Mennonites, until recent decades, haven’t practiced liturgical seasons. It’s only been in recent generations that we’ve incorporated the seasons of Lent, Easter, Pentecost, Advent and Epiphany into our worship.
I, for one, really love the rhythm of life that these liturgical seasons offer us. They connect to the spiritual seasons of life we all go through. In Advent, we wait and anticipate the incarnation, when God sends God’s self to us in human form. Some years that idea connects with me more than others. Some years the act of incarnation just knocks me over, and other years I struggle to understand it.
The same is true in the season of Lent. Today we begin the journey to the cross with Jesus. In truth, we’re on that journey every day, but during the season of Lent we remember that part of the labor we do together. And, friends, it is sometimes labor. Sometimes the journey of discipleship is hard and confusing, it’s dark and it’s uncertain.
In the season of Lent, the wider church has a practice of giving things up. Sometimes people give up chocolate or coffee, which may seem like a silly thing to give up for 40 days. But, think about it, if we give up that thing that we use as a crutch, we have to face the reality that we are dependant creatures. We depend on things like coffee or chocolate to get us through a rough day. These creature comforts make us feel better. And God calls us back into dependence on God.
It’s a small gesture to give these things up, and giving up these things calls us to remember in our longing that it is God that sustains, feeds, and comforts us. We do not do this on our own.
Last year, Reba and I decided to take the season of Lent to look at the ways we use plastic in our house. It was really hard–we had to look at everything from our bathroom toiletries to our laundry detergent. We tried to make this Lenten practice more than an act of piety. Whenever we felt frustrated that we couldn’t get our favorite items anymore, we would take a deep breath and try to remember why we were giving up plastics. Our practice was to remind us who the giver of life was, who has control. That breath prevented us from becoming militant or perfectionistic in our Lent practice, and helped us focus instead on our intention–to remember that this is about God’s work in (and on) us.
This year, Reba and I decided to double down on this plastic free Lent practice. We’re going to work on seeing how much more plastic we can eliminate from our lives. And to be honest, this has me nervous. What more do I have to give up for Lent? Cheese? Milk? MEAT?! In the weeks leading up to Lent, I had intended to think through some of what this means for our family, but I didn’t have time. So, we’re jumping into the season today without any preparation. And, once again, more than even eliminating plastics from our lives, we’re preparing to lean on God to meet our needs, not the convenience of cheap, disposable plastics. This practice, I hope will deepen that dependance on God, in this season of discipleship.
So here’s the challenge for you–what can you give up that will help you get in contact with your need for God? Or, what can you take on as a daily practice that will help you remember that you are not in control? I invite you to join me in considering this spiritual practice as a way to connect to our deep need for God in this season of Lent.
A piece I wrote for my local Mennonite conference. Check it out.
I wrote a piece for my local Mennonite conference newsletter. Check it out here for a snazzy layout.
Or read below:
Every Summer since 2015, I have been leading a delegation to the West Bank with Christian Peacemaker Teams. I value the opportunity to walk with people as they understand the occupation from the perspective of everyday folks. We stay in Palestinian communities, eat local cuisine, and hire Palestinian tour guides and bus drivers. Once we get to Hebron, we join in the work of Christian Peacemaker Teams, as we accompany children to school, and ensure that Palestinian rights are upheld in this occupied West Bank city.
One of the other reasons I go is because this place challenges my sense of hospitality. I always notice, after a trip like this, the limits I have placed on my hospitality. And it is humbling.
In the summer of 2018, on the first day of the delegation I was leading, I got the delegation lost on our way to our first appointment. We were on a public bus, and I asked the bus driver if we were going to Old Anata Road. He smiled and nodded, and dropped us off in Anata, the refugee camp.
When we got off the bus, I very quickly realized that I was in the wrong place. I asked the shopkeepers if they could speak english. No one could but a couple helpful shopkeepers called their cousins in the US and Canada and put them on the phone to help me out.
I asked the helpful cousins on the other side of the world–where is Old Anata road? And they said, “Just walk right up the hill and you’ll find it”. I started up the hill, and very quickly we found the separation wall. And I realized that we were on the wrong side of the wall from our destination.
I started looking for anyone else that could help. I ran into a man doing construction and asked again, “Do you speak english?” He shook his head apologetically, but then lit up. He jumped in his beat up Toyota, and gestured for me and the team to follow him.
I wasn’t sure if I should follow this stranger. But I didn’t know what choice I had. It was painfully hot at 9 in the morning, and we needed help.
