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Reflections on "All You Need is Love"

March 19, 2014 by Emily Ralph Servant

by Diane Bleam, Bally congregation

A lot has changed since I last attended a Women Doing Theology Conference in Bluffton, Ohio in 1994. I was excited to attend “Anabaptist Women Doing Theology Conference: All You Need is Love” in Leesburg, VA on February 20-22 for some theological stimulation as well as to observe how young women are experiencing theology in the church today.

The most refreshing aspect of this conference for me was sharing with women from other ethnic groups, hearing their experiences, joys, and struggles as women leaders in the church. As one of the older attendees, most of whom were young women, I was encouraged by the energy and competency of many women and by their ability to step out and take risks.

I found that racial and ethnic differences are still an issue, although the issues are sometimes more subtle as we have become more sensitized to the long-standing oppression of many women. I was reminded how very difficult it is to overcome historical assumptions, whether related to gender, ethnic, or sexuality biases.

The women I met were strong women, women willing to take risks, while at the same time giving and receiving affirmation and appreciation, as evidenced by many public expressions of thanks and praise of work well done. It reminded me of the difference between a gathering led by men, with brief acknowledgements of thanks (maybe), and a women’s banquet, where everyone gets flowers. Not that one is necessarily better than another, just different.

While I didn’t notice much anger, I did notice a lot of determination. There was also grief and joy; many of us shed tears at different times. There were calls for justice in the face of any kind of oppression, and calls for solidarity among women. While I was sometimes uncomfortable being with so many women because I’ve spent most of my public ministry working with men, it was refreshing to see women learning from one another and being strong supports to one another.

Women being created in the image of God inspired rich experiences of worship and rituals. God’s immanence was emphasized as we sought to find God’s presence within ourselves.

If the conference schedule was an indication, much is expected by and from women today. I returned from the Conference exhausted, missing my own youthfulness, while at the same time feeling that these young women are well-prepared to go beyond those who came before. I’m excited to see where they take us.

Won't you be my neighbor?

February 25, 2014 by Emily Ralph Servant

by Brooke Natalie Blough, West Philadelphia Mennonite Fellowship

As a white woman who somewhat recently moved into an area that is considered to be “gentrifying,” I try to be acutely aware of my impact on my community. Dannette Lambert’s article on “how not to be a gentrifier” was exactly what I needed. I absolutely love my neighborhood and its diversity, so a practical guide on being a positive force in your community for everyone gave me so much to think about and put in action.

The one piece of advice this article gives that I find the most powerful is her recommendation to view everyone you see in your neighborhood as your neighbor. This seems obvious, but it’s so easy to look at people who are different from you or even distasteful to you as not really being a part of your community. The homeless people sleeping on the sidewalks, the women selling their bodies, the young men who look like someone who might rob you: They are all your neighbor.

That word is so heavy. Neighbor. It shows up all over the Bible. Old Testament laws command us to show our neighbors dignity and justice. When Jesus is asked, “What’s the most important commandment?” he answers that we must love God with everything we’ve got and to love our neighbor as ourselves. And when asked, “Who is my neighbor?” Jesus tells us the parable of the Good Samaritan, teaching us that anyone could be our neighbor, we just have to accept them as part of our community and our lives.

Since I walk about half an hour to work every day, I see a lot of people. And Philadelphia is not New York — you are not just an anonymous and ignored person, invisibly walking down the sidewalk. In Philadelphia (and especially West Philly) you see and are seen by most everyone who walks past. Over the last few weeks, I have been intentionally thinking to myself as I approach each new person, “This is my neighbor.” Often, this has no effect on the way I treat that person; but sometimes when I see someone who is different from me or even distasteful to me, I can feel something in my attitude change when I think “This is my neighbor.”

That teenager who just dropped their trash on the ground is my neighbor.
That man who leered at me is my neighbor.
That mother who just screamed at her child is my neighbor.
That homeless person who just asked me for money is my neighbor.
That angry-looking person who didn’t return my smile is my neighbor.

Jesus didn’t tell us what set number of people we are to consider our neighbors, but showed us that anyone we encounter can be our neighbor if we open ourselves up to the responsibility of claiming them as part of our community. If I have a right to be a part of this community, so do they. If I am deserving of grace, so are they.

