Mosaic Mennonites

Missional - Intercultural - Formational

Emily Ralph Servant

All I Have is Running Paint 

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by Emily Ralph Servant

We spent months planning our painting party at the school. We found cute hawk print stencils, matched the burgundy and gold of the school colors, and waited for a stretch of warm weather to coincide with school vacation. 

We cleaned off years of class numbers that overlapped on the pavement where the elementary school kids lined up. We were not only going to repaint the numbers, but we were going one step further; we planned to paint lines of hawk prints (the school mascot) to show the kids where to line up. For months, we had watched the teachers yelling at the kids at the end of long school days, trying to keep them in straight lines in the tight space. If we could bring some peace to dismissal time, we felt like we were doing God’s work. 

The day finally arrived, with temperatures rising into the fifties over New Year’s weekend. It had rained over Christmas break but we had a dry forecast. A bunch of people had offered to help, but when the day came, only two neighbors showed up. Together with my first-grade daughter, the four of us measured, taped, stenciled, and painted. We talked about life, about faith, and about our community.  

A few hours later, we stepped back to admire our work. And, boy, did it look good. 

My church, Refuge, is shaped around empowering people who want to live like Jesus and with Jesus in our neighborhoods. With the encouragement of Mosaic’s missional lead, Noel Santiago, Refuge has been using the church planting grant we received from the conference to support our members in loving our neighborhoods. Refuge paid for the paint and supplies we needed to spruce up the school and I was excited about this connection between my church expression and my community. 

The next day, I got an email from the school/community liaison. She sent me some photos.  Despite the forecast, it had rained overnight. Before the paint dried. And all our beautiful paint had run down the sidewalk. 

I was frustrated. I was embarrassed. Instead of improving the situation, we had made it worse. And with the cold stretch, it would be months before the weather, the school’s schedule, and my free time would line up again. 

Soon afterward, our virtual Refuge gathering was studying the story of Jesus choosing his apostles in Luke 6. The CEB version we read describes how Jesus took his disciples up the mountain, named some of them as apostles, and then brought them back down the mountain, where they stood in front of a large crowd of Jesus’ followers (vs. 12-17). I thought about how I would have felt as one of those newly-named apostles, standing in front of hundreds of people as one who had been chosen to join Jesus in his public ministry. 

Jesus—the one who taught so powerfully, healed all the sick, set people free from oppressive spirits, creatively navigated conflict, stood strong in the face of opposition—had chosen me to join him in his work of making the world right again. 

And all I have is running paint. 

I felt so inadequate. How could I ever live up to this call? 

But as we practiced listening prayer in response to this passage, I realized that the big crowd wasn’t looking at me; they were looking at Jesus. Jesus was the attraction. As long as I was pointing people to Jesus, I was enough. Jesus is already present, healing my neighborhood, and I get to be a part of it. 

Running paint and all. 

Emily Ralph Servant

Emily Ralph Servant is the Leadership Minister for Strategic Priorities for Mosaic Mennonite Conference. Emily has served in pastoral roles at Swamp and Indonesian Light congregations and graduated from Eastern Mennonite Seminary.

A Prayer Journey 

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by Emily Ralph Servant

When I was a child, I believed in miracles.  Prayer could move mountains; we prayed fervently and often.  By the time I was a teenager, I had a list of people and circumstances for whom I prayed every morning, early, before the rest of my family woke up. My (literal) prayer closet heard many petitions for healed bodies, restored marriages, world peace. 

By the time I was in my twenties, I found my prayer life had grown stale. After many years of interceding for people and situations without seeing healing, restoration, or peace, I found prayer to be painful. I couldn’t push requests out of my mouth when my heart didn’t truly believe that the answer would be “yes.” 

In seminary, I was introduced to contemplative prayer. It took a while for me to learn how to still my racing thoughts and simply sit in God’s presence, but eventually I began to experience God’s powerful and healing love flowing through me as I came to God without wishes or demands. It was enough to be with God and know that I was loved. 

This practice of contemplative prayer was tested in my early thirties, as I struggled with depression and anxiety, healing from past trauma. Stilling an anxious mind was challenging; experiencing God’s presence felt impossible when my body and heart startled and ached.  I found myself longing to believe that I could ask God for peace, restoration, and joy, and God would make it happen. 

But there was no magic wand. 

