Fundraiser For Some Of Our World Neighbors Who Are Eating Grass To Ward Off Starvation

"Do not be hard-hearted or tight-fisted toward your needy neighbor. You should rather open your hand, willingly offering what you can to meet that need, whatever it may be." (Deuteronomy 15: 7b-8)

I haven't been able to keep from obsessing over thousands of people who are on the verge of starving in Gaza, an area much smaller than Rockingham County but with over two million people in urgent need of food and shelter.  Multiple news sources are reporting examples of its citizens resorting to eating grass, weeds and roots of plants in a desperate attempt to survive. 

On Thursday, May 9, we will have an opportunity to be a part of an outpouring of compassion for the thousands of refugees in Gaza who are without adequate shelter and facing death by starvation. A special 7 pm hymn sing using the new Voices Together hymnal has been planned at the Park View Mennonite Church to raise urgently needed help, with the VT's music editor, EMU's Ben Bergey, leading the service. 

I'm sure #27 will be among the hymns chosen, the second verse of which is:

There is a knocking at our door, 

sound of the homeless of the world,

voice of the frightened refugee,

cry of the children in the cold

asking the least that is their right,

safety and shelter for the night.

- Lyrics by Shirley Erena Murray of New Zealand, sung to the tune KHAO I DANG, the name of a refugee camp in Thailand.

All proceeds will go directly to Mennonite Central Committee for Gaza relief, with a matching fund of $25,000 available to multiply our efforts.

The result will help save the lives of precious members of our human family.

NOTE: If you can't attend in person, you can make an online gift directly to Mennonite Central Committee, or mark the SOS (Sharing Our Surplus) option on the Virginia Mennonite Relief Sale website, where your gift will be doubled and sent to MCC. Or you can write a check to Virginia Mennonite Relief Sale (with "Gaza relief fund" on the memo line) and mail it to VMRS, 601 Parkwood Drive, Harrisonburg, VA 22802.

Guest Post: Forty Hours At 27 Cents An Hour

Tutankhamon Waterman, serving four life sentences in a
Virginia prison, has written over 30 books and novels.
https://www.facebook.com/TheDRSoulCollective

Twelve-hour shifts, horrible work conditions, inept supervisors and the pay is pennies on the dollar. You know what this means, because you read the bulletin board in your housing unit offering gainful employment as a kitchen worker. Your peers warn you against the idea, but you need the job because your family doesn't send you money, and having access to food is compelling. Great, but what you don't realize is that your life as an inmate ends when your life as a kitchen worker begins.

Wake-up call is an ungodly 3 AM. A static cry of an underpaid Correction Office arrives in your cell via intercom. It's loud and your bunkmate grumbles if you don't answer fast, because the CO will continue to call for your response. You say that you're awake, then the daily grind begins.

A march through numerous secured gates ends in a dank corridor where inmates sit on the floor. A few try to grab minutes of sleep, going so far as to lie on the grimy floor. You're shuffled one by one into a closet-sized cell, stripping out of your state blues. It's cold and disgusting, because inches away is a pissed stained toilet that reeks of bowel movements. You stand on your shoes in order not to have urine on your bare feet. You're also stripped of your manhood as the CO's eyes study you for contraband: spread your cheeks and cough.

You are now clothed in oversized, once-white, now yellow-stained uniforms, sagging, due to the elastic waistband being worn out from hundreds of washes. You hoist your waistline up, heading into the kitchen to search out and manufacture a trash bag into a belt.

The kitchen is overseen by lazy supervisors who sleep in the office while ill-trained inmates run the asylum. Hands have to be washed upon entrance because hygiene is mandatory...but supervisors don't give you your orientation; they assume you'll just read the signs over all the wash stations to wash your hands.

Twenty-five inmates work in a kitchen the size of a football field. Stations include the cook area, veggie prep, the bakery, the dish room, line workers, sanitation, chow hall workers, pots and pans and staff side dining. A kitchen job (as most prison jobs) requires no skill set. Since this is true, high turnover rates occur often, due to men who don't know how to work together, nor communicate what should be done. That's why most new workers come into the kitchen to eat, steal and do zero work. For some, stealing food for profit is a way of life for those who think stuffing their briefs with snacks seems smarter than working all day for pennies. They always get caught and vacancies become a detriment for those who continue to work the shift.

When someone is fired, do you think someone strolls in as a replacement seconds after he's gone? No, it takes weeks for a position to be filled. So a sanitation worker, who just dumped trash and cleaned a bathroom that no truck driver would use, comes to the line and serves food; his hands covered in plastic gloves that rip easily.

Those who have a passion for kitchen work control their world with zeal. You call them Bangers. A title synonymous with hard work. When you receive the stamp of being a Banger, this means wherever you work, you mastered your job. You can handle it alone and the supervisors trust you enough because you earned it--and that's where you get one gigantic perk: The freedom of food. The prison populace eats from a set menu that has zero flavor, due too many inmates having food allergies. So because of that, everything is bland...but not for a kitchen worker who can chef up a meal that by prison standards receives a Michelin star.

When you're tired, you hide, stealing minutes of sleep. You hide in carts that transport food to housing units while others watch out for you, taking turns in cramped quarters that would make a chiropractor rich. When your shift ends, you're spent. You're leaning on somebody's shoulder as you lumber back to the housing unit. Once inside, you gotta fight for a shower, because disrespectful inmates that didn't work will occupy them. You sit and wait, and if the unit goes on on lockdown for whatever reason, you'll be in your cell smelling like a trash dumpster, forced to wash up in a sink until your cell is open.

