Welcoming the Stranger, then and now
This piece was originally published here.
Germantown Mennonite church is the oldest Mennonite church in North America, founded in 1683 in Philadelphia. These early Mennonites did not come to seek safety from persecution, in contrast to the typical early Mennonite narrative in this country. They came to build business opportunities on the Native American trade route now known as Germantown Avenue. They used Lenape land and the Wissahickon River to build and power their paper and linen industries in a burgeoning colony.
These early entrepreneurs participating in William Penn’s religious experiment knew their experience in their German homeland was relatively peaceful, and their immigration experience was unusual; however, their Mennonite siblings in the German countryside were less fortunate. They were being persecuted economically and physically. So, when the Mennonite farmers from rural Germany began to arrive by the boatloads in Philadelphia, the Germantown Mennonites offered them hospitality before they headed out to the Native American lands we now know as Skippack, Franconia and Lancaster. Some of these families would winter with the Mennonites of Germantown, and at the first sign of spring, they would continue their journey toward a permanent home.
This was always a little disappointing to the Mennonites of Germantown. They would have loved for their farming friends to stay with them in Germantown and build their Philadelphia Mennonite community. But this is not what the Mennonite farmers had in mind. They wanted an opportunity to build their own community and farm new land in peace.
There was also the matter that the urban and rural Mennonites did not see eye to eye theologically. The Germantown Mennonites were not ones to wear plain clothes. In fact, some of the the urban Mennonites were downright garish in their dress. There are stories of one particular silk maker in the Germantown congregation that would wear a beautiful, colorful silk coat down the muddy street, an affront to rural Mennonite sensibilities.
So while Germantown’s hospitality was appreciated, it was not a place where the next wave of Mennonites wanted to make a home. They were not made for city living. They wanted their freedom and independence expressed in a quieter rural life.
In 21st century-Philadelphia, the Mennonites of Germantown continue to live in freedom and security, but a new wave of Mennonites have moved here from Indonesia and Latin America. They have come to this country seeking safety, like the waves of 17th century-Mennonites headed to quiet land to farm. This time they are staying, and making their homes in South Philadelphia.
I met Pastor Aldo Siahaan of Philadelphia Praise Center in 2010, when Indonesians and Latinexs were moving to this country in waves, because their lives were in danger back home. It was immediately clear to me that the story of Germantown and of this new Mennonite congregation were connected.
Siahaan leads a community of immigrants (documented and undocumentsed) from Indonesia who were escaping religious persecution, and he shared his worship space with a community of undocumented folks from Mexico and Central America who were escaping extreme violence and poverty. These new Mennonites are no less deserving of Germantown’s hospitality than that first wave settlers from Germany and Switzerland who were looking to worship, work, raise their family and be a part of a community in this new-to-them place.
At Pastor Siahaan’s urging, Germantown Mennonite Church joined New Sanctuary Movement, an immigrant-led organization working to make sure undocumented folks in Philadelphia are safe. The work with New Sanctuary Movement means that when a family is taken into sanctuary in a congregation, Germantown Mennonite Church shows up to welcome them and bless them.
In December, Carmela and her four children were taken into sanctuary in a North Philadelphia church, and people of faith from all over the city came to cheer for Carmela, to commit to pray for her and her family, and to bless her with our prayers and love. And when Carmela made the brave decision to allow her children to go to school – even though they faced deportation – we showed up with balloons, signs of support, prayers and songs to welcome those children back into some sort of normalcy.
Christian hospitality for immigrants now means that when Elias and Brady, teenage immigrants from Honduras, go to court to petition for asylum, Germantown Mennonite folks show up to offer prayer and presence. My Spanish is terrible, and Elias and Brady are still learning English, but they know who I am, and we greet each other at every court date with hugs and smiles. And when they come over for lunch, even though we have to communicate with a translator, we manage to find a shared language in our love of World Cup football.
Christian hospitality means that when we Mennonites of Philadelphia get together to plan our yearly joint Pentecost service, we work hard to make sure that immigrant voices and stories are shared and heard widely. Just because Germantown was the first Mennonite church in Philadelphia doesn’t mean we have a monopoly on Mennonite theology or identity. The newest wave of Mennonites in Philadelphia have so much to teach us about what it means to follow Jesus.
There are clear difference in what welcoming the stranger looks like now versus 300 years ago. Immigrants have many more hurdles, and face much more difficulty living and surviving in this rich nation. They know the persecution the early Mennonites faced. Like the early Mennonites, they know that if they stayed in their homeland they could be next to die. Why else would folks risk their lives and endure the indignities of the immigration system, if they could find safety in their country of origin? In the words of poet and immigrant Warson Shire, “No one leaves home, unless home is the mouth of a shark.”
While the first Mennonites to settle in Philadelphia weren’t seeking safety from persecution, we were connected to our 17th-century Anabaptist siblings, and knew that those who came after us were living in fear. We knew their persecution was ours too. In the 21st century, it’s no different. There is a sizable immigrant community in Philadelphia; our 21st-century response should be no different than it was 334 years ago. Their persecution is ours, and their liberation is ours too.