Still, time and again God met me, holding me close in the quiet and the pain. And as the peace, restoration, and joy slowly filtered back, I wrestled to make sense of a lifetime of conflicting experiences of prayer. I visited other congregations in Mosaic Conference and heard stories of times when the church prayed for healing and the cancer disappeared.  Yet someone I love still endures chronic pain after decades of intercession. I remembered times when funds miraculously showed up to pay a pressing bill. And I also remembered when I begged God to intervene with justice and mercy and still my child was taken from me. 

I have found that, anymore, I don’t often have words to give to God. When someone I know is hurting, I rarely ask God for anything more than “Please!” Most often, I simply hold them in the compassionate, redeeming presence of God, trusting in the one who said to a sick man, “I do want to!” (Luke 5:13, CEB) 

“There are different spiritual gifts but the same Spirit; and there are different ministries and the same Lord; and there are different activities but the same God who produces all of them in everyone. A demonstration of the Spirit is given to each person for the common good.”

1 Corinthians 12:3-7, CEB

In this stage of my prayer journey, I find myself grateful for those in my life who have energy and faith to intercede for others. Rather than feeling condemned by them, I see them as Aaron and Hur, who held up Moses’ arms when he was getting tired (Exodus 17). I Corinthians 12 says that the church is a body made of many parts, each with its own gift. Maybe others have the gift to pray for healing and transformation, and I can receive that gift with gratitude. 

And perhaps I bring my own gift to the church. I am noticing that, as I stop filling my time with God with words, I have more space to listen. God speaks—in the stillness, in Scripture, in life circumstances, through other people, even in unexpected places in my neighborhood. When I listen for God and then change in response to what I hear, I am transformed. The world around me is transformed. Prayer changes things. 

Emily Ralph Servant

Emily Ralph Servant is a Leadership Minister for Mosaic Mennonite Conference. Emily has served in pastoral roles at Swamp and Indonesian Light congregations and graduated from Eastern Mennonite Seminary.

Prepare a Way

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It was my first-time visiting Vermont as an adult, and I wasn’t disappointed. Boulder-strewn streams meandered through lush forests, surrounding open meadows, and backed by hazy mountains.  As I visited Bethany congregation (Bridgewater Corners, VT), I spent the weekend eating outdoors and sitting in congregational meetings where I could feel breezes through open windows or sitting circled in the shade of established trees. I enjoyed the beauty of nature as well as the beauty of new friendships and deepening connections. 

All this beauty was linked by a network of windy roads—some of which were cracked and crumbling.  Vermont has been enduring a series of floods that have stretched its aging infrastructure to the limits.  After the first flood this summer, crews worked quickly to rebuild destroyed roads while residents worked just as hard to clear out muddy basements, repair impassable driveways, and replant gardens.  And then it rained again. And again. And again. 

I heard the fatigue in our Mosaic siblings as they talked about what has felt like an exhausting cycle of rain and repair this summer.  They’re self-sufficient and determined, but they wonder when the rainy season will end. This is unprecedented.  No one seems to know. 

As I drove home through the picturesque countryside on Sunday afternoon, skirting construction cones and passing crumpled bridges, I resonated with their weariness. 

I feel like my summer has been crumbling around me.  Unreliable childcare has framed weeks when one crisis bleeds into the next. Every time I put out one fire, I turn around to learn a congregation has left the conference or my computer has crashed or my daughter’s camp is canceled or someone is angry about something else.  We’re patching the roads, but everywhere I turn, they keep crumbling around me.  How many times have I caught myself crying out, “Can’t I catch a break?” 

I thought about the long-time residents of Vermont explaining what it would take to flood-proof the roads— a significant change in infrastructure or even relocating the roads entirely.  It feels impossible.  As I drove past detour signs and washed-out streets, I found myself crying out to God: Is this all there is? For Vermont, for my family, for the conference? 

Something stirred in my heart: Do I trust the Holy Spirit to go ahead of me, preparing a way? 

I would like to say I experienced a rush of peace at the thought, but instead I felt my insides breaking open. I knew the turmoil of the father who fell at Jesus’ feet and said, “Ï believe, help my unbelief!” (Mark 9:24) 

Do I truly believe the Holy Spirit is going ahead of me in my life, ahead of us as a conference, ahead of our communities in Vermont, and preparing a path before us? I can’t see a way right now, yet the deepest part of me yearns to trust that God’s Spirit is leading us by the hand around the ruts, patching up the crumbled lanes, even building a new road in the wilderness, one beyond the reach of life’s flooding (Isaiah 43:2, 14). 

I believe; help my unbelief! 

For the last couple of weeks, my prayer has been simple and heartfelt: “Prepare the way! Holy Spirit, come.  Prepare a way.” We don’t see how.  We don’t know what kind of journey it will be.  Just prepare a way before us.  Please. 