When you sign up for kitchen work, you give up your life; working on your freedom, education, and even your mental health is pushed to the side. You come in early and leave late. That's why most inmates after a year or so quit--they want more of a life and the kitchen doesn't allow anything but work and a few hours of sleep. You make 27 cents an hour, working 40-plus hours in a four-day span. Monthly checks average $43.20. The sad part is that inmates fight for jobs in the kitchen, because they need the money.

You now understand this reality, and even as you do, you take the job. This is your life now. The long hours. Lazy coworkers. All that comes as a kitchen worker you accept. 

Why? You're in prison, not the free world, and these are your options. Better get to bed. That 3 AM wake up call will be coming soon.

*You can read Waterman's story and sign and share his petition here: 

https://www.change.org/p/tutankhamun-waterman-deserves-a-second-chance?fbclid=IwZXh0bgNhZW0CMTAAAR1Wyuzc-PW1nPVQZ6tQVHPSUsdHRK13eL5e9yymIkhphNfj4UqCaQW7weA_aem_AeiXB0ZtMfkd-berxBv7PZTcTeOkILqej0bwNSD9Yh7fLDw88sv1TVaUPyxTnU9E73xXmU8o8vXq5cgz8BLmeLfz

#PrisonLabor 

#SecondChanceMonth

#EndLWOP

In Defense Of Old Order Mennonite Education

Mountain View is one of six two-room Old Order 
Mennonite schools in southwestern Rockingham County.

Local Old Order Mennonites keep their formal education simple and have kept things pretty much the same as when they first established their own schools for grades one through eight beginning in 1968.

Conservative Mennonites of the horse and buggy variety in Rockingham County have, among other things, managed to preserve one of the most pristine and unspoiled region of family farms in all of the South. And chief among their contributions to our community are their offspring, mostly honest, hard working, law-abiding and tax-paying citizens who require few government services, take care of their own aging (without relying on social security and Medicare) and who provide for their own education.

But is that education of equal quality to what our public schools offer? Based on standardized tests they do well above average when it comes to the basic three R's, and of course excel when it comes to Bible instruction, but is that enough to prepare their young for today's challenges? And are their teachers, mostly graduates of their own eight grade programs (many of whom first served as teacher assistants), adequately trained?

These are valid questions, to be sure. But these people do offer some of their own training for their teachers each summer, with experienced teachers passing on their wisdom to the newer recruits, and they do avail themselves of the help in teachers' manuals accompanying their text books, some of which are produced by Christian Light Publication, a local conservative publishing organization. And while their library offerings are very limited, most Old Order families do buy and borrow books and other reading material for members of their households, and many are regular readers of our local newspaper, the Daily News-Record, which greatly values its Old Order subscribers. 

One thing is clear, Old Order Mennonites don't rely on their schools alone to educate their children. From early childhood their young are taught by their elders to produce, preserve and prepare food on their farms, gardens, and green houses. Their daughters learn gardening, how to sew their own clothes, take care of younger siblings and how to otherwise manage a household. Their sons learn whatever is necessary for the maintenance and management of their family's extensive dairy, poultry and/or other enterprises. So by the time their non-Mennonite peers are graduating from high school, most Old Order teens have already learned skills sufficient to make them capable of taking over many of the responsibilities of managing their family's entire operation as needed.

On recent visits to the Mountain View School I was again impressed by the dedication of their young teachers and assistants, and by the diligence of their students, many of whom walk to school, arrive by bicycle, or are transported by drivers paid for by their parents. I was especially impressed by the fact that the current lead teacher of grades 5-8, a young woman in her early 20's, drives a horse and buggy to school every day from her home seven miles away.

In summary, the Old Order community appears to accomplish in depth what it may appear to lack in breadth. It produces young people well prepared to pass on their faith- and family-focused way of life, but without exposing them to the full array of information and options the rest of the world may offer.

Which is pretty much what they intend.

As someone who grew up in a similar community (mine was Amish, a rapidly growing group that has been separate from Mennonites since 1683), I have a special appreciation for the efforts of faith communities dedicated to helping preserve some of the important values of past generations. Such "old order" adherents, in my mind, represent a kind of monastic way of life they don't expect all of their neighbors to adopt, but which remind us all that not everything that is new is necessarily better, that not all that glitters is gold, and that we should make sure we don't discard ancient wisdom in pursuit of the latest innovation or invention. 

Some of the upper grade student at recess. (photos by Ruby Schrock)

Postscript: A local Old Order group that no longer requires horse and buggy transportation (Mt. Pleasant and Hinton Mennonite churches) operates the Hickory Hollow School along Limestone Lane, one that now includes some classes for grades 9-12; the Southeastern Conference Mennonites offer grades 1-12 at their Berea Christian School; the Calvary Mennonite churches have classes for grades 1-12 at the former Mt. Clinton Elementary School; and the more progressive Virginia Conference Mennonites offer kindergarten through grade 12 education at Eastern Mennonite School next to the EMU campus.

A Frightening Kind Of Powerlessness

source

I had an interesting conversation in my dentist's waiting room recently with someone who arrived in a four wheel drive pickup with "Don't Tread on Me" plates and a hood wrap displaying an American flag. I immediately saw him as someone I wanted to get to know better.

Our short visit went something like this:

Me: A beautiful day.

He: Another day in paradise.

Me: Yeah, we have a lot to be thankful for.

He: Maybe, if we could just get the government off our backs.

Me: I guess we'll all have to work at making things better.

He: But there's really nothing we can do. The government is totally controlled by the liberal media and the big shots in Washington. We don't have any say anymore.

Me: Except in a way, though, I guess we are the government, like "of the people, by the people, for the people."

He: That hasn't been the case for a long time. Nothing we do can make any difference. That's been totally true for years now.

Me: You really think so?

He: Unless somebody can put a bullet through Biden's head.

Me: You think that would make things better?