So I asked my delegation to follow me while I followed this stranger wherever he was leading us. The man began backing his car up the hill, stopping occasionally to gesture to us to follow him. He backed into the driveway of his home, and ran up the stairs to his house, turning to invite us in. We did not know what to expect.
We entered his home, and there sat his entire family in the living room–children, wife, and an Aunt. They jumped up, and welcomed us to sit where they had been sitting. They brought us water, then tea, then coffee, then pomegranate and grapefruit juice. And THEN some sweets.
Still no one was speaking English.
My delegates were looking at me, asking quietly, “What are we doing here? Are we going to get to our destination?” And I asked them to be patient.
That’s when Islam walked in. Islam Issa is 22, beautiful and spoke nearly perfect English, which she learned from watching Hollywood movies. She greeted us enthusiastically, and we got to know each other. Islam helped me to determine what I already knew–that we were nowhere near our destination. Her father called a taxi company and they sent us a van to pick us up. But before we left for our next destination, the family insisted that we return the next night for dinner.
And we did. We came back the next night and the Issa family made us mokluba–a chicken, rice and vegetable dish that is a most delicious treat. They made stuffed grape leaves and baklava and treated us like royal guests. It was so generous, it felt like an embarrassing extravagance.
My Arabic is abysmal, and the only one of the Issa family to speak English was Islam, so our “conversations” with this family involved pictures on my phone, gestures and giggles about language barriers.
But despite all the limitations, it was one of the best nights of fun I’ve had in quite some time. We made new friends that night. And these are friends that I speak to still on a regular basis. We “talk” via social media, mostly through emojis with the mom, and with more conversations with Islam.
This summer, I visited with the Issa family again, and we enjoyed another evening of hospitality. I brought them a gift from Frazer Mennonite–a quilted wall hanging. And they fed me nonstop for hours.
We’re already making plans for next summer–I’m going to work on my Arabic in preparation for our next visit, and they plan to teach me how to make mokluba.
The Issa family stops everything when I am in town. They welcome me into their home and make me feel so special. Their generous hospitality always challenges me to look at my own hospitality. What are my cultural limits? What are my personal limits? Why do make sharing a meal and time with friends (and strangers) less of a priority than tasks and productivity?
I have deep gratitude for the care and hospitality I am shown in Palestine. Given our country’s policies, they could hate me. I wouldn’t blame them if they did. And yet, Palestinians like the Issa family have shared food, time, laughter and conversation with me. I reminds me of the time that Jesus, himself a Palestinian, shared with people. His agenda was a meal shared with friends. His last instructions to us was to eat, drink and remember him.
These yearly trips to Palestine are two weeks of communion. I bring that home, and use that to challenge the ways I spend my time. Is my time about busyness, or is it about conversation, a shared meal and deeper relationship?
During the season of Lent, and just a few days before our family moved into our new (to us) home in the suburbs, I gave up plastic for lent. Actually, to be clear, I have called it a “Less Plastic Lent”, because I knew that there would be some things I’d have trouble getting without plastic. The goal was to be mindful about our plastic use and its impact on the world.
My daughter, Reba, and I were well aware of our plastic use. We’d been living in a temporary place for the last six months and were eating out–a lot. We joked that we needed to make reparations to the earth for our terrible consumption habits during that season, but after a while it wasn’t funny any more. While we were bringing home disposable plastic containers, and recycling them faithfully, we were learning that our recyclable waste was no longer being taken by China and recycled–much of it was going straight into landfills. So, as we were moving into a new home at the beginning of lent, it seemed like a really good time to change our habits.
I want to share with you some of the changes we made. I don’t share them as an act of piety, or to make anyone feel badly about the way the organize their household (whoever is without sin should cast the first stone, says Jesus, and I couldn’t agree more). I want to share this with you because the theme of lent in my congregation this year–God makes beautiful things out of dust–has been the constant reverberation under my lenten practice this season. I’ve asked myself with each change in habit, “What is God doing here?”
So, here’s what I changed:
Toilet Paper.
I now buy toilet paper from whogivesacrap.com (that’s REALLY the name of the company!), a small start up. They make their products using bamboo, a more sustainable source of wood. And they wrap their individual rolls in paper, rather than in plastic like most other toilet paper you find in the store. The toilet paper is 3 ply, and thicker than I expected, which was a nice change from the regular Scott tissue I had used. And it’s comparable in price to other product. This is a subscription service, which is not everyone’s thing, but I like it. A big box of TP comes right to my door every other month.
