#16: R4 in the Heart of a Mennonite Community

An African American-owned restaurant demolished in Harrisonburg, Va.

This is an edited version of another letter I sent to Ervin Stutzman, executive director of MCUSA. 

MCUSA, whether we like it or not, is at a crossroads, and it's difficult to be at the helm when this happens. But I'm ashamed of how the Mennonite church has dealt with issues of racism and sexism in the past (and present), and I think it's better for us to be at the forefront of change rather than waiting for it to be okay in the rest of the world and then change.

When I was a student at Eastern Mennonite University, I learned that the city of Harrisonburg demolished entire African American neighborhoods in the name of progress during segregation. I wrote a story about this for the campus paper, The Weather Vane. (I don't have a copy of my article, but Lauren McKinney wrote about Proposition R4 in Eightyone.) At one point, I interviewed professors who were around during this time, and asked them what the Mennonite church said or did about this injustice. One looked embarrassed and said they thought it was a good thing at the time. 

People were routed from their homes and the Mennonite church did nothing to stop it. It was ingrained in the Mennonites of Harrisonburg (big proponents of community) that African Americans needed to be relocated for economic progress, and that their community was not important. It has been ingrained in Mennonites of many places that people who do not fit the sexual norm are not of God's creation and at best should be celibate.

We are all racist, homophobic, sexist people at one time or another, whether we mean to be or not. Anyone who thinks they are not these things at some point in their lives is kidding themselves. I think we need to recognize these things in ourselves rather than push it away. It is only when we are honest about one's actions or feelings that we can change. 

I live in the Bronx. My neighborhood is like the UN. I am often the only white face on the bus or subway. I am aware of the different races around me. I used to be embarrassed by this awareness. But now I accept it and I know that the best way to change is to embrace my race and the races of those around me. I try to see my beauty and their beauty, and hope to see our beauty together some day. I smile at those around me, and more often than not, I receive a smile back. I think if more people who are against the official inclusion of LGBTQ members would simply smile at these members and get to know them as people, we would be on a more progressive path. 

#14: Standing With My Community

This is the letter I sent to Ervin Stutzman, regarding MCUSA's statement about the inclusion of LGBTQ members as pastors:

These last few days have made me angry, sad, and tired. Not only has my home state attempted to make discrimination (in the name of religious freedom) legal, my church has once again begged off the responsibility of standing up for the "least of these" in our midst.

That is where these people are. Right here, right now. Whether they are "out" or not, they have been quietly attending Mennonite churches since the beginning, bidding on quilts at relief sales, cooking food for potlucks, serving as ushers or nursery workers, even standing at the pulpit. And yet, when they finally garner the courage to let their true voices rise up and ask for an official setting at the table, we squelch their request beneath the words "Scriptural Authority," "God's Will," "Discernment," "Spectrum of Opinion," "Forgiveness," and "Task Force." 

I am tired of it. I am tired of people I love being treated as though they are unworthy of the priesthood of believers. I am tired of continuing the charade of "discernment," which really means "shut up and let the righteous speak." I am tired of the supporters of our mistreated brothers and sisters having to couch their words of change between phrases like "not that those against the LGBTQ community in church are bigots" in order to get their words of change at least given a breath's chance.

But you know, that's what we all really are. Bigots. Each time we look the other way when a minority is treated like a thug, each time we cover our ears when a disabled person is made fun of, each time we pretend a same-sex couple is only a pair of "really good friends," we have taken part in the system that puts us on the inside and others on the outside. We are all guilty of this.

I am not a theologian. My ethics come from life experience. As a child, I was taught by my Mennonite church to believe being LGBTQ was an abomination. But then I met these "abominations," and I realized how they are simply people with childhoods and histories and loves and hates like me. And that was it. They are like me, and I am like them. They are no more or less perfect than I am. They are my community, and I am not going to let the pleas for "discernment" muffle their voices.