Canadian Mennonite
Volume 10, No. 03
February 6, 2006
Letters
This section is a forum for discussion and discernment. Letters express the opinion of the writer only, not necessarily the position of Canadian Mennonite, the five area churches or Mennonite Church Canada. Letters should address issues rather than criticizing individuals and include contact information. We will send copies of letters referring to other parties to them to provide an opportunity to respond in a future issue if their views have not already been printed in an earlier letter.
Please send letters to be considered for publication to letters@canadianmennonite.org or to Canadian Mennonite, 490 Dutton Drive, Unit C5, Waterloo, ON, N2L 6H7, “Attn: Letter to the Editor.” Letters may be edited for length, style and adherence to editorial guidelines.
Literacy classes an evangelistic tool
As former executive secretary of Africa Inter-Mennonite Mission (1994-2004), I was keenly interested in Lillian Haas’ article, “I can read in my own language,” in the Oct. 3 issue of Canadian Mennonite, page 23.
After years of hard word and much perseverance, the strategy of bringing the gospel to the Siamou ethnic group in the Kenedougou province of Burkina Faso through linguistics and the development of an orthography is bearing fruit. Praise be to God for those who are learning to read and write for the very first time a language that, to date, had only been a spoken language (dialect).
Perhaps it’s understood by your readers that reading and writing Siamou is not the ultimate purpose, though. AIMM translation and literacy workers are in Burkina Faso to put the spoken word into printed form through translation of the Bible, so that people who read may come to know Jesus Christ as Lord and Saviour. The creation of orthography and literacy classes are important steps in that direction and purpose.
Thanks again for including in your publication this important article. Blessings on your ministry to the Mennonite Church.
Singing together a taste of God’s kingdom
I was moved to tears by Glenn Witmer’s story, “Standing together for the Prince of Peace,” Canadian Mennonite, Jan. 9, page 15. The image of Israeli Jews singing “King of kings, and Lord of lords” together with Israeli Muslims was too much. Perhaps it is the image of what the kingdom of God could look like that overpowered me.
When a Muslim friend of mine from Mississauga called to tell me it was Eid, suddenly I realized that in the small town of Port Colborne there were two Muslim families who would be celebrating the holiday. It quickly became clear what I wanted to do. I went to Ten Thousand Villages in Port Colborne, picked out two gifts, wrapped them up, and then went first to the one family and smilingly held out my gift and said, “Happy Eid.” The effect was instantaneous. My Muslim friend broke into smiles and handshakes and expressions of thanks. I carried on and went to the second family where they, too, were astonished and delighted, and hugged me with faces full of smiles.
It was a heartwarming experience for all, especially for me. Reading Witmer’s article made me realize that this was living peace.
Family Ties
Making merry
Did you ever get in bed with six drunken men? That’s the question my grandmother greeted her caregiver with one morning. The young woman laughingly said no, and then subsequently passed on the remark to my mom. Family members, hearing about it later, chuckled in part because it contrasted so vividly from Gram’s life as a tee-totalling, pious churchgoer. We also chuckled because it helps us deal with the sadness we experience as we witness her confusion and bizarre comments. Humour is a gift that helps us carry loads that are too weighty to bear.
My sister Kathy works in the same nursing home where my grandmother lives. One day, she sat beside a woman whose frail health confined her to bed. Kathy listened empathically as the woman described her woes. A silence fell into the conversation. The woman finally broke it by asking, “And how’s your love life, dearie?” A graying grandmother herself, Kathy took delight in the woman’s curiosity, and laughed as she answered, “Well, no one’s asked me that for awhile!” Humour can come from unexpected places and bring refreshing playfulness into the work of caregiving.
A friend’s mother was known for her no-nonsense, irrepressible banter right to the end of life. Moments before she died, she looked at her loved ones and said, “Could we speed this up? It’s taking a long time.” Humour lightens the valleys where the shadow of death rests.
