What keeps us apart: The power of strange

Blaine Detwiler, Lakeview
detwiler@nep.net

Franconia Conference Moderator Blaine Detwiler has annotated these Seven Core Convictions in Intersections over the last year.

The Seventh of the Seven Core Convictions Global Mennonites Share: As a world-wide community of faith and life we transcend boundaries of nationality, race, class, gender and language. We seek to live in the world without conforming to the powers of evil, witnessing to God’s grace by serving others, caring for creation, and inviting all people to know Jesus Christ as Saviour and Lord.

I first saw the man in this picture from a distance. I saw him walking across the parking lot of his church on this year’s Ukrainian Christmas morning, January 7. He wore a long black overcoat. As I drew closer I could see a long white beard covering his sober face. I passed him but did not offer to shake his hand.

Inside St. John the Baptist Ukrainian Orthodox Church he posed a rather mysterious figure. He never did take off his black trench coat. While others were seating themselves in padded pews he stood off by himself, silently. It was Christmas morning but he showed no signs of hurry or festivity. His leathery face bore a solemn expression as he stared at the iconostasis in the front and waited for the priest to begin.

Worshipping in the trench coat man’s church came with obstacles. Other than Teresa Marvin, who accompanied me that morning to Johnson City, NY, I knew no one else. Nor was there an effort by anyone to greet us. I felt isolated in the middle of a well dressed people. The missal in my hands was frustrating to follow. But I noticed the family next to me seemed to have their book memorized. They had an advantage.

Johnson City is a place with a history of settling Russian immigrants. They came to this area in the early 1900’s eager to find work in the local cigar and shoe factories. When the immigrants came they built churches like the ones in their old country…with golden onion domes that protrude from the city’s skyline. They brought with them their customs, clothing and language.

The Christmas liturgy in a Ukrainian Orthodox church goes on for several hours. It is both beautiful and hidden. The priest in his golden cassock is wafting the smell of incense near an icon of Mary and the infant Jesus. He speaks in Slavonic which I do not understand. The sounds of the songs from the choir are wonderful even though I do not know the words to sing along. I stand when everyone stands. I sit when those around me do. The black-coated man stands the entire time. He never sits down. I wonder if he is stubborn. Or pious. I have no way of knowing.

It is a strange power that keeps us separated. In church or in the street there come sights and smells and dress that to us are foreign. Ignorance also plays its part. Funny sounding words echo our way and we immediately suspect the mustache that utters them. So often, I think, it is the power of strange that keeps us apart.

I like the story in John 4 where Jesus begins talking with a Samaritan woman. I like the story because everything strange is firmly in place. Deep suspicion. Gender difference. Ethnic hatred. Faces askance. Even their religious centers are two mountains apart. There is no good reason to think anything more than a routine chore is about to quickly get done. And a hasty exit. Then Jesus begins to talk. His eyes search and meet the woman’s eyes. They share a drink of water and talk. And before long the power of strange between them begins to dissolve.

Franconia Conference’s David Landis is a spending time in Israel as a learner. One discovery he reports is the “everyday” places where Jesus hung out. The people Jesus talks with are as “everyday” as you and I in holey jeans. And His meeting places are rarely the high falutin’ worship centers we have come to build. But instead the places where Jesus goes are as common as a diner booth on a Tuesday afternoon at 2:38. In streets, in places like a laundromat, Jesus breaks down the strange.

The next time I attend St. John the Baptist Ukrainian Orthodox Church I hope I get another chance to see the black trench coat man. I want to meet him. To greet him. I want to look him in the eye and shake his hand. I will wait until the liturgy is over, I must, for I discovered the Orthodox are not chummy in church. But in the parking lot, afterwards, I will ask the man his name. I’ll bet he has never met a Mennonite.