He: Well it would certainly help.

Office person: Harvey, we're ready for you now.

Me: Have a good day.

By the time I was finished with my checkup, my friend had gone. I still wish we could have had more time to talk and get to know each other better. But as someone has said, "Talk and facts don't change people. Relationships do."

As It Was In The Days Of Noah--Complacency In The Face Of Catastrophe

Noah's Ark During the Flood, Vladimir Kosov

"Before the great flood everyone was carrying on as usual, having a good time right up to the day Noah boarded the ark. They knew nothing—until the flood hit and swept everything away."

Matthew 24:38 (the Message)

Like most North Americans, I fail to realize how exceptionally fortunate I've been in having avoided the trauma millions of others on our planet have suffered in my short lifetime. 

In the first decade of my life, over 50 million people died in World War II. In western Europe and in parts of Asia whole cities were obliterated, two of them by nuclear bombs. Over six million people, mostly Jews, suffered horribly and perished in the Holocaust.

In the 50's the Korean War devastated millions, as did the Vietnam War in the 60's and the 70's, in which the US dropped more bombs in that part of the world than had been used in all of WW II. An untold number of our southeast Asian neighbors lost their homes and their lives.

In the 80's and 90's our African neighbors saw an increase in droughts and other conditions that led to mass starvation. In the Second Congo War some 2.7 million died, mostly from hunger and disease. 

In this century, over 13 million of our world neighbors have been affected by drought and famine in Niger and West Africa, and multitudes have starved in Somalia, South Sudan, Ethiopia and Nigeria. In the Middle East thousands of men, women and children have perished in Yemen as a result of the Yemeni Civil War and the US supported blockade of Yemen by Saudi Arabia.

Most recently, over 30,000 civilians have been killed in Gaza, with a population of 2.1 million people already living in poverty and crowded in a space less than 20% the size of Rockingham County. Many in Gaza have suffered severe burns. loss of limbs and other injuries, and most of its inhabitants, many of whom were already living as refugees for decades, have had to flee their bombed out homes and refugee camps with nowhere to go, and without shelter, food or even minimal healthcare.

In spite of all of these recent disasters happening on the small blue dot we share on planet earth, we have come to believe we are exempt from the tragedies experienced by billions of other human beings.

Everywhere but here. Any time but now.

Just as in the days of Noah.

"YE (Not 'Thou') Are The Light Of The World" Why The Ye Pronoun Matters

An unbelieving and skeptical world is not

likely to see church divisions as convincing

signs of our love for God and each other.* 

"You [plural] are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on a lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your [plural] light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven."

- Matthew 5:14-16 NRSV

We usually assume this passage in the Jesus's Sermon on the Mount is about each of us individually being a source of God-given light. While that interpretation obviously has merit, Jesus is really saying that it is the God-chosen community of Jesus followers, collectively, that is like a beatitude-blessed light for all to see. 

In the book of Revelation, the Son of Man is introduced as one who is in the midst of seven golden lampstands representing seven congregations in Asia Minor. Whether the author is the same John as the apostle who heard Jesus's words firsthand, his use of the same metaphor for a congregation (a luminous lampstand) is striking, as is the writer's description of a well-lit city on a hill, a new Jerusalem ("city of salem, or shalom") that cannot be hidden. 

In the first century, outsiders were amazed and impressed not just by the witness of individual believers, but by the way members of the Jesus community in the book of Acts loved each other and shared generously with those in need. This was a convincing answer to one of Jesus's last prayers, "that they may all be one (unified), as I and the Father are one" so "the world may know that you are my disciples, by your love for one another."

So in fulfilling Christ's mission, rather than simply singing "This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine," we should strongly affirm something like,

This Great Light divine,

We're gonna let it shine,

Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine!

Another good theme song for followers of Jesus should be, "They'll know we are Christians by our love." Clearly one of the more convincing ways of doing that is to have congregations patiently and persistently working at their differences until they are resolved, no matter how long it takes.

* https://www.christianbook.com/devour-another-biblical-principals-handling-conflict/alexander-strauch

"Work Court": An Alternative To Incarceration

This beautiful motto has been on the wall behind the Judge's bench of the Rockingham Circuit Court for over 100 years. (Photo provided by Chaz Haywood)

One of the more obvious signs of good citizenship is individuals holding down good jobs, showing up regularly for work, providing for their families, keeping up with their bills, paying their taxes, and otherwise helping the economy and avoiding being a burden to society. The current unemployment rate in Virginia, at 3%, represents adults of working age who are less likely to be contributing to their communities in these ways.

Sadly, among those in the latter group are the more than 60,000 men and women in the Commonwealth confined in our jails and prisons. So as a concerned tax paying citizen I would offer the following modest proposal:

That anyone charged with an offense who has a steady job, is paying taxes and providing for themselves and for their families will not receive sentences that result in their losing their employment unless they are a clear danger to their community. Alternatives to incarceration could include paying appropriate fines, being under house arrest except for work, having an extended probation period, being on electronic monitoring, and/or serving time at night and on weekends.

I recently became acquainted with a local breadwinner who was within months of completing his probation when he was given an 18 month sentence for a probation violation. During the five years since completing his prison term he had kept a good paying job, paid off all his court fines and fees, gotten married, bought a home, bettered himself financially and remained law-abiding and infraction free. Then he made the bad mistake of violating one of the terms of his probation, which is a "technical violation" but not something that would be considered a crime for anyone not under court supervision.

This individual acknowledges his mistake and was prepared to accept some kind of consequence, but due to what he felt was poor representation by his court appointed attorney, was sentenced to serve another year and a half sentence in prison, losing his job and putting his spouse in financial straits in the process.

