Close Encounters with the Mennonite Kind
The Good
There was a time during my late teens when I began hanging out with the wrong crowd. Thankfully I never became addicted to any particular vice. My aim is not to highlight my wild days; I simply want to share that the day came when I was exhausted with my failed relationships and sick of friends who constantly offered unfulfilling pleasures. I ended up several thousands of miles away from Belize, in the home of a Holdeman Mennonite couple. The kindness, love and spiritual assistance offered by this Mennonite couple greatly impacted me and to this day I hold them in high regard.
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Due to some poor financial choices, my spouse and I became mired in debt several years into our marriage. Interest rates were piling up, banks and companies were calling, a baby was on the way, and depression was taking a heavy toll on our physical and spiritual wellfare. It was an extremely humbling experience but there was just no way out except to seek help. Which we did and now are forever indebted, not in money value but in gratefulness, to some very dear friends from Spanish Lookout who took the burden on themselves to walk with us, talk with us, and support us in the long and difficult journey of budgeting and sound financial management.
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You ever heard of a Mennonite giving away money to strangers or offering a hefty tip for service? Neither did I until recently when I assisted an Old Colony Mennonite gentleman with loading some items on his truck. "You've been so kind to me that I want to give you something," he declared as he pulled out his wallet and stuck a $50 bill in my hand. I was so stunned I stood there staring at the money until my co-worker shouted at me, "If you don't want it, I'll take it!" I looked up and realized the gentleman had already left.
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The Funny
I was around 15 years old when I became very interested in the Plautdietsch Mennonite culture. There was a person I was secretly attracted to and I foolishly decided to plan for the future, so to speak, by learning all I could about their customs, dialect and foods. I mastered a few words in Plautdietsch, drilled my friends about traditions such as weddings and family gatherings but hadn't sampled any "Mennonite" food yet since I'm a rather picky eater especially when it has to do with cheese and milk. Eventually I decided to dive in and chose the most Mennonite of all Mennonite dishes: werenaki or perogies, sort of like dumplings with cheese inside and a white milk gravy poured on top. I inhaled a breath that arrived at my toes, grabbed my fork, ate one and…found myself several minutes later in the restroom, having drained my stomach of everything except my intestines. My friend's howls of laughter still echo in my ears. I'm not sure where that friend is right now, but if you're that person, just know that I can now look back on that incident and laugh together with you.
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I was in my early teens when I was invited for the first time to the EMMC church in Spanish Lookout and still remember that experience as if it was yesterday. Having grown up in a very sheltered environment within the Holdeman Mennonite church and not knowing one iota about the EMMC, I carefully selected my Sunday clothes. I carried my Bible in my hand, a slip of paper with the song number I would choose in case I was allowed, and double checked to make sure my shoes were black.
What a shock. In fact, visiting the EMMC was one of the biggest shocks of my life (another shock was the day when I suddenly realized I was a married person) since it completely up-ended my belief that all Plautdietsch Mennonites were the same.
There was music. Two hill-billy guys were playing guitars, a redneck was beating the drums, a girl in tight jeans played the keyboard.
There was technology. A projector displayed the words of the song on the wall behind the musicians while at the back of the sanctuary a young man sat in front of the sound control system. A few pulled out Motorola Razrs (ahh.. those legendary flip phones do not exist anymore) to record the worship service. The pastor carried a laptop instead of a Bible.
There was fashion. One husband and wife were decked out in cowboy regalia complete with leather boots. Only their hats were absent. The girl next to me had several bracelets on each wrist, her hair stacked, heavy makeup, torn jeans and displaying most of her front. To my left was an older lady with her hair down, long dress, with her husband wearing a tweed suit and a necktie. In front of me was a girl with a Mohawk haircut and hoops in her ears. The younger generation were casually attired, some little girls in shorts, others in summer dresses; some little boys wore polo shirts and khaki shorts.
There was comfort. Seats were padded, the AC was refreshing, the floor was thickly layered, lights were strategically placed so as not to glare in the eyes. With such comfort, I simply couldn't help it. I settled down, toned out the drone of the pastor's voice, and was awakened later by a smiling young woman who stated that church was over.
So ended my very first visit to the EMMC.
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By far my most embarassing yet hilarious incident happened at a Mennonite wedding at least 12 years ago. After hugging the bride and groom, I hurried down the steep grassy slope to catch up with my friends. It had rained earlier but I never slowed down until the next thing I knew my feet flew out, I sat down with a thump and began flying down the hill at an astonishing speed with my legs spread open while the crowd of guests stared open-mouthed. To make matters worse, I sailed over a small mound of dirt and straight into a puddle. I decided it wasn't my fault. The problem was that this church had taken the Bible verse about "a city that is set on a hill" too literally.
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The Unusual
I was in my late teens. The moon was full, the sky clear, yet my curfew was approaching. I raced down the back roads of Spanish Lookout, enjoying the wind in my face when out of nowhere a truck pulled up and the Mennonite man ordered me to get out. Puzzled, I obeyed and asked what was wrong. The constable, with his hand on his gun, began drilling me. When I realized who the man was I called a relative, who then called the constable and explained who I was. I later heard that a major theft had occurred at a farmer's residence close by around that time.
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I was waiting at a Lebanese restaurant when I noticed a Mennonite farmer climb out of his truck, open the passenger door and escort a black man with dreadlocks up the stairs. Every now and then the Mennonite would affectionately pat the other one's knee. Later as the black man headed toward the vehicle the Mennonite gave him a slight pat on his buttock. I wondered about the incident until a few days later a friend explained to me that the Mennonite man was rumored to be a homosexual. Well…
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The Holdeman Mennonites do not believe in nor allow Halloween symbols to decorate their homes and businesses, but sometimes the youth have other ideas. I was in the Holdeman Mennonite church at that time when the following happened.
It was late at night, we were sitting around the table at a friend's house when suddenly the kitchen door opened and the most grotesque face I had ever seen slowly appeared around the door. The hair was matted, parts of the scalp were hanging down, horns stuck out behind the ears, sharp teeth protruded from its lips, one eye was wide open while the other had popped out of its socket and dangled against its cheek. Two girls screamed, another one grabbed the counter while the boys simply froze with their mouths open. I was the first to react. Grabbing a large butcher knife I rushed towards the hideous creature who tore off the mask and yelled "It's me! It's me!" At first I was angry but later I did see the funny side of it.
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A. Mendoza