What looked like a riot…..
Sermon Preached on 5.20.18
Based on Acts 2:1-21
Sometimes people see what they want to see. Sometimes folks hear what they want to hear.
What is a peaceful protest to one person is a violent clash in the eyes of another.
What is an honest expression of fears and doubts to one person is a personal failing in the eyes of another.
One person’s good boundary setting is another person’s lack of compassion.
One person’s difficult decision can be seen by another as selfishness.
Cursing is an offense to some, but to others is the only way to get to the sharp, painful mess they are struggling to articulate.
It’s all in who is watching and listening, and what they are trained to see and hear.
Sometimes we just see what we want to see. Sometimes folks hear what they want to hear.
This week while the US embassy was opened in Jerusalem, thousands of Palestinians were continuing their month long “March of Return” at the border fence in Gaza. They were marching to protest the blockade that prevents supplies from coming in and out of Gaza, and to demand to return home. Conditions in Gaza are unlivable. Most water is contaminated, food is scarce and there is no work, and no way to support a family there. Reports began to come out saying that Palestinians in Gaza were dying in the clashes against military. But there were no clashes. There were protests on one side of a fence, while the military on the other side shot into the crowds inside Gaza–Killing at least 62, and injuring over one thousand.
Sometimes people just see what they want to see. What confirms their narrative, and their suspicion of others.
Our text today is the story from the inside of the Pentecost experience. The writer, Luke, was in the room where it happened. And he watched as the disciples gathered and prayed, and as the spirit descended on them like fire. He listened as those in the room as they began to speak in other languages, unable to control the words coming from their mouths. He bore witness to the disciples into the room speaking words to people that they had never met before from places they had never before visited, in languages they had never studied.
Luke testified to what he saw as someone close to the action, as someone that saw this pentecost day from the beginning, from fear in the upper room to a spark of the divine, to languages being spoken and people understanding.
What a chaotically joyful day that must have been.
The folks that could hear and understand were other folks that were oppressed by the Roman empire. All of those bizarre names of people groups listed in this passage were regions under Roman rule. So the spirit, which set the hearts and heads of the disciples on fire, was speaking to other communities under occupation.
I’m sure the Roman occupiers saw this chaotic display. And from their perspective, this gathering would most certainly be a threat. I’m sure that the Roman Newspapers would have reported this event as an uprising of occupied peoples from all over the empire, threatening to set the empire on fire. Or perhaps they would describe this as a terrorist group.
People see what they want to see. They hear what they want to hear.
And the spirit doesn’t care what it looks like. The spirit is not concerned with optics or perception. The spirit knows what she’s doing when she fills a space, when she rushes into the spaces where we pray, when she descends on the baptized with a call to go forth.
When Peter went out to the crowd he began to preach. Or more, specifically he began to quote the prophet Joel, saying:
In the last days it will be, God declares,
that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh,
and your children shall prophesy,
and the young shall see visions,
and the older shall dream dreams.
I will pour out my spirit on all people, regardless of status,
and they shall prophesy.
Peter was quoting scripture to explain what was happening in this chaos. He was the Public Relations officer for the early church. There was prophesy, visioning and dreaming. The spirit was being poured out onto the disciples, onto the old and young, giving them a vision for the future.
The children were sharing their visions of the future together, one without occupation and violence. The young were visioning God’s reign while the old were sharing the dreams they had held since childhood. And together, in a great cacophony of sound, the church was born. A mess of genders, races, cultures, unified by their shared experience of occupation under the Roman Empire, unified by their desire to follow Jesus, who taught them how to live eternal life, a life without fear.
These folks, filling the streets of Jerusalem with the sounds of many languages, were most certainly a threat to the empire. I’m sure neighbors ran for security, because there was an unlawful gathering, and people were BBQ where they shouldn’t. I’m sure some wondered if there were criminals in the crowd that were violating parole. Maybe others wondered about the documentation of all of these foreigners gathered in the streets. Maybe the crowds of displeased that gathered to watch this Pentecost spectacle screamed, “You are in the Roman empire, speak Greek!”
Now I like a well organized worship service as much as the next person. I feel safe in it. I feel in control. But the church did not begin in a controlled environment. And the church does not have life when we strangle it with our control, our order and our organization.
The church was born into a mess. It was born into a moment when every one of them in the street was seen as a threat to those in power. It was born into complete chaos and disarray. There in that mess the church was born in fire and wind. And here in the mess of life the church continues to be reborn, renewed, and transformed.
So let’s embrace the mess of life in the church, where the songs aren’t perfect, and the words aren’t always polished, where we sometimes arrive late with uncombed hair or mismatched socks. Let’s embrace this messy life, and seek out more mess, the kind that challenges our notions of what it means to follows Jesus, of what it means to be a peacemaker, of what it means to see the world from a position of power. Because there in that chaotic mess, the church is being reborn. And those birthing pains are real. The spirit groans and writhes and spins, and the church is born again.
People will see what they want to see. They will hear what they want to hear. But we will know that in the chaotic mess of fire and wind and languages, the spirit is alive. We know that. AMEN.