One of our community's more creative and effective alternatives to incarceration has been the local Drug Court initiated and championed by Commonwealth's Attorney Marsha Garst. Rather than having those with substance use disorders serving time behind bars at an average annual cost to taxpayers of over $25,000 per inmate, individuals in the Drug Court program are subject to regular drug screens, are enrolled in substance abuse programs, and meet with Judge Bruce Albertson for a check-in every Thursday noon at the Circuit Court. They are closely monitored and are regularly encouraged, promoted to a higher level, reprimanded, demoted, and/or graduated. If they relapse, they must start the program all over again.

So I'm wondering if a similar kind of "Work Court" program (perhaps meeting at night) could be created as an effective and corrective alternative to jail or prison time. In my mind this could be a win/win/win for 1) taxpayers, 2) our overcrowded jails and 3) all of the individuals, families and communities involved.

Needlessly warehousing working people in cages hurts families, adds to human services costs, reduces tax revenues, has a negative effect on our economy, and creates an added strain on local and state budgets.

We can do better than that.

Why Don't We Form Search Committees For Apostles, Prophets And Evangelists?

Should we reconsider how our
congregations are led and nurtured?

"To some are given gifts to be apostles, some prophets, some evangelists, some pastors and teachers, to equip God's people for the work of ministry, for building up the body of Christ..."

- Paul, in a letter to the Ephesian church (Eph. 4:11-12 paraphrased)

Most churches seem to read this text as, "To one is given the gift of being a senior pastor, to another an associate pastor, to yet another, a youth pastor, who are to be the church's apostles, preachers, and evangelists."

I hold pastors in high regard, having been blessed personally being in that role for over 58 years. But I have long wondered why we elevate this particular office above all the other leadership roles mentioned in the New Testament.

Over time, congregations in Mennonite Church USA have largely adopted the same model of a pastor's office and role as that of most of their Protestant counterparts. While in the past our ministers were chosen from within their congregations and were a part of an unsalaried ministerial team led by bishops (who in turn were chosen from among their peers), most Mennonite pastors today are hired from outside the congregation and are seen as the congregation's primary leader and chief spokesperson. This in spite of the word translated pastor consistently being in the plural.

David Sproules of the Palm Beach Lakes Church of God, writes, "The preacher is not by definition, then, a 'pastor.'  He is not 'the leader' 'in charge' of the church.  He is one of the members (sheep) of the congregation and is subject to the eldership (like all members, including the elders).  He is not on a level 'above' anyone else or to be 'revered' as such (cf. Psa. 111:9); thus, there is no special title (ex: Pastor, Reverend, Father) for him to wear or to be called (Matt. 23:5-12)."

He goes on to note references to a plurality of elders, overseers, bishops, pastors and/or shepherds in the church, suggesting a shift from relying primarily on special seminary trained and salaried pastors for the spiritual care of our congregations. 

In the body of Christ, blessed with multiple gifts, we are all a part of the "laity" (from laos, the people), and we are all "called to the ministry" of caring for each other and reaching out in love and care for the world around us.

An Intake At Goochland Women's Correctional Center: "We Were Treated Worse Than Dogs"

The author of this piece is serving a sentence at
Goochland for a probation violation in 2022.

This was written for publication by a local 50-year-old mother of three who is to be released from prison this fall.

I arrived at Virginia Correctional Center for Women (VCCW) on January 18, 2023. I transferred there from Fluvanna Correctional Center for Women, where they hold maximum security inmates as well as do intakes and classify women coming into the Department of Corrections from Virginia jails.

VCCW, aka Goochland, is in Goochland County, an approximately 30-minute drive from Fluvanna. There were around 12 to 15 women transferred that day. We were all shackled with chains between our ankles, so you must take baby steps to keep from falling on your face. There’s a chain wrapped around your waist that is intertwined through a metal box that holds your hands at your waist. The contraption holds your hands so tight that some of the women complained their circulation was cut off and I could see because their hands were turning purple.

The bus that carried us was more like a horse trailer, with little oblong windows that were so high we couldn’t see out of them. The only way to see was if you stood up and stretched because there was a considerable height.

Our only stop was at State Farm. State Farm is a work camp that is on the same property as VCCW but maybe about five miles apart. We stopped to drop off one of the women on the bus who was going to be housed there.

When we stopped the female officer who rode up front with the male bus driver got off the bus and managed to drop some important paperwork that concerned the inmate being left at the State Farm location. We stayed on the bus for several minutes, unsure of what had occurred, while the officer and the bus driver (also an officer) searched for the paperwork.

We were becoming restless and miserable with no air blowing and it was an unseasonable warm day. We could barely move with the tight restraints and shackles on our ankle. 

Finally, a taller girl stood up to one of those small, high windows to see what was taking so long. She then spotted the missing paperwork. When it was dropped it had blown up against a small wooden structure we were parked beside.

After we finally got their attentions, we told them someone had looked out the window and saw the paper had blown to the right of the bus. They acted as if they didn’t believe us, failing to make a move or even acknowledge what we were saying. We became adamant that their paper was over against the building and that clearly irritated them. Finally, one of them did go look and found the paperwork. 

This is an example of the disconnection between inmates and staff. They chose to ignore the information that would get us safely and promptly back on the road toward our destination only because the information came from inmates.

We finally arrived at VCCW and once again we were left sitting on this hot, stuffy bus with no air circulating. We asked the officer and the driver several time to please turn the air conditioning back on because it was so warm and stuffy. We got no response.

Finally, a woman who had asthma had an attack. She was sitting in the seat in front of me and hit my leg when she fell in the aisle of the bus gasping for air. She lost her glasses in the fall. Me, with quite a bit of difficulty because of the cuffs and shackles I was wearing, managed to rescue her glasses before they were trampled in the chaos that ensued.