Jesus didn’t just ask us to love our neighbor, he asked us to love our neighbor as ourselves. That change in attitude can best be summed up as me asking myself, “How would I want to be treated if I were them?” Looking at my daily interactions through this lens has helped me tap into a well of compassion and empathy I didn’t know I had. The practice of putting yourself in someone else’s shoes is humbling.

For the entire law is fulfilled in keeping this one command: “Love your neighbor as yourself.” — Gal. 5:14

Brooke Natalie Blough lives in Philadelphia, Pa., and works at the University of Pennsylvania. She is a regular attender of West Philadelphia Mennonite Fellowship and writes at Now Faith, where this blog first appeared.

Shaped locally, connected widely

February 19, 2014 by Emily Ralph Servant

by Steve Kriss, Director of Leadership Cultivation
(reposted from Mennonite World Review)

I attended my first binational conference ministers gathering in December. This meeting happens annually with conference leaders from Mennonite Church Canada and Mennonite Church USA.

It’s a closed meeting where leaders from coast to coast share the burdens and joys of their work. Conference work is lonely and difficult these days. The forces of postmodernity menace our fragile unions, which cross theological, economic, cultural and geographic boundaries.

Conference ministers gather in these times for prayer and frank conversation. As the new guy in the room, I noticed the high levels of commitment and the near impossibility of the tasks these dedicated men and women are called to do.

I wondered why in the world anyone would want to do this kind of work. I wondered whether I have the faith and fortitude it requires.

In MC USA and MC Canada, the role of conferences is increasingly pinched. Due to economics and sociopolitics, conference systems can struggle to find senses of purpose and voice. It can be hard to speak and act coherently in the midst of near constant discernment. This makes it difficult to be a conference and a cohesive denomination.

Our systems were constructed for different times — before the Internet changed how we organize and relate, before we advocated a missional framework that can encourage congregations and communities to take their contexts so seriously that the voices of the neighborhood play as loud as the voices of the denomination.

As a conference leader, I find myself situated at a perfectly impossible intersection. I work in a voluntary system with mostly decreasing financial resources to do a job that requires an ever-increasing amount of relational investment, coordination and sensitivity.

As we take the call to mission more seriously, what it means to be Mennonite is increasingly shaped locally. Bridging the gap between these localities and the conference is a task filled with tension and interpretation.

I’m writing this article at the airport in Atlanta on my way back from a congregational visit with Georgia Praise Center. It’s a Franconia Conference Indonesian-speaking congregation that meets just north of Atlanta’s Chinatown. It has strong connections to the Philadelphia Indonesian Mennonite community.

I’m here to celebrate the congregation’s third anniversary, which lands intentionally at the onset of Lunar New Year. This year Franconia adjusted a meeting date, recognizing that 10 percent of our congregations celebrate Lunar New Year. It’s these kind of realities that make the role of conferences and conference leadership tricky.

The anniversary celebration featured Chinese dance, a sermon in Indonesian from Franconia’s first Indonesian pastor and solos by high school students with music that plays on Atlanta’s contemporary Christian radio stations. Georgia Praise takes a lot of cues from Jakarta Praise, a Mennonite megachurch in Indonesia.

My job as a conference minister is to be here to bless, celebrate and live alongside the beauty at the intersection of three identities: Mennonite, Sino-Indonesian and Atlantan. For me it’s both overwhelming and invigorating.

What I’ve glimpsed in my work is that our hope is tied up with these points of intersection. It’s the unexpected juxtaposing that offers signs of the Spirit at work. We’re moving into space where God’s Good News can flourish.

My work is sustained by the Spirit in these moments. I trust that in the midst of my own lack of faith and fortitude, the reign of God still comes near.

I have the holy and seemingly impossible opportunity to notice and proclaim the intentions of the Creator. And I remember the words of Jesus, that with God even the impossible can be a reality.

May Your Kingdom Come: A Benediction

January 30, 2014 by Emily Ralph Servant

by Noah Kolb, retired pastor of ministerial leadership, Plains congregation

It was the summer of 1968. I preached one of my first sermons at Doylestown congregation. In it I called publicans “Republicans,” not once, but twice. Vernon Bishop nearly rolled off his bench.

It wasn’t my last blunder or mistake over the next 45 years of ministry. I am thankful for the grace and trust extended to me in spite of my imperfections. I learned quickly I was not a perfect leader and those I was called to lead were not perfect either. The tension between being right, standing for truth, and being gracious and merciful shaped much of my journey as a pastor and leader. I was raised by a somewhat conservative and legalistic community. Many years and experiences were required for me to understand grace and mercy, God’s incredible love.

