the world are helped to understand the Good News as Mary did, and rejoice with her that the salvation of Israel is come despite all human failings, then world peace will truly have come.

For me, Mary’s anthem is the true conscientious objection to the true cause of all violence, and this is the fire that burns at the core of the Anabaptist reformation which will never be quenched.—Max Kirk

The writer is a mediator in private practice in British Columbia.

Peace resources

---

Back to Canadian Mennonite home page

Copyright © Canadian Mennonite. To reprint articles or photos, please contact reprints@canadianmennonite.org. To contact our office or staff, please see our contacts page.