This is third section of a series of reflections upon my time with the Mennonites of Delano. To read the first two sections, simply click on their link in the adjacent column.
My dad let me use his truck and my family was gracious enough to let me spend a Sunday with my mistress Mennonites. So I left in what I thought was plenty of time. However, when I arrived I discovered another difference between my world and the Mennonites; they don’t spend any money on church signs. I drove around their dirt lanes for 30 minutes taking in its beauty and simplicity until finally I came upon a sort of buggy parking lot below a meeting house.
I knew the service had already begun by the singing. An a cappella melody of male and female voices floated down from the meeting house informing me where to go. I walked upon the wooden porch and found myself standing at the head of the aisle. To my right was a sea of white bonnets and long dresses. To my left were blue and gray suspended shirts and bearded faces of the men. There was no separation by age. Everyone from a few weeks to 90 years old was there singing.
Had there been electricity, you might have thought the record skipped at my entrance as heads turned to see this stranger. A man rose and offered me his chair at the end of the aisle. I sat next to a boy of perhaps 3 and his father who looked to be in his late 20’s and wore a thin red beard. He handed me a hymnal and we sang. After each song a person would say a hymn number and start singing after which the whole congregation joined in. They sang all the verses, with no instruments, but with great depth. The hymns seemed ancient and familiar at the same time.
After singing a man rose, read scripture and spoke on prayer, after which we turned kneeled, placed our elbows on our chairs and prayed. After this another passage was read and another man rose and talked for about an hour. Now, keep in mind through all of this that it is Tennessee, it is July and there is no electricity, which means there is no AC. The room is full and everyone has on long clothes and there are children. To be sure, it was warm, and yet, there was something refreshing about the breeze that flowed through the open windows. At one point a kitten wandered through the open door and down the aisle as if on its way to baptism only to be swept up and deposited on the porch by one of the ladies.
The service ended with a song at about 12:15 almost 3 hours after it started. A long time by any one’s estimation, yet everyone from the youngest to the oldest made it through. I wasn’t sure whether to feel awe for their endurance or sadness for their Sunday morning worship marathons. When I expressed my amazement afterwards one of the brothers replied, “Yep, all of us have trouble paying attention at some point. The services can get a little long.”
After the service the gentleman who’d offered me a seat introduced himself as Leon. When I smiled I realized that he was the same person who told me the joke at the market. He invited me to stay for lunch if I had time, which I was more than happy to oblige.
Over 200 folks crammed around several long tables. I sat at the end and talked with Leon and one of his 9 children, Caleb while we dined on homemade bread, peanut butter, egg salad, pickles and lemonade. A meal and conversation were like the Mennonites; simple and good.
After the meal, the men and women lingered with their respective genders chatting about the weather and crops. The red-bearded pew mate introduced himself as Nick. When he did so, I realized that he was the one who I’d met at the market and asked about coming to their service. He and his wife had been in the community for a couple of years and were the parents of seven children. To this day I’m not sure what possessed me, but before I could stop myself I asked if folks ever came to spend a few days in the community. Nick nodded slowly with a yes and then said that the fall was a much better time to do such a thing as things slowed down. Even as the question came out of my mouth I knew that such a visit was highly unlikely and that it would end up on the same ‘to do list’ as building a basketball court and scattering my dog’s ashes from Mt. Si.
As I drove away that summer Sunday, I struggled to decide how I felt. Was it envy or pity? They have so little; electricity, transportation, news, clothes. Yet, they have so much; land, good work, faith and one another. Such a question was too rich to leave unexplored. Little did I know that a path back to Delano would open up just a few months later.
Up next: (Return to Delano)
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