Luckily, we were on VCCW property and more officers as well as two nurses boarded the bus to assist the woman in distress. The woman was taken off the bus amid a few very vocal complaints from my fellow inmates about our being treated worse than dogs left in a hot car. The driver/officer who had left us on this hot stuffy bus not once, but twice, continued to look indifferent, but turned on the air and left it on. A little later we were finally pulled up behind an old building and taken off the bus, then escorted physically to a basement, mostly because we could barely walk.

I later learned this building was known as Building Two and encompassed medical, a property room, and intake to the facility. The outside was red brick just like buildings Three, Four, Five and Six. Building One was a white structure and was the original prison before it became a money-making "body farm" that could hold 500 inmates. Building One has been condemned and sits in a cul-de-sac below Building Two. They say it’s haunted.

The first warden was Elizabeth Kates. When she arrived in 1931 there were only thirteen inmates. Building Two was also old, and there were tiles on the floors with old, yellowed wax. The walls were concrete, and their paint looked faded. While standing in the main intake room I realized the corner
of the building was separated all the way from floor to ceiling and I could see outside. Overhead were pipes that ran across the ceiling where every so often I could hear water run through them from a toilet or a shower, I assumed. 

After the shackles and restraints were removed we were all drug tested. Then we were taken into a room divided by partitions and pictures were taken of all our tattoos. After that, four of us at a time were stripped naked. We had to squat and cough, lift our breasts, our stomachs, open our hair and run  our fingers through it, show the backs of our ears, open our mouths, and show the bottoms of our feet. This was the second time we had performed the routine; we had done the same thing before we left Fluvanna that morning. I guess one time wasn’t humiliating enough.

Officer Wright was a woman in her fifties. She came in to assist once we were naked. Immediately she acted as if she was in charge. Some were afraid, I’m sure, as she told us how Goochland was a serious place where we could acquire tickets and lose any good time we might earn. She told us we didn’t want to mess up while we were there and on and on about the rules and regulations…while we stood naked. She mentioned several times that we were not at a fashion show as we were issued ill fitting state uniforms. We were told to live with it and stop complaining that something didn’t fit. Too bad!

I came to learn that you had to struggle, fight, and pay to keep halfway decent clothes on your back. Honestly, nothing you wear in Goochland is decent—not even what you pay for. That day of intake I got a shirt that was too small and pants that were too big. It took weeks before a clothing exchange was called where we could exchange those ill-fitting outfits we received on our day of intake.

We Can Choose Our Like Minded Friends, But Not Our God-Chosen Spiritual Kin

Too little has been written, and too little said,
about the scandal of a divided and splintered
body of Christ.

For most of my adult life I have been a member of the Virginia Mennonite Conference, an imperfect but blessed expression of God’s beloved community. For me VMC has not been just another "Gesellschaft," like a social organization, but a living part of a worldwide "Gemeinschaft," a spiritual communion of blood-bought close relatives.

So I grieve when congregations in this or any other God-chosen community of faith choose to separate themselves from others in their extended faith family, their spiritual kin. 

In the words of pastor and author Benjamin Cremer, "The world is not impressed by a church where everyone who is essentially the same is getting along with each other. The world needs to see the church practice what is extremely difficult to accomplish: an incredibly diverse group of people loving and advocating for one another.”

In the U.S. prior to the Civil War, one of the nation's major divisions was between Unionists who wanted to preserve the nation’s "E Pluribus Unum" (“of many, one”), and Secessionists who worked at forming an alternative confederacy of states. 

Today there is a similar divide between "unionists" (lower case) and “separationists” in the church, each believing theirs is the only right position to take in the face of significant differences of faith and practice.

But what message are we sending non-believers and to our children and grandchildren when we simply give up on maintaining long held spiritual ties, and give up on prayerfully seeking to work things out as blood-bought members of “one faith, one baptism, and one body?” 

There are of course clear instructions in the Bible about removing unrepentant individuals from a congregation, but is there any mandate for congregations separating themselves en masse from other whole groups of churches? 

I know of none. Jesus's fervent prayer is "that they all may be one, as I and the Father are one,” so that “the world may know that you are my disciples." It is clear that we are called to become members together of one new, God-chosen body and bride of Christ.

So while we may surgically remove a malignant member who threatens the life and health of the congregation, we should resist any amputation of whole limbs or organs of Christ's body unless it is clearly a matter of spiritual life or death.

We are always to "choose life," and always seek to demonstrate the kind of unity in our life here that we expect to experience in the life hereafter. In this way we become an answer to our Lord's prayer that the redemptive and reconciling will of God “be done on earth as it is in heaven.”

To me, this means we should be "unionists," intentionally expanding our circle of spiritual relationships and adding to the ties that bind us to other faith communities. As "separationists" we tend to subtract from, and further restrict, the circle of spiritual kin with whom we fellowship and work. 

Some may fear that too much focus on becoming “one in the Spirit” might result in a blurring of boundaries that mark a clear difference between light and darkness, between insiders and outsiders.

I agree that congregations should take seriously their responsibility to prayerfully determine, to the best of their ability, what they believe is heaven's judgment regarding what are truly matters of spiritual life or death. In other words, to ask, “What actually excludes people from God's Book of Life and from being a part of the wedding celebration of the Lamb?”

For example, Anabaptist-minded believers might exclude from their communion tables (and even their work tables) congregants who engage in bombing and killing people, who abuse and oppress the least of these, who manufacture and promote harmful drugs or military style weapons, or who "fare sumptuously every day" without regard for the homeless and hungry Lazaruses among them.