As an adolescent I remember the conflict and division of the Franconia congregation in the 50’s. Several congregations had just left the Conference when I was ordained in 1970. Ordained leaders in an Assembly voted out the conference discipline, the guide for living faithfully. Pastors and congregational leaders were left to discern their way through issues that were once decided at Conference. I believed with careful study of the Scriptures, listening to the Spirit and congregational discernment most any issue could be resolved. Truth could be known and we would agree on what is the will of God. Conflict and disagreement could be overcome by truth. But experience in the church and community did not support that conclusion. It was distressing and forced me to further search.

I never lost my trust in the Scriptures as the primary source of God’s will and truth. God did not leave us without light and direction. But we often disagree and disown each other, leaving us wounded and judged. Over time I discovered and experienced God’s grace and mercy freeing me from perfectionism and the need to be always right. I/we are all broken creatures living in a broken creation. Only by the grace and mercy that has come to us in Jesus can we begin to realize truth, restoration, and shalom. Our passion to know truth often works against the restorative and reconciling grace and mercy of Christ through the work of the Spirit.

I have a high view of marriage as blessed by God and intended for a life time. I know from experience that living together is hard work. We are each broken creatures. Confession, forgiveness, grace, and mercy make it possible to live together. Many marriages don’t make it for a life time. I still believe God intends us to live together in peace for a life time. I have walked with many who have not been able to stay together. That does not change the truth of God for marriage. I have also learned how to extend grace and mercy so broken persons can find hope and reconciliation and continue in God’s grace as broken persons, finding healing and hope.

By the grace and mercy of God we are invited into the fellowship of Christ. Because we share His Spirit we are brothers and sisters in Christ. We are God’s Beloved. We are not one because we behave alike or all believe alike or all relate to God in the same way. We are one together only because we share the same spirit. That Spirit is a gift through the grace of God whose mercy is unending. It is out of this awareness and experience that we worship God. It is the new life we enjoy that drives us to share this Good News with others. It is this core understanding that enables us to talk honestly and safely with each other about our journey and life together. It is by the mercy of God and the grace of Christ that we can live in peace and bear witness to the transforming gift of the Spirit in and among us.

Our hope and future lies in our capacity to live in grace and mercy with God and each other. I pray with our Lord, “your kingdom come, your will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” We live in the time in which the kingdom has not fully come.

May Your Kingdom come, Jesus, in grace and mercy to all.

The chaos isn’t going anywhere

January 29, 2014 by Emily Ralph Servant

by Emily Ralph, associate director of communication

“Why don’t you take off your coat and stay awhile?”

I couldn’t get my friend’s words out of my mind. I had been in my new home for four months and still my walls were bare. It was time.

We spent all day Saturday hanging photos up the stairwell, decorating the top of the piano, getting the right tools and wine-colored candles for the candelabra in the living room. I still had work to do, but I felt a wave of satisfaction every time I passed one of my newly decorated walls. I was settling in.

By Monday, the satisfaction had dissolved into gloom. It was my day off, but all day my mind was running wild with everything I still had to do, questions I still had to answer, people who still needed my help. Emails and texts were flying with work problems that couldn’t wait and I found myself growing increasingly tense as my Sabbath day ticked by and, instead of feeling rested and prepared for the week, I felt exhausted and grumpy.

How is it possible, I wondered, to go back and forth so quickly from joy and satisfaction to frustration and fatigue? I remembered my spiritual director reminding me that times of transition can be chaotic—it’s normal to feel emotions run wild in times of drastic change.

It was time to take charge of the chaos in my mind. I lit the candles around my living room, thankful I had taken the time to decorate. I sat down with my journal and began to pour out my heart to God, the good and the bad, the joy and sorrow, the times of feeling at home and the times of feeling lost. I closed my eyes to meditate and heard God’s invitation: Why don’t you take off your coat and stay awhile?

The chaos and uncertainty weren’t going anywhere, I realized. I could continue to fight it, to struggle to find balance and order, or I could settle into the chaos and accept that sometimes life is like that. God was present, even in the chaos.

As I felt a peace begin to tip-toe into my heart, I slowly came back to awareness of the room around me. A steady “drip-drip-drip” was coming from near the fireplace.