Anytime there is a struggle with chronic physical or emotional illness, humour is cited as a necessary survival tool. Those with loved ones who have Alzheimer’s say that they use two things to cope: “We love a lot and we laugh a lot.”
Family members who walk alongside someone with depression say humour is essential—finding little and big ways to lighten up the drain of persistent sadness. “A merry heart makes a cheerful countenance,” declares the proverb, “but by sorrow of heart the spirit is broken” Proverbs 15:13.
Humour is useful in other kinds of difficult situations. Some parents find humour to be the ingredient they need to transform stuck places they are in with their children. A joke, an exaggerated (but not sarcastic!) expression, or some well-stated hyperbole may cut through the tension and open up space for everybody to breathe easier and gain a more relaxed perspective.
Caring adults might also use humour to help their children see things differently. On one occasion, my dad tried to help me resolve a conflict with my older sister. I railed about her offences, and Dad suggested that some of her actions might be in response to wrongs of my own. “Two wrongs don’t make a right,” I muttered. “No,” Dad agreed, his eyes twinkling, “but two Wrights made an airplane.”
Today I recall the memory with a smile. At the time, stubborn as only a teenager can be, I resisted the cheek he offered. Sometimes we’re open to the possibilities that smiles and laughter can bring. Blessed are we at such times!
Shoes for your feet
Is God a workaholic?
What comes to mind when you think about a good pair of slippers? Perhaps you think of comfort and coziness, especially if they’re the kind that are sort of fuzzy inside.
For me, slippers usually represent either enjoying a time of rest, or staying at home because I’m sick. Both of these modes provoke some helpful questions as we draw a connection with our peacemaking ministries. How does resting fit into the overall work of peace and justice work? Is it possible to proclaim something by doing nothing?
With our missional church language, we often talk about how God is always working in a situation before we even show up. For all the talk about partnering with God, a cynic might conclude that God is a workaholic!
Nevertheless, what if God sometimes takes a rest? A quick reading of Genesis 2:2-3 certainly provides a biblical basis for considering such an idea. Moreover, what if we are called to partner with God in taking time for rest and rejuvenation? The work of advocating for justice and agitating for a deeper peace commitment—these are tiring and seemingly never-ending tasks. Does God call us into any kind of Sabbath in relation to this work?
Whoa! How incredibly hard it is to pull on those slippers and flop down in the armchair for awhile, knowing that the violence and warfare continue, knowing that economic injustice goes unchecked, knowing that racism keeps on creating rifts between people.
Nevertheless, I believe that in the grand scheme of things, the Gospel most fully embodied includes times of Sabbath. On one level, it’s all about preventing burnout—for the long haul; we need those times of sitting and resting. More importantly, it’s about nurturing a rhythm of life where the Holy Spirit can weave healing and hope into all aspects of our lives, rather than a situation where our peacemaking work always emerges from an inner sense of emergency.
In addition to the Sabbath factor, wearing slippers can sometimes indicate being under the weather. I remember times when I stayed home from elementary school because I was sick, and I would loaf around the house all day in my slippers and pajamas. Such was the “official uniform” of one who was not obliged to do anything productive or useful (except getting well again, of course).
Sometimes we need to admit that we are seriously unwell and that we cannot engage the world of peacemaking and justice work. More often, though, I wonder if we have found a convenient excuse for not getting involved precisely because it would disrupt our comfortable lives as we lounge around the church in our proverbial slippers.
What if our inner health actually depends on interrupting our regular, comfy church schedule with active peace witnesses? I believe that letter-writing, prayer vigils, economic justice campaigns, the accompaniment of people living on the margins—in short, the risks of faith—are some of the ministries that will knit us together and heal us more than we even think.
Are we then left with a paradox? On the one hand, down time is an essential ingredient in peace and justice ministry. On the other hand, down time can become a pretext for chronic non-involvement. Might there be a “third way” option, in which we maintain a kind of “Sabbath stance” as we follow Jesus both to the overturning of money tables and to the retreating into prayer? May God show us the way.