At the same time we should seek radical inclusion with all who are committed to “doing justice, loving mercy, and walking humbly with God,” and join in fellowship with those who pledge to "love God with their whole heart, soul, mind and strength,” and to “love their every neighbor as they love themselves.” This kind of agape-based love, by definition, will never do harm to another, even to an enemy, but will reach out to insiders and outsiders alike, just as God does. 

ln the case of insiders Christ’s love takes the form of discipleship. With outsiders, that love is about warm invitation and the sharing good news of God's abundant mercy and amazing grace.  

In short, we humbly bind and loose, separate or embrace, based on our best understanding of what we believe to be the will of heaven, but never separate ourselves from others whom God has joined together and made citizens of the kingdom, or “kin-dom," of heaven.

After all, this is God’s covenant community, not ours. We’re just fortunate to have received God’s gracious invitation to become adopted members of it.

A Highly Paid Parole Board That Rarely Paroles

Charles Zellers, who has been incarcerated since he was
in his twenties, has like many others done everything 
humanly possible to earn their release, but to no avail.

Of the over 2000 parole eligible prisoners in Virginia, the Virginia Parole Board released only two in January and four in February.  I received the following message Friday from my friend Charles, who has been denied parole eleven times, even though when he took an Alford Plea in 1993 he was assured he would obtain an early release if he did well while incarcerated. 

I have been corresponding with him for over a decade, and he is now suffering from a severe case of Long Covid:

I have been incarcerated since January 25, 1993. I have earned my GED, successfully completed training for two vocational trades, and had been employed by Virginia Correctional Enterprises for 14 years until I got Covid. For ten of those years I was a lead man in charge of training and checking the work of other inmates in my department. 

I have been infraction free for decades, have successfully completed every self-help course available and have taken numerous college courses, earning a certificate in business through UVA and the Darden Business School. Now I am needing continuous oxygen and have been transferred to the Deerfield Correctional Center, a DOC facility that houses hundreds of prisoners with serious illnesses and disabilities.

I am wanting to complete my sentence as a parolee in my home community, where I can take care of my aging mother and give back to victims of crime and to the citizens where my crimes were committed.

I am seeking good people who believe in second chances to contact the Virginia Department of Corrections Director, Chadwick Dotson, and tell him that I have been parole eligible since July 30, 2005, but have been repeatedly denied release. 

Why hasn't the DOC prepared me and and others to qualify for release from prison prior to our parole eligibility date? Why aren't they working with me now, and preparing me and others like me to be deemed suitable for release? Why are so many parole eligible inmates still wasting taxpayers money sitting idly in prison?

Please ask DOC Director Dotson, state legislators and members of the Parole Board to advocate for whatever help is needed for people like me to be seen as "corrected" by the Department of Corrections and deserving of a well earned release from prison.

Thank you for your time and efforts, and for acting on your concerns.

Blessings,

Charles E. Zellers, Sr. 1036758
Deerfield Correctional Center

21360 Deerfield Drive

Capron, VA 23829

DOC Director chadwick.dotson@vadoc.virginia.gov 

Virginia Board of Parole https://vpb.virginia.gov/contact/

Governor Youngkin GGY74@Governor.Virginia.Gov 

P. S. Please share this with others.

Note: I posted this in November, 2015: https://harvyoder.blogspot.com/2015/11/model-prisoner-47-denied-parole-seven.html

Gary Wayne Souder: Gentle Giant. Godly Man. Soft-spoken Servant.

Gary Wayne Souder 10/22/48-2/25/24 (photos by niece Denise Showalter Martin)

There were more tears shed and more heartfelt emotions expressed at my friend and former parishioner Gary Souder's memorial service Saturday than I've experienced at similar events honoring esteemed authors, professors, church leaders or well known and wealthy philanthropists. And I've been to many a memorial service in my time. 

In his own quiet and unassuming way, he embodied and lived the text chosen for the service in his memory, I Corinthians 13, the Love Chapter. "Love is patient. Love is kind..." 

Many of those in attendance expressed their deep appreciation for how Gary's life had blessed them. I'm posting but two of the many memories shared, the first by his beloved daughter Kari:

How many people can say they had the best dad in the world? I know of at least 2. I'm not just saying that because Dad was my first love.

Dad was a teacher, not the kind of teacher that would give you the answer. But the kind that listened patiently when you asked a question. Then he would question you and stubbornly wait until you were able to figure it out.

He could turn any experience into a learning moment.  

He was our coach, one who would never consider allowing special privileges just because I was the coach's daughter. Privilege had to be earned. 

He wouldn't let me play football, even though he coached that too. He said I may be tougher than those boys, but a girl's got no business on a football field.

That one stung a bit. But he was probably right. 

Dad was a taxi driver. On Saturdays I would ride my bike to the Morris's farm or the Troung's house in Broadway. After playing all day I wouldn't feel like the uphill ride back, so I let the air out of my tire and called Dad. He acted like he didn't know what I did when he came to get me in his old green ford, the mule. He charged me a nickel though. 

He drove to Bergton to pick Tran and Denise up from camp at Highland so they could make it to their softball game. They being our best players and only hope to win may have had something to do with it.

He would drive to the school on mothers day to pick me up, along with Marcia and Melinda to pick out flowers for our moms. Then if we were lucky, we'd stop at the drugstore for a root beer float before he drove us back to school.

He was a pretty fair medic. Pulling splinters with his old timer or drilling smashed fingernails to relieve the pressure. Merthiolate would fix everything else. 

Sometimes he was my alarm clock, my star chart or encyclopedias, the full set.

Dad was our boss, he gave opportunity to so many kids by offering them work in the honey house. 

He was also a very skilled procrastinator. 

He was my hero. The bravest, strongest smartest man in the world

I'm not sure he could have retained this title with out the strength and support he got from my mom.