Shampoo, Conditioner, Face Cleaner, Body Wash, Lotion.
This was a scary one for me. I’m kind of fussy about what I use on my hair and skin. But, I found another subscription service that I really like–Plaineproducts.com I’ll admit that it’s pretty pricey compared to regular shampoo and toiletries. But, the products come in aluminum bottles with reusable plastic pumps. When you are done with your bottle, return it, and Plaine Products sends another bottle.
Lush is another toiletry company that is trying to address plastic waste. They make shampoo and conditioner bars. Also, many local farmers markets have local folks that make these products too.
Dish and Laundry Detergent
I’m a fan of those pods that you throw in your washing machine and dishwasher. And I found I another subscription service that will send the product to you every few months (Dropps.com). I like them and they come in some natural, gentle, non-chemical scents. They arrive on my doorstep in cardboard containers. No plastic used at all. I have friends that make their own laundry detergent. I applaud them, but I’m not there yet. Maybe one day. For now, I’m using Dropps.
Cleaning Products
There’s not a lot of plastic free options out there. Meyers has concentrate products, but they all come in plastic. But cleancult.com is coming out in April with a subscription service of products that come in cardboard milk cartons. And in some organic food markets, there are places where you can refill containers of your favorite cleaning supplies.
Toothbrushes and Toothpaste
There are bamboo toothbrushes out there. We haven’t needed to get any yet because our plastic ones are still quite usable. Also bitetoothpastebits.com has toothpaste “pills” you bite on to create toothpaste. They come in glass bottles. I like them!
Now for the really hard stuff. Let’s talk about our food containers.
Plastic Wrap
I’ve switched to fabric covered in beeswax. You can make them yourself or by them from a company called “beeswraps”. They cover leftover dishes, the half tomato that goes in the fridge, and other things like that. And you can wash them off, hang them up to dry, and reuse them. My partner, Charlie, likes them because the beeswraps don’t get all stuck to themselves like plastic wrap does.
Milk
I switched to glass jars of milk and creamer, which I get at Kimberton Whole Foods. You can also get them at Whole Foods and Moms Organic Market.
Condiments
Most come in glass and plastic, so I am choosing glass every time.
Snack Foods
Instead of buying granola bars and cookies for the kids to snack on, I’ve been making muffins and cookies and keeping them in the freezer. My household seems to really like this for the most part. But they have missed the convenient Clif bars that we usually keep around.
Bread
Often bread comes in two layers of plastic nowadays. What a bummer. So, we started making our own bread! I’m kind of obsessed with it right now. We bought a bread maker, which I guess is cheating, but it is so nice to come home to the smell of baking bread. And I’m freezing leftover bread to make bread pudding, bread crumbs, or croutons.
Cheese and Meat
This has been the hardest one for me. I’m working on finding a local butcher, and will either bring my own container or have them wrap the meat and cheese in paper. This is a hard one at a regular store, but it can be done! Still a work in progress…
I also buy a part of a cow from my Aunt (anyone want to go in on one with us?) who raises it in North Central Pennsylvania. The butcher gives us an option to wrap it in paper, so the only thing that comes in plastic is the ground beef.
Hummus
I’ve started making my own hummus, using a recipe from my favorite place to get the chickpea delight–Palestine! And I’ve fallen in love with hummus making. I’m always working to get the creamiest hummus I can make, and every batch gets a little better.
Drinks
I’ve been keeping iced tea or orange juice in the fridge (the kind from concentrate, which is contained in aluminum and paper) so that we’re not tempted to go buy liters of drinks. That means keeping lots of fresh lemons around. And the compost pile loves those citrus peels!
Bulk Food shopping
For things like sugar, flour, oats, nuts, beans, and rice, I’m going to Moms Organic or Kimberton whole foods. You can bring your own container, or bring your own bags (I bring fabric bags) to fill and weigh. Moms even has vegetable based plastic bags that biodegrade, in case you forget to bring your own bags or containers.
Fruits and Vegetables
Instead of buying a bag of oranges or lemons or such, I’m buying individual ones. Lettuce has been difficult here, truthfully. They all seem to be wrapped in plastic. And buying like this is certainly more expensive than going to Aldis or the Produce Junction to buy veggies.
Where it has been harder
Tortilla chips. It’s hard to find them in paper bags. And we aren’t ready to start making them.
Surprisingly, spaghetti containers all come with those little plastic viewing windows, or in all plastic. We do have the ability to make pasta, so maybe we’ll start doing that regularly. But I’m not quite ready for that yet either.