Editor’s note: Through Bethany Church and Bethany Birches Camp in Vermont, our Mosaic community is actively involved in assessing and providing for the essential needs of families impacted by the storms, flooding, and ongoing rains mentioned in this article. Bethany Church is working directly with a family with 3 children who lost their home and all their belongings. The congregation is providing funds for clothing, books, toys, and building supplies with the limited means available. If you would like to join in this work of caring for those in need in Vermont, especially this family and the surrounding community, please send donations to Mosaic Mennonite Conference (designate for Bethany Birches Flood relief) at 1000 Forty Foot Rd., Suite 100, Lansdale, PA 19446.

My Great-Grandmother’s Organ: A Parable

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by Emily Ralph Servant

I took a deep breath and guided my circular saw across the center of my great-grandmother’s pump organ. The first cut was the hardest.

Although it looked like an upright piano, pianos were expensive in the early 20th century. Families who couldn’t afford to buy a piano would purchase a (less expensive) organ in a piano case. My great-great-grandparents gifted this treasure to my great-grandmother in 1915, when she was 12 years old.

The organ had made the trek from Pennsylvania to Indiana, Illinois, Virginia, and Ohio, then back to Pennsylvania again. Over the years, most of the reeds had stopped working and mice had made their home in the billows. But I cherished the memories of it in my grandparents’ home, where my little feet would pump the pedals and my little hands would play unrecognizable music while it wheezed dozens of notes at once.

The organ in its original state. Photo provided by Emily Ralph Servant.

Two decades ago, my grandmother asked if anyone wanted the organ. She was considering turning it into an entertainment center and wanted to know if it was worth trying to restore it. I couldn’t stand the thought of our heritage organ holding a television set, so I told her that I wanted it someday. She spent countless hours with a local restoration specialist, learning how to replace reeds and repair cracks. She had only a few more repairs to do when she died suddenly in 2007. The organ sat in my parents’ home and later in their barn, unused: beautiful yet broken.

For decades, this photograph of Emily’s great-grandmother, Winifred, as a child hung near the organ in her son’s home. Photo provided by Emily Ralph Servant.

The organ was finally passed down to me and brought to my home in Baltimore after my parents downsized a few years ago. For a long time, it sat in my carport, too big to fit down the stairs to my basement. We live in a small rancher that’s filled with the furniture of everyday life; there was no room for it.

Eventually, I was faced with a decision: allow my great-grandmother’s organ to serve my family now and into the future or throw it away. There isn’t a market for broken pump organs in a society saturated with discarded instruments. The answer was clear.

I spent months brainstorming what I could build with it, wrestling to solve problems, to imagine its potential. The first cut was the hardest, but every cut after that got a little easier. As I rebuilt my great-grandmother’s organ, I began to see something new and beautiful arising out of her shell: something I could pass down to my children, something they might actually want.

The organ-turned-bookshelf, full of theology books. Photo provided by Emily Ralph Servant.

My great-grandmother’s organ is now a bookshelf. It’s big enough to hold my entire library of theological books—for the first time in years, all my books are unpacked, easy to access and reference. Instead of simply taking up space, my great-grandmother’s organ is helping me and my family, providing what we need for our lives now, offering possibilities that will last into the future. The organ is beautiful once more, its dark wood gleaming next to the vibrantly colored spines of the books.

Whoever has ears, let them hear; God is doing a new thing and it is very, very good.

Whoever has ears, let them hear; God is doing a new thing and it is very, very good.

Emily Ralph Servant

Emily Ralph Servant is the Leadership Minister for Formation and Communication for Mosaic Mennonite Conference. Emily has served in pastoral roles at Swamp and Indonesian Light congregations and graduated from Eastern Mennonite Seminary.

God’s Spirit at the Convention Center

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A line of hospital techs filled the space designed for concessions.  On counters usually covered with ketchup and mustard, colorful plastic bins sat side by side as scrub-clad workers carefully measured doses and checked syringes, holding them up to the light for gentle tapping.

Emily Ralph Servant at the Baltimore Convention Center for her COVID-19 Vaccination. Photo provided by Emily Ralph Servant.

The Baltimore Convention Center had opened up only a week before as a mass vaccination site.  I was pleasantly surprised to get an appointment just two days after I received the email notifying me of my eligibility.  It was a cold, rainy day, frequently switching to sleet, and quickly covering still surfaces with a layer of ice.