I startled and jumped to my feet, dashing across the room to discover that one of the candles on my newly hung candelabra had tipped sideways and had, apparently, been dripping for some time. Wine-colored wax covered the wall, the floor, the armchair.

As I sank to the floor, gentling trying to scrape wax off the wood, I fought tears. This was exactly the kind of day I had been having. I couldn’t even meditate on settling into the chaos without—

Suddenly I began to laugh. The chaos wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Sometimes life is like that. Why don’t you take off your coat and stay awhile?

Reflections from Impact: Holy Land conference

January 15, 2014 by Emily Ralph Servant

by Josh Meyer, Franconia congregation

I tend to be fairly cautious about most Christian conferences. At the risk of sounding overly-skeptical, I’m not thoroughly convinced of the long-term benefit of such events, and wonder if they don’t play into a kind of consumerism within the Christian sub-culture of the West: lots of marketing, lots of money, lots of “celebrity Christians,” lots of glossy pamphlets and slick websites. They’re not all bad, of course, but I generally feel uncomfortable with many aspects of “the big conference machine.”

However, I must admit when I received an invitation to attend the Impact: Holy Land conference, I was intrigued. If you’re going to have a conference, I thought, there aren’t many issues other than the situation in the Middle East that are worthy of special time and attention. And so, with a bit of hesitation, I registered for and attended the event. I’m so glad I did.

It was a richly challenging and deeply hopeful three days of relationship-building and peace-building, of learning and growing. The speakers and participants were comprised of a diverse group of individuals, with varied theological and political backgrounds and beliefs, but who were united by a love for Jesus. We listened to stories, wrestled with difficult topics, asked pointed questions, studied the Bible, tried to disagree agreeably, and worshiped together throughout the entire event.

There’s not room in one short blog post to capture all of the wisdom and grace and hope that was shared during our time together, but here’s a brief sampling of some of the thoughts that struck me and continue to shape my thinking about the Way of Jesus in general and the Holy Land in particular:

“The greatest tool to fight injustice is actively seeking peace and reconciliation with those who are persecuting us.”
“The most deadly weapon in conflict is dehumanization. When we dehumanize the other and buy into an ‘us vs. them’ mentality, it’s a breakdown of the image of God in other people.”
“If your theology is not a blessing to and good news for your enemy, then it’s not a Christian theology.”
“Part of loving your enemy means listening to their story, learning their history, and getting to know their narrative.”
“You cannot have justice without reconciliation.”
“Whenever people ask if I’m for a one-state solution or a two-state solution, I always reply that I’m for an 11 million-individual solution. Every single person living in the Holy Land needs to be transformed and needs to be part of the solution.”
“As Mother Theresa teaches us, if we have no peace it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.”
“We Christians do not have exclusive control over the Holy Spirit. Sometimes God works through those who believe differently than we do.”
“Dr. West reminds us that justice is what love looks like in public.”
“Love cannot be legislated, but as our hearts are transformed by the love of God we will necessarily change our policies.”
“Politics is about policies that impact people. If there are policies in place that are hurting people, then challenging those policies is the right and loving thing to do. So yes, there are times when love is political.”
“We must expose injustice to the point that it becomes so uncomfortable that people have no choice but to do something about it.”
“We need to exchange weapons for worship, conquest for community, and the pursuit of power for the pursuit of peace.”

I attended this conference with a desire to learn about the Israeli/Palestinian conflict. And while I did learn more about the situation, I also learned about much more than simply the religious and socio-political struggle in the Holy Land.

I learned about God’s deep love for all people. I learned about conflict and reconciliation and justice. I learned about the power of story, the power of forgiveness, and the power of God using ordinary people to do small things with great love. I learned about my own distorted ways of dealing with conflict and relating to those who disagree with me. I learned about social justice and the fierce urgency of now. I learned about the imperative call to express our faith not merely in belief but through concrete, tangible, loving action. And most importantly, I learned once again that the good news of Jesus is for all people: saints and sinners, skeptics and dreamers, Arabs and Americans, Israelis and Palestinians.

A pocket full of epiphany moments

January 7, 2014 by Emily Ralph Servant

by Ertell Whigham, Executive Minister

What comes to mind when you think of the word “epiphany?” For many of us, it has a significant meaning at this time of year and in the gift that we have received from God in Jesus Christ. For others, it reminds us of a time that we were enlightened, informed, or experienced some thoughtful understanding at a particular place in our lives.

