Fighting against ourselves

I remember standing at the entrance to the cathedral in the German city of Muenster, gazing upwards at the metal cages suspended from the bell tower.

I listened as my Mennonite high school teachers explained that these cages were the place where early Anabaptist leaders were hung to die by the Catholic Church five centuries ago.

“Wow,” I thought to myself, “to think that at one time Mennonites were killed simply for believing something different.”

It would be a few more years before I learned that the early Anabaptists that hung to die in those cages were not the upstanding spiritual leaders I thought they were, but rather, led a violent sect of Anabaptism which early Mennonites would later take pains to distance themselves from.

Selectively remembering—or even misremembering—our own histories is human nature. Whether cringing when we look at old photos of ourselves (“Did my hair really look like that?”) to misremembering who the Anabaptists that were killed in Muenster really were, we try to avoid those uncomfortable parts of our past, selectively remembering or misremembering our history to make it easier to swallow.

But just because we try not to think about our shortfalls does not mean they do not exist.

The history of Mennonites which I was taught when growing up went something like this: from our very beginning 500 years ago, Mennonites valued peace, justice, and equality. During the Reformation, Mennonites encouraged women to teach and preach alongside men. When the state church persecuted Mennonites for their beliefs, those early believers chose to be drowned or burned alive rather than lie about the type of God they believed in. Mennonites spent the next few hundred years moving around, facing uncertainty in new lands that promised them a place to practice their peaceful, hardworking lives without having to serve in the military. In the twentieth century, Mennonites established organizations to promote development projects and peace initiatives around the world, began inter-faith dialogues in an effort to reach out to others, and petitioned their governments to spend money on social programs instead of warfare.

While this is all true, it is an incredibly selective history, and it ignores and misremembers large parts of who Mennonites are, and who we have always been.

For example, we forget that shortly after the Reformation, women were largely relegated back to the pews as men regained nearly exclusive control of church leadership. We forget that Mennonite leaders banned members who disagreed with them and threatened that if their spouses so much as spoke with their excommunicated partner, they too would be cast out of the community. We forget that as Mennonites set up farms in places like Prussia, Canada and Paraguay, we displaced Aboriginals who had been living there for thousands of years.

One of the biggest things that Mennonites forget is that while we go to great lengths to reach out to those outside of our communities, we have spent centuries arguing amongst ourselves and breaking ranks with one another inside those same groups.

The Mennonite church is rife with divisions and schisms, many of which have been born out of disagreements between members. Rather than sorting through or living with differences, each side establishes its own church where their specific beliefs could go unquestioned. Many of these splintered Mennonite groups join together today under the Mennonite World Conference, but many others refuse to join, convinced that they alone practice true Christianity.

Within our congregations and communities, Mennonites put a fair amount of effort into fighting amongst ourselves and condemning each other. I know Mennonites who believe that unless you speak a certain language, you cannot possibly be a Mennonite. I know congregations who have threatened to leave their area conference, and others who have already left out of fear that the conference might choose to affirm gay relationships.

I know of a congregation that split into two because half of the church wanted to use microphones in their services and the other half wanted to worship without microphones. Only a culture that nurtures self-righteousness and division can separate people over such things. It is time that we faced the fact that this destructive culture of infighting and division is as much a part of the Mennonite identity as working for peace is.

What is so upsetting about this culture of division is that it tends to be the most painful for those who are already the most vulnerable. Take, for example, one of the most divisive issues facing the Mennonite church today—whether gay relationships are acceptable or not. While Canada has some of the world’s most inclusive laws for lesbians, gays, bisexuals and transgender people (LGBT), it is still not easy to be different. LGBTs are at a disproportionately higher risk of being bullied, harassed, and assaulted than the general population.

Bullying has dire consequences, and in this case, it has meant that LGBTs in Canada are at increased risk of depression, anxiety, and substance abuse, with LGBT youth at an up to seven times higher risk of attempting suicide than their heterosexual peers (Centre for Suicide Prevention, Calgary; EGALE Canada).

It would make sense that Mennonites, given their history of standing up for the most vulnerable in society and fighting against injustice, would rush to make their congregations safe and inclusive spaces for those who are oppressed. Yet instead of aligning with those who are marginalized by their sexuality—many of whom are members and youth in their own congregations—Mennonites have spent the last number of years fighting with each other over the legitimacy of same-sex relationships, leaving countless LGBT people, along with their families, friends, and allies, even more excluded than ever.

While Mennonites are fantastic at reaching out to those outside our doors, we are also fantastic at harming the very people who sit beside us in the pews every week. It is absolutely essential that we face the hard reality of how we hurt others, especially those who are closest to us. If we do not, we can never become the peacemakers our selective memory tells us we are, and we will continue to rip the Mennonite church—and each other—to shreds.

Scott Bergen lives in Winnipeg, where he struggles to understand and navigate the ways in which Mennonites are simultaneously inclusive and exclusive.