Yet the woman who welcomed me at the door greeted me with kindness, even as she lifted her chin to see around the fog covering her glasses and face shield.  Others stood out in the elements to direct traffic or provide wheelchairs.  There were no raised voices, no irritation at silly questions or misunderstood directions, no jockeying for position or cutting in line.

It was peaceful.

As I stood in the long line waiting to receive my vaccine, people around me chatted with old friends or were introduced to new ones.  Elderly women and men slowly made their way up the long carrel reserved just for them as the woman directing folks to check-in spots treated them with special honor.  This courtesy—so our elders didn’t grow tired waiting in line—brought tears to my eyes.  Watching their determination to get their vaccination, matched by the determination of the hundreds of other neighbors surrounding me, filled me with hope.

It’s been a long year as COVID-19 has swept through our communities.  Some of us have been forced to stay home, to miss important family celebrations, to change our habits and interactions.  Others haven’t had that privilege—working on the front lines in hospitals, grocery stores, or manufacturing.  Some of us are bored.  Some of us are exhausted.  Some of us are traumatized.  It’s been a long year.

Yet in this space, in this exhibition hall full of strangers, I sensed the presence of God’s Spirit: in the patient anticipation of the waiting, in the kind helpfulness of the field hospital staff,  in the powerful science that made a vaccine possible, in the intricacy of the human body that can take virus proteins and turn them into antibodies.  I saw God’s fingerprints everywhere I looked.

It was beautiful.  It was peaceful.  And God was there.

It Tasted Good

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Last night, I made tuna casserole for dinner.

It’s a dish I associate with my midwestern, working-class upbringing: noodles mixed with canned tuna and cream of mushroom soup, topped with cheddar cheese, and peas on the side but better mixed in.  It was a staple when I was growing up, alongside its simpler cousin—boxed mac and cheese with a can of tuna thrown in for protein and flavor.

We didn’t have many foods that we would consider to be ours, just those we thought were everyone’s: lasagna, tacos, pizza, meat and potatoes.  Those were the days before we were exposed to authentic food from other cultures, when the extent of “ethnic food” in our household was stir-fry in a teriyaki sauce with fried rice.

Last night, I made tuna casserole for dinner and I grieved what whiteness has stolen from me.

When my ancestors immigrated to the United States in the 1700s and 1800s and 1900s, they were “encouraged” to assimilate to “American” culture: to speak English, to change their dress, to adapt their traditions and foods.  By the time I was born in the 1980s, we no longer spoke any German, Swedish, or Gaelic.  We didn’t have any recipes passed down from generation to generation, no holiday traditions, no sweet names for our grandparents or aunts, no homestead to return to.  We were rootless.

Last night, I made tuna casserole for dinner and I found God in my grief.

I can’t be transformed by the cultures that surround me until I expose the harm that whiteness has caused them and me.  I must grieve and peel back the layers of whitewashing that have hidden my identity and blinded me to the culture that my family has built, the culture that makes me who I am.  I must heal.

Last night, I made tuna casserole for dinner … from scratch: with gluten free noodles and homemade cream of mushroom soup, freshly grated cheese, and my own onion and breadcrumb topping.

I remembered the times that money was tight for my parents, for my grandparents, for my great-grandparents. I thought about how they worked the land to produce food and preserved its bounty for their family and friends.

Last night, I made tuna casserole for dinner.  I served it with home-canned green beans and carrots and peaches, lovingly carried up from my basement shelves.

I thought about the stories I would tell my daughters about my growing up years, about my family’s history, both the proud moments and the shameful ones.  I’m going to cook them the rice pudding my grandmother made—hot and sweet and soupy—even though she didn’t like it, because she knew it was our favorite. I’m going to teach them the phrase “I can smell the barn,” put on Mario Lanza’s Christmas album while we open our stockings on Christmas morning, and sing to them while we swing in our backyard.

Together, we’re going to recover identity and rebuild culture, out from the shadows of whiteness.  Together, we’ll relearn who we are, reclaim our own uniqueness, and reject the tendency of whiteness to define “normal.”  And we will meet God there.

Last night, I made tuna casserole for dinner and it tasted good.

Conference Announces Growing Staff

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by Sue Conrad Howes, Communication associate

As of September 1, Mosaic Conference has added two new staff members: Cindy Angela, full-time Digital Communication Associate, and Margaret Zook, part-time Director of Collaborative Ministries.

Cindy Angela

Cindy Angela will provide direction for digital and virtual resources, including vision-setting and implementation of social media strategy, leading the video and translation teams, and providing other artistic expressions including photography and graphic design.  She has a degree in communication from Temple University and is a member of Philadelphia Praise Center, where she coordinated much of its virtual worship services during the COVID-19 quarantine.

“Communication has been a growing edge in our conference for several years now. We continue to see the changes in our conference as opportunities to connect across cultures, languages, geographies, and theological worldviews,” said Emily Ralph Servant, Mosaic’s Director of Communication.  “Cindy is a huge gift to us at this crossroads.  She brings technical skills that we desperately need as well as relational and intercultural capacity, enthusiasm and creativity, and a passion for contributing all of who she is to joining God’s work in the world.  We couldn’t be more excited to add her to our team!”

Margaret Zook

Margaret Zook will lead the conference’s team of staff relating to Conference Related Ministries as Director of Collaborative Ministries. Before coming to this new role, Margaret served with three Conference Related Ministries, including a decade on the board of Penn Foundation (Sellersville, PA).  Margaret was also the Executive Director of Souderton (PA) Mennonite Homes for more than twenty years before serving Living Branches (Lansdale, PA) as the Director of Church and Community Relations.  She is an active member of Salford congregation (Harleysville, PA).

“Margaret brings deep commitments to the church and extensive leadership experience within our Conference Related Ministries community,” said Steve Kriss, Executive Minister.  “I’m grateful for her willingness to lead the work of strengthening relationships with our broad array of non-profit ministries that extends our work in Pennsylvania, Vermont, Honduras, India and Indonesia.”  

The staff of Mosaic Conference has grown to twenty-one full-time and part-time individuals since the reconciliation of Eastern District Conference and Franconia Conference in February 2020.  Conference staff provides accompaniment to congregations, credentialed leaders, and Conference Related Ministries, administrative support, and resourcing through youth formation, intercultural, and missional teams.  Staff members currently live in four states and work regularly in English, Spanish, and Indonesian languages while also producing materials in Cantonese, Haitian Creole, and Vietnamese.

Fall Conference Assembly Goes Virtual

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by Emily Ralph Servant, Director of Communication

Members of Mosaic Conference will gather virtually for Conference Assembly this year.  Celebrating the theme “On Earth As It Is In Heaven,” assembly will be held on November 7-8, 2020, on a combination of platforms including YouTube, Facebook, and Zoom.

“Over the last months, we have learned the significance of physical distancing and spiritual solidarity,” reflected Conference executive minister Steve Kriss.  “We will still have important discernment and celebration work to do together in our first assembly as Mosaic Conference this fall. We’ll look forward to conversation about priorities for our reconciled conference as well as welcoming new congregations from Florida into membership.”

The move to an online assembly wasn’t taken lightly, but the decision became increasingly clear as the assembly planning committee worked through logistics like childcare, shared meals, and the space needed for table groups to safely converse.  In light of social distancing guidelines, the number of delegates, and the geographic breadth of conference communities, in-person gathering just didn’t seem feasible during this time, said assembly coordinator Brooke Martin.

“While we do acknowledge the loss of not being able to gather in person, we are confident that, for the time being, meeting virtually will provide the best community experience and conversation,” observed Martin.  “For the Saturday business sessions, meeting on Zoom will allow everyone to interact with their table groups and engage with the Mosaic community more fully.”

In order to adapt to the online format, Saturday’s business session will be shortened, running from 11am – 2pm Eastern/ 8am – 11pm Pacific, with a lunch/brunch break at 12noon/9am.  The Friday evening worship time will be moved to Sunday morning at 11am Eastern/ 8am Pacific so that the entire conference can participate, either in individual homes or as congregational gatherings, depending on current stay-at-home orders.

“Our Pentecost time together online was well-attended and meaningful,” said Kriss.  “I expect that our assembly worship will also be a time of inspiration and reflection while connecting us across geographies and distances in this critical time, as we look forward to seeing God’s dream for the world come true ‘on earth as it is in heaven.’”

This year’s theme will focus on the Lord’s Prayer in Matthew 6:9-13. Members of the conference community are invited to participate in the worship service by sending in a video of individuals or families saying the Lord’s Prayer in the language or translation of their choice (more information here).

Worship will also include singing, prayer, scripture reading, a children’s time, and a message by César García, the general secretary of Mennonite World Conference.

Although worshiping together online brings disadvantages, it also offers a gift, suggested Hendy Matahelemual, pastor of Indonesian Light Church and co-leader of the assembly worship planning team. “When we meet online, we bring something that is personal for us to the meeting; we bring our home with us,” he said.  “Even though we will be far apart physically, we will be close at heart.”