However you may view the word “epiphany,” it should be connected with God. For me it is often very refreshing to realize that the Spirit brings knowledge to a place I seem to be unaware of; epiphany is something we need not only look for or express appreciation for doing this time of year, but is a gift that God gives us every moment of our lives in one form or another.

I believe that we serve and live under the care of a God who has a pocket full of epiphany moments for us when we long for clarity or enlightenment. Many of us we don’t expect much from God’s miracle gift of an epiphany. We tend to think that our training, education, or life experience is the source of our new knowledge or clarity.

Epiphany is more than just an awakening of our understanding. Epiphany, I believe, is a special light that shines from the Spirit of God into our hearts and minds to help us appreciate that God is still showing us new things. It is a special light that shows us not just a way but the way. For many of us, we hope to make it through the next project, decision, challenge, or test. It is important that we understand that God has already been where we’re going and if we choose or desire to have this special gift of light or epiphany, God is faithful to show us the way and enlighten our understanding.

As we think of this season we can certainly be overwhelmed with the exotic experience of what it means to join together in celebration with friends and family this Christmas season, or we can think of this as a foretaste of things to come throughout the year.

Waiting and working and hoping

December 19, 2013 by Emily Ralph Servant

by Stephen Kriss, director of leadership cultivation

The Spanish words meaning “to wait” (esperar) and “hope” (esperanza) suggest that there’s a ready connection between the two. We wait for something that we expect to happen. We don’t wait for things that we don’t anticipate will actually occur.

There are places designed for waiting (train stations, hospital waiting rooms, airports, the checkout line) and there are places where we unexpectedly end up waiting, where it’s less comfortable or hasn’t been prepared for the necessities of waiting (traffic tie ups, outside buildings). The places of unprepared waiting tend to create more agitation and desperation. After living in New York City for a few years, I’ve learned to prepare for unexpected waiting by carrying a book. Nowadays, with my iPhone, I’m always ready to work (or at least surf the web) while waiting.

Waiting with hope means that we expect something to happen. In Advent, we wait in anticipation of the arrival of Immanuel, God with us. I’d say that I anticipate God’s arrival most days, hope for it, spend a lot of my waking hours anticipating the Spirit’s arrival and incarnation in time and space. Sometimes I’m able to notice steps toward the fulfillment of God’s intention; other times I’m surprised by the sudden inbreaking and transformation. With the story of the birth of Christ, we have generations of preparation and months of incubation, but on one surprisingly normal and joyous night, “the anointed one” comes into flesh, bone, blood.

While I know that God is with us in all time, in all space, and in all spaces, there is something special that we wait for in Advent, some holy moment that we expect to see, feel, taste, maybe even touch. While Jesus warned us not to chase those moments, the sheep-tenders and the learned ones were provoked to come and bear witness to the Incarnation, to drop their work for a moment or to focus their skills for awhile toward the manger in Bethlehem, to witness, to be present, to offer gifts in worship.

I find waiting to be pretty annoying. But hoping can seem even more ridiculous. Believing that God is going to do something, to enter and transform what seems ordinary can be both difficult and at times unwelcome.

What we know about resiliency, however, is that to lose hope is to lose purpose. I’m not “a glass half empty” kind of guy, but I notice too often places where Christ’s presence is not quite yet: in the gaps between the privileged and the poor; in the spaces between loneliness and community; in the struggles for healing and wholeness; in the overwhelming sense of busyness that permeates privilege; in the spectrum from tradition to transformation. I see glimpses and sometimes full incarnations of the path of Immanuel too: in working across culture, language, and human boundaries to share resources with Mennonite partners in Allentown, Philadelphia and Norristown; in work with veterans; in seasonal congregational initiatives to share and worship with neighbors; in our learning to love all of the places and people that God loves.

Early Mennonite settlers in southeastern Pennsylvania often used the catch-phrase “work and hope” as they faced the struggles of persecution, migrating into the unknown, and finding their home in a new world. In our working (doing), I believe we’re waiting, too. In our working, we’re hoping and believing (some days more than others) that Christ came two millennia ago into crushing politics, often misguided religiosity, and hard economics, and that the Spirit of Christ might come again, through us, in us, to us, for us as much as for the whole world. With anticipation, we wait, we work, we hope.

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