He actually changed the world. Just by being himself. He made life a better place for so many people. Around the summer of 86 or 87 he looked around and saw a bunch of bored girls complaining they didn't have anything to do. So what does he do? He starts them a softball team. We were horrible. Really Horrible. But because of him, we never gave up and we had A LOT of fun.

The other teams were jealous. They had to win to get ice cream at JJ's. Win or lose we only had to play our best. 

Dad wasn't able to find a record of anyone who had defined the algebraic expression for the arc of a softball, but of course he had to figure it out. When he tried explaining it to me I made it about a third of the way down the first page before getting totally lost. But he must have gotten something out of it, because he taught a whole lot of Broadway High Gobbler girls how to pitch a softball.

Softball became his passion. When his team didn't have practice or a game he was fixing up the strike zone or working on the field. Softball was life.

He would pile all us kids into the back of his truck after church to go swimming at Long Rock, or camping for the weekend at the Cove. He could identify a tree by its leaf or bird from its song. He cooked us a rattlesnake. He showed us that life is something you do. Give it your best shot and if that doesn't work give it something else until you figure it out.  

This was by a long time friend Tony Brenneman:

I learned to know Gary when I was 12 years old. Gary was captain of the Broadway High football team. My family lived in Broadway, and I would go to all the ball games. Gary was one of my heroes. It was

10 years later that I developed a friendship with Gary. He had gotten an engineering degree at VMI, served at Fort Belvoir, was an electrical engineer, then left his engineering job and started a bee beekeeping business,

Becky and I had just gotten married, and moved to a house about two miles from Gary and Karla's, and it wasn't long before Gary and I developed a close friendship.

I could spend hours telling stories about Gary. He would give hours of volunteer time to many people and organizations. Here at the Zion church, he engineered a significant part of the electrical system, and then spent days doing the labor to get the job done, all as a volunteer. He designed and built the concrete steps in front of the church. He served on the building committee for the front addition. And he was Zion’s moving service for many years. If someone was moving to another home, he would take all the bee hives off his flatbed truck, be the first to show up on moving day, and be the last to leave.

One evening when I was working on building my first home, I was ready to leave. Gary comes driving in about 9 at night, after working bees all day, gets out of the truck and says, "Sorry I'm late!"

You have heard others share many stories about Garys caring spirit.

Gary marched to a different drummer. He was amazingly sharp with mathematics, had a degree in electrical engineering, and had a lot of knowledge in other areas as well, so I often wondered why he chose tending bees instead of holding down a 9 to 5 job with paid vacation, and a higher income.

Gary followed his heart, not the values of this world. The poem written by Robert Frost, The Road Not Taken, tells the story of Gary’s life.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And I, sorry I could not travel both,
And both that morning equally lay, 
I kept the first for another day.

I shall be telling this with a sigh somewhere ages and ages hence, 
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

An Open Letter To Congregations Choosing To Separate From Virginia Mennonite Conference

To me, this association of churches doesn't just represent a
"Gesellschaft," an organization, but a "Gemeinschaft," a
beloved community and spiritual family. 

I've had some weighty conversation  recently with some of my fellow pastors whose congregation are considering severing ties with Virginia Mennonite Conference and Mennonite Church USA. Like believers in many other denominations, they are concerned about issues like congregations and church leaders becoming more open to recognizing monogamous same sex marriages.

In all my years, I've never witnessed an issue so divisive for churches everywhere, now that increasing numbers of gays and lesbians have openly formed such partnerships. I have advocated, without success so far, for our taking as much time as necessary listening to each other and praying and discerning together,  to reach some kind of consensus that could hold us together.

We are all prone to cherry-pick Bible texts that support our positions, but here are a few of my favorite ones on the issue of maintaining unity among God's people:

"How very good and pleasant it is when we live together in unity!"

- Psalm 133:1, a song of ascent

“I pray that they may all be one, just as you, Father, are in me, and I in you, that they also may

be one in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me.”

“May your will be done here on earth as it is in heaven.” 

- Jesus Christ

“Therefore I, a prisoner for serving the Lord, beg you to lead a life worthy of your calling, for you

(all) have been called by God. Always be humble and gentle. Be patient with each other,

making allowance for each other’s faults because of your love. Make every effort to keep

yourselves united in the Spirit, binding yourselves together with peace. For there is one body

and one Spirit, just as you have been called to one glorious hope for the future.

There is one Lord, one faith, one baptism,

one God and Father of all,

who is over all, in all, and living through all.”

“Now these are the gifts Christ gave to the church: apostles, prophets, evangelists, and pastors

and teachers. Their responsibility is to equip God’s people to do God’s work and build up the

church, the body of Christ. This will continue until we all come to such unity in our faith and

knowledge of God’s Son that we will be mature in the Lord, measuring up to the full and

complete standard of Christ.”  

-the apostle Paul

In light of all the Bible has to say about maintaining close ties with fellow members of God's chosen and blood-bought spiritual family, couldn't we commit to keep on working out our differences? And shouldn't we keep on affirming the following good words?

We are one in the Spirit 

We are one in the Lord 

And we pray that all unity 

May one day be restored 

And they’ll know we are Christians

By our love, By our love

Yes, they’ll know we are Christians

By our love. 

-Peter Sholtes

Has There Ever Been So Much Polarization, Violence, And Insanity In Our Country?

Are we about to experience another era of national chaos
and violence?

We often hear the word "unprecedented" used to describe current levels of delusional thinking, polarizing propaganda, conspiracy theories and rampant violence in our country. Examples:

Millions of members of the party that lost the 2020 presidential election continue to insist the election was stolen.

Many evangelical Christians believe Donald Trump is "anointed by God" to save the nation from a totally evil Democratic administration.