Yogurt and sour cream have also been hard but I will re-use those containers for applesauce making this fall so they have have a lot more use and won’t go into recycling immediately.
We still need to buy trash can liners. And I haven’t found bird seed that doesn’t come in plastic, and we bought new pillows–and you guessed it–they came wrapped plastic! There’s still so much for which we have to be mindful.
I also recognize that the subscription services offer plastic free options, but will have more gas used with delivery. Also many of these products I’m trying aren’t locally sourced, so that’s also problematic.
The impact of this on my life
All of the changes we are making feel like things we can continue to do after lent is over. And that was the goal. It was a real eye opener to go into a grocery store the first time and realize just how much plastic was in there. It was discouraging, to be honest. But I had a lot of encouragement from friends, and I turned it into a game. Find a way to get toilet paper without it being wrapped in plastic–challenge accepted!
The food cost has been about the same, even with more expensive veggies and fruits, probably because we’re making more food from scratch. Cleaning supplies are probably about the same too. I’m still waiting to see what toiletries end up looking like, but that looks like it is costing quite a bit more.
We have been filling up about one bag of trash a week. Far less than before. We still have a lot of recycling, but more and more of it is paper, which we will eventually be able to use in the woodstove or in the worm bin. And we’ll have a better sense of the trash and recycling situation once we are really done unpacking all of our boxes from the move.
For me, this has been a way to take on an environmental practice AND a way to be more connected to God’s creation. I’m appreciating the spiritual practices of cooking and baking again, and recognizing that they don’t really take up that much time. Plus, a little time making something delicious is good for my spirit, and for my body.
I also have a heightened sense of packaging now. I notice everything. I can’t NOT see the packaging anymore. The other day, I had to buy sugar while at Kimberton whole foods. I couldn’t find a single sugar option that didn’t come in plastic. And I was really angry about it. It has been important for me to have eyes to see the ways my consumption has impacted my spirit and God’s creation.
I’ve had to learn to give myself grace during this season. This is a practice, not a perfection, and there will be times when I have to buy sugar, and it only comes wrapped in plastic. I am learning to give myself grace to find a better option next time, and to make the steps I can, where I can.
Most importantly, this has been a valuable practice of attentiveness to my impact on this earth. And it’s a practice I expect to continue from here on out.
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.
Cross Posted at http://germantownmennonite.org/2017/09/15/emerging/
The ground beneath us shifted in 2017, and to be honest, it really messed me up. I’ve been in a haze of sadness, anger, and most of all, uncertainty. How do we live when the world is like this? What do we do? How do we respond?
I’ve had no words. Everything I’ve said has felt hollow, or wrong, or disingenuous. (Hey, even pastors go through this.)
Some good spiritual direction, good friends, and hard conversations have helped me to see the world through the eyes of a God at work, present and full of love for all of us.
During the last several months, I’ve noticed that my response to this ever-changing world has been to withdraw. I’ve spent more time at home. I’ve comforted myself with food, with distractions, with anything that will fill the emptiness and sadness I’ve felt this year.
I know that these withdraws have been to protect my tender heart. I see that now. But, what we need in times like this is community. Even though it has felt difficult to reach out, I’m always glad that I do. I need community to remind me that I’m not alone, that we are strong and powerful, and that we have resources in each other.
I sense that I am not the only one that has been in hiding this year. Last Sunday, as we sang together, I sensed in the room that we were relieved to be together, that we needed to sing together, we needed to see each other and share communion together. For the first time in a while, I felt us breathe together, and it felt good. Really good. And I wanted more of it.
As we begin the fall season, and the weather changes along with the trees, I invite you to reach out to your community. Share a meal together. Invite each other into your imperfect homes and lives. And tell the truth about your lives. Because I don’t know what things will look like in the future, but I know that I want to walk with you. I know that I need you to survive. I know that we were built for community. So let’s be community to each other.
Cross0Posted at http://germantownmennonite.org/2017/10/05/sing-a-new-song-into-being/
Since the Church retreat a few weeks ago, I’ve been thinking about the “Hymn-Off” we did that Sunday morning. I had a song in mind to win, and it did not win. My Life Flows On came in a close second to Wade in the Water.
I’ve been trying to figure out why. My LIfe Flows On has been the anthem for this church for many years. When I think about being voted out of Franconia Conference (20 years ago this month), I think about singing and weeping together–”No storm can shake my inmost calm, while to that rock I’m clinging. Since love is Lord of heaven and earth, how can I keep from singing?” I also think about singing this song to my children in their cribs, weeping over what storms they may one day face.
It’s the song of my heart. And it’s the heart song of many others here. But, that hymn off demonstrated a new song brewing in people’s hearts.
Last week, I met with the folks that are working on a new Mennonite Hymnal. One of the songs that’s coming out of this hymnal process is called, “Sing a New World into Being.” As we met together, we pondered what world the current hymnal is singing into being, and we wondered what world the new hymnal would sing into being.
And I thought about this weekend at retreat, where the young folks sang Wade in the Water with gusto, while the out of tune piano grooved along. I thought about the enthusiasm of our kid’s singing, and how heartfelt it was.
Wade in the Water may have been a fluke in the Hymn-off. It may not be our heart song, but it did point to a new direction. We may be moving from the image of clinging to God our rock in hard times, to counting on God to stir things up. It’s holding on for dear life vs. confidence that God’s going to stir things up.
I still sing My Life Flows On, but maybe I need to recognize that this is a song from a certain time in my life. Maybe there’s a new song stirring–one of confidence in God among us, stirring up the water in our troubled world.
Cross posted at http://germantownmennonite.org/2017/10/10/twenty-years-ago/
This week marks 20 years since Franconia c
onference voted to expel Germantown Mennonite Church from its body. Germantown won’t celebrate it, and most won’t mourn it. At this point, twenty years later, it’s just a fact. We were removed from the conference because our baptism and welcome of folk who are queer was just too much for that conference to handle.
I’ve been part of the Germantown congregation since 1996–in fact, I joined the church just a week before Franconia’s decision (I was 23). So, exclusion from the denomination is all I’ve known about church life in my adulthood.
I remember the pain of those early years after being removed. There were a lot of Sundays where sharing time was tearful or angry. Visitors would remark that we seemed to sing hymns in minor keys. But more recently, I notice the creative energy, the freedom, and the joy we have felt being together. We’ve seen the power of the local church community to care for each other, and to support our neighbors. We’ve seen the joy of watching a large group of kids grow from babies to teens, and supported them on their faith journeys. We’ve embodied the Anabaptist vision without a denomination, and developed language to help us understand our theology as outsiders to the denomination, but insiders in many other respects. We’ve welcomed queer folks into our body–and we’re learning to do more than just welcome. We’re celebrating and blessing our queer participants as people created in God’s image.
Maybe you’ll mark the 20 years outside of Franconia conference with grief. Maybe you’ll mark it with joy. I remember it as a time when I saw the church come together in protective, loving, fierce ways. While we felt the death of separation and broken relationships at the time, the death has given way to new life, new energy, and deeper love. That death marked us, and it created fertile soil for all that we are today.
My first experience with foot washing was not at a foot washing service. It was when my friend, Karla, gave me a pedicure.
I didn’t ask her to–she really wanted to do this for me. And I didn’t know how to say no.
Karla was newly married, and new to Philadelphia. Her family was from Honduras, and while her English was proficient, it wasn’t her heart language. Philadelphia was lonely and unfamiliar. And she was pregnant with her first child, a fact that took her by surprise. She was seven months pregnant, stooping over my dusty summer feet, and I was so embarrassed.
When I first met Karla, she became like a sister to me almost immediately. I had just had my first child, and after 2 years of full time work, I was quitting, to stay home with my energetic son, while I incubated the hope of another child soon to come.
I didn’t love staying at home with my son. Some parents are cut out for playgrounds, sippy cups, stroller walks, and nap time, but I found it isolating and lonely. Mustering up enthusiasm for legos and Sponge Bob Squarepants was not something I could fake. I longed to feel more useful to the wider world, even while understanding intellectually that my son needed me.
Karla was easy to talk to. She also knew loneliness. She was trying to find her way in this new world, just was I was in a new season of my life.
So one day, she bought a foot bath and told me she was going to give me a pedicure. The details are hazy, but I remember that she took a lot of time on her knees in front of me–her body growing hope, as she began to enter that uncomfortable third trimester. She washed my feet, trimmed my unkempt nails, and scrubbed my rough feet until they were soft again. Then she applied a festive color–a color of that didn’t reflect our inner lives, but one that seemed to point towards something new.
Sometimes, when we look back on that moment together, Karla expresses such gratitude for our friendship, and I feel a wave of discomfort thinking about that beautiful gesture of love. It’s the same feeling I get at our annual Maundy Thursday foot washing service. As a pastor, I’m comfortable to serve whoever comes to me, but to have someone help me stirs up feelings of exposure and vulnerability. I don’t want anyone’s help, and I certainly don’t want anyone to see my weakness or vulnerability. And that’s when control and anger take charge within me. If I control this Maundy Thursday service, it can’t penetrate me. If I am angry (at something, anything), I don’t have to think about feeling vulnerable.
This morning, I went for my first spring pedicure. I want my toes to look great with the Easter dress and peep toe heels on Sunday–at least that’s what I tell myself every year when I go. But, honestly, that’s control talking. The truth is I don’t want my feet to look bad at the foot washing service. I don’t want anyone to touch my scaly winter skin, or run their hands over my stiff, cracked heels, or see that I still have remnants of last summer’s color on my toenails. I don’t want anyone to see the true me. I don’t want anyone to see me as anything but strong and self sufficient. I fear any sign of vulnerability. And the Maundy Thursday service rips the bandage off my festering fears every year.
Yesterday in church we sang Will you let me be your Servant, a song that was a very important part of my wedding ceremony with Charlie twenty-two years ago. The first verse filled me again with fear and joy–
Will you let me be your servant
Let me be as Christ to you
Pray that I may have the grace to
Let you be my servant too.
The intention of this verse is my own. But the practice of it is another thing. And yet, I’m grateful for friends and partners that welcome my vulnerability, and that insist on it as a prerequisite for relationship. I’m grateful for this vulnerable practice every Holy week, a reminder of the lengths we must be willing to go to for each other as we follow Jesus to death and resurrection.
On Sunday I baptized two young people in my congregation–one was thirteen, and one was thirty. Both talked–f
rom their own developmental place–about the importance of faith and the church in their lives. The teenager talked about the church as a place where–unlike other parts of his life–he’s not bullied, but loved for who his is.” He said, “Jesus was bullied, so I think he understands how I feel, but Jesus was also surrounded by people that loved him, and that’s how church feels to me.”
The thirty year old is someone I’ve know for much of his life. He was unsure about baptism for many years–he’s the kind of person that needed to talk it through, to think it through–he needed to be absolutely sure. He described baptism as “coming home.” It’s coming to a faith that has meaning and makes sense, and coming into a community that loves and cares for each other.
After they confessed their faith, I baptized them with water from the same river that our spiritual ancestors had baptized their own for the last 300 years, and I welcomed them officially into the body of Christ (even though we all knew they’d been part of the body for some time). I prayed that the holy spirit would be present to these two young men, just as the dove descended on Jesus at his baptism.
And just as I said “Amen,” a dog appeared out of nowhere, fully immersed himself in the water beside me, emerged and shook loose his coat, baptizing me and everyone gathering around me. To me, I saw this dog not as an unexpected intruder, but as a sign of the Holy Spirit at work.
After the Holy Spirit showed up in kanine form, I had this twinge of sadness that my kids haven’t yet chosen baptism. In the Mennonite tradition, baptism is about an “adult confession of faith”, and both kids are at the age where baptism would be an option for them.
I will not be that parent–especially as a pastor–that forces their child to make a confession of faith. I counsel anxious parents to let their child make their own decisions, and trust that they will follow in the way of Jesus.
But we ultimately don’t know if our kids will do that. We don’t know that they will choose Christianity. Maybe they’ll choose nothing. Maybe they will choose a brand of Christianity that we don’t like. Or maybe they will choose another religion altogether.
Someone recently reminded me that parenting is about providing our kids with roots and wings. Our roots are the Christian faith–the stories, the example of Jesus, and the values we instill. The wings are the freedom to ask the 
questions, to be their own person, to be fully the people they were made by God to be.
I feel pretty good about the roots, but some days–like the days I baptize teenagers that aren’t my children–I feel a little sad that my kids have the freedom to choose not to be baptized, not to follow in the way of Jesus.
This is the most challenging part of parenting–the letting go part. I can’t make my kids love Jesus as much as I do. In fact, trying to make them will have negative consequences, I’m sure. But, I have to trust that they will make good choices and surround themselves with good people, seeking God’s spirit as they go.
Whether my children choose baptism at thirteen or thirty–or maybe never–I have to trust that God’s Spirit will be at work in them and on them, in whatever form the Spirit takes–a dove, a still small voice, a sigh too deep for words, or maybe a wet dog.
This piece has also been published at Practicing Families and Mennoworld blog.