The Noisy, The Loud... and the Mennonites

  

A pensive little boy

 Have you ever driven through the Mennonite colonies at night and on Sundays during the day and marvelled at how peaceful it was? Except for the usual murmur of livestock, the whisper of vehicles on the paved roads of the modern ones and the clopping of horseshoes on the hard-packed limestone roads of the traditional ones, no other "noisy" sound is heard in their communities.

  "Noisy" as in ear-splitting songs from your neighbor's house at 8PM, thunderous worship from the Pentecostal church down the street, wailing prayers from the church directly beside your house, the constant popping of firecrackers during Christmas, the 32 stray dogs competing for first prize in barking, boisterous adult laughter accompanied by DJ's blasting from a speaker at gatherings, children throwing yelling tantrums for hours. These are all ordinary sounds of an ordinary non-Mennonite village; I grew up in that environment and considered it perfectly normal.

  There was also another type of noise in my village, and this was the loudest (to me) because it spoke of spiritual needs, of moral decay in the homes around us. This was the noise of mothers cursing their children, the sound of little shoulders being smacked with a stick, the angry voices of husbands berating their wives.

  Then there are the Mennonites with peaceful, orderly communities where the above noises are not commonly heard. Yet it's not because Mennonites are so holy (don't you ever believe that), but because the majority of the residents' social, psychological and even financial life are tied directly to their Anabaptist-based religion. (For example in Spanish Lookout all businesses are closed on Sundays and most member residents attend church whatever their affiliation. Modern church buildings are soundproofed and restaurants do not have loud music playing or TV's blaring the latest news. Dogs are well-fed and well-trained and not allowed to wander on the streets.) Which simply means that living in a disciplined community has become a lifestyle, a culture based on centuries of isolation from the world around them. From the Netherlands to Prussia, from Ukraine to Canada, from Mexico then to Belize, they have been known as "the quiet in the land" and have remained that way into the 21st century.

During the day, the main road of Spanish Lookout is one of the busiest in the area with heavy trucks and light vehicles but by 8PM the traffic has almost disappeared.

  Now for a more practical side on this subject. When I married a Plautdietsch Mennonite girl from Spanish Lookout, my in-laws' contempt for noises such as children's toys, firecrackers, and background music caused some confrontations. Once at a gathering a child of mine received a battery-operated toy and happily played the siren over and over. For me it was no big deal but my wife removed the batteries after seeing scowls and receiving disgusted expressions from her family. I stood up. Two cultures clashed at that moment. Nobody won. There was a time when we gathered for Christmas and I came prepared with fireworks. After many awkward moments and rather nasty looks, I put them away and decided to avoid another clash, but only because it was Christmas and we were expected to be nice and kind to everyone.

  As the years go by, the edges have softened. My Plautdietsch Mennonite relatives have partially accepted the "noise" area of my culture, and I in turn have gained a much better appreciation for theirs.

A. Mendoza