A majority of progressives and conservatives alike continue to believe the nation needs to keep pouring billions of dollars in the military "defense" of Ukraine and Israel in spite of the mounting and monstrous numbers of casualties inflicted.

In spite of the growing number of multiple mass shootings, efforts at limiting unfettered access to deadly military-style weapons are being met with little or no success.

Multiple conspiracy theories go viral on social media.

But is this kind of instability and insanity "unprecedented"? 

Two books I've  read recently suggest the answer may be No.

The Pre-Civil War Period

The first book, David S. Reynold's John Brown, Abolitionist, The Man Who Killed Slavery, Sparked the Civil War and Seeded Civil Rights, describes the chaos and polarization in the era that led up to the Civil War. I was particularly astounded by the prevalence of violence in territories like my native Kansas, where pro-slavery and Abolitionist groups repeatedly attacked each other with impunity. John Brown's first murderous raids, where under his leadership some of his pro-slavery foes were hacked to death and had their horses and other possessions stolen, took place in that state, earning Brown a larger-than-life reputation as a formidable force in the anti-slavery movement. Vilified as a crazed murder by some, he was elevated to near sainthood by others, some of whom compared the gallows on which he was hanged to the cross on which Jesus was crucified, according to Reynolds.

On a more positive note, the author also shows how far ahead of his time Brown was in seeing Blacks as equals, and by contrast how racist even most Abolitionists were at that time. For example, one Free State advocate in Kansas stated, "There is a prevailing sentiment against admitting negroes into the Territory at all, slave or free." The first Kansas constitution was introduced with a "Negro Exclusion Clause," and it was ratified by a three fourth majority of the Territory's Free State settlers.

Throughout this era most people, especially in the South, supported the blatant racism of politicians like John Calhoun, who called slavery "a positive good," insisting that it "served whites while it civilized blacks," a sentiment most of us would dismiss as completely irrational and wrong today. And Jefferson Davis, the president of the Confederacy, spoke for the majority of his citizens when he stated in his opening address to the Confederate Congress that slavery was a great blessing to blacks: "In moral and social condition they had been elevated from brutal savages into docile, intelligent, and civilized agricultural labors, and supplied not only with bodily comforts but with careful religious instruction. Under the supervision of the superior race their labor had been so directed as onlt only to allow a gradual and marked amelioration of their own condition, but to convert hundreds and thousands of square miles of wilderness lands covered with a prosperous people." p. 440

The Civil War that followed resulted in the horrifying and brutal deaths of more American combatants than any war in history.

The Jim Crow and KKK Era

Another book I read recently was Florence Mars' Witness in Philadelphia, An eyewitness account of the troubled summer of 1964, when three young civil rights workers were murdered near Philadelphia, Mississippi.

That was the year, 1964, when I graduated from college and Alma Jean and I were married. While we were aware of many of the events of that summer and of much of the violence and oppression of African Americans in the decades preceding it, I was struck with how recent and how brutal the lynchings and other acts of violence and oppression associated with segregation really were. 

As an example of delusional beliefs associated with that time period, 101 southern senators and congressmen created and signed a blatantly racist "Declaration of Constitutional Principles" known as the "Southern Manifesto, published after the 1954 Supreme Court decision that ruled that segregated public schools were unconstitutional. Mississippi Senator James Eastland, who owned five thousand acres of rich Delta land worked by descendants of slaves, addressed the state convention of the racist Citizens' Council as follows:

The Supreme Court of the United States, in the false name of law and justice, has perpetrated a monstrous crime. It presents a clear and present danger, not only to the law, traditions, customs and racial integrity of the Southern people, but also to the foundation of our Republican form of Government.

The anti-segregation decisions are dishonest decisions. Although tendered by Judges whose sworn duty it is to uphold the law and to protect and preserve the Constitution of the United States, these decisions were dictated by political pressure groups bent upon the destruction of the American system of government, and the mongrelization of the white race. p. 71

A statement issued by the White Knights of the KKK in response to whether they were involved in the case of the three civil rights workers whose bodies were eventually found under 15 feet of dirt in a Neshoba County earthen dam, read, "Only to the extent of doing everything possible to expose the truth about the Communist and political aspects of the case. We are primarily concerned with protecting the good name and integrity of the honest people of the State of Mississippi against the physical and propaganda attacks of the Communist Agitators and Press." Spokesmen for the group warned of a "Jewish-Communist conspiracy" to take over the nation, and that "Communists were training an army of Negroes in Cuba to invade the United States."

Looking back, it's hard to imagine so many Americans embracing this kind of delusional and destructive thinking, and who remained silent about the lynchings of over 4000 people, in both the North and the South between 1882 and 1964,

Looking around, however, we can see ominous signs of the same kind of sickness and irrationality today.

A Torturous Voyage To Philadelphia On The Francis and Elizabeth

Our Yoder forebears crossed the Atlantic
in the voyage described in this historical
novel, available from Masthof Press. 

I just finished reading this book by a descendant of Frau Barbara Fridman, a 41-year-old widow who with her children, age 19, 15, 8 and 6, crossed the Atlantic on the Francis and Elizabeth in 1742 in a grueling voyage of over two months. Packed in this vessel were over 200 other immigrants, including my Amish ancestor, widower  Christian Yoder and his 20-year-old son Christian and 16-year-old Jacob. 

The ancestral home of the Yoders is Steffisburg in Switzerland, but we're not sure just where our immigrant ancestors lived when they left for the New World. The Fridman family were Lutherans from Massenbach, and made their trip on a series of barges up the Necker and Rhine Rivers to Rotterdam, a journey almost as long and trying as the trip across the ocean. The hardships they and their fellow immigrants endured before and during their ocean voyage, along with Mennonