Everything New is Old Again
“18 Jesus
asked, “What is God’s kingdom like? To what can I compare it?19
It’s like a mustard seed that someone took and
planted in a garden. It grew and developed into a tree and the birds
in the sky nested in its branches.”
20 Again
he said,“To what can I compare God’s kingdom? 21
It’s like yeast, which a woman took and hid in a
bushel of wheat flour until the yeast had worked its way through the
whole.” (Luke 13:18-21, CEB)
I’m reading a collection of essays
edited by Delbert F. Plett, Q.C., called Old Colony Mennonites in
Canada, 1875 to 2000. Today’s
thoughts arose there.
In the
1870’s, Mennonites from Fuerstenlandt,
Bergthal and Chortitz
colonies in Russia emigrated to Canada, onto a large block of land reserved by
the Canadian Government for what would be a mass migration of
agriculturalist settlers. Before making the big move, a privilegium
was signed with Canada that guaranteed them freedom of religion,
freedom from military service and the right to educate their children
in their own language. Not being totally of one mind on questions of
music, for example, and the approach to “worldly influences,”
they settled more or less in groups: the more-conservative
Rheinlaender and the
slightly-less-conservative Bergthaler.
Manitoba
became a full-fledged province in the meanwhile, and education fell
to the provinces generally, and in time and with changing
governments, yesterday’s privilegium
became today’s scrap paper. Some of the Rheinlaender
moved to the Hague, Osler, Warman area where another reserve had been
set up for them in the 1890s, but both in Manitoba and Saskatchewan,
the noose on public, English education geared toward ensuring
responsible Canadian citizenship was tightening around the
communities. In the 1920s, many Rheinlaender (Old Colony)
church communities packed up and
moved to Mexico, where a new privilegium
remains in effect to this day.
Much
as we moderns like to think of groups like the Amish
and Old Colony
Mennonites as ultra-conservative, ultra traditionalist and—in some
cases—living anachronisms, the impulse of clinging to deeply held
convictions to the point of uprooting and moving, enduring ridicule
and persecution probably has something to teach us. What does it
mean, after all, to be salt and light in the world if the salt is no
longer salty?
To
already-settled American Mennonites, the Old
Colony/Bergthal communities in
Manitoba were a mission field. General Conference and Mennonite
Brethren traveled among the villages and preached a new gospel, one
heavily influenced by the American pietistic, individualistic stream
by which much of Anabaptist North America had been influenced. To
Old Colony leadership,
this was “the world” coming to lure their people away from true
faith. It was seen as a liberalism
that carried on its clothing the bacteria of worldliness, of
accommodation to an apostate alien culture. The effect would have
been foreseen by bishops and elders in Old Colony
villages; the cropping-up of dissident churches, the alienation of
neighbours along denominational lines and the eventual weakening of
established Christian communities.
What
I find interesting is that what was seen in that environment as
liberalism has in our
time and place become conservatism.
It’s not so much that the two have switched places, it’s that the
dynamics surrounding both our cultures and our faith are progressive:
doctrinal movement is more like climbing stairs than going back and
forth between rooms; every new step becomes an old step in time.
I
have no argument with those who say that their spiritual liberation,
their rebirth occurred in the model of the “sinners’ prayer”
and a sudden, emotional release into a spirit-filled, new life.
Neither can I judge the relationship to her Christ of an Old
Colony woman in a long black
dress and a kruschelmetz whose
assurance of salvation lies in the hymnbook in her lap and the
orderly progression of community life. I personally did not find my
release in either, but rather in the abandoning of certainty for the
reliance on the “goodness” inherent in a multi-faceted,
miraculous creation in which every facet finally responds with joy to
the experience of love, the force that is God.
I mourn for those who can only
find peace in the prison of doctrinal certainty. That is, after all,
an imprisonment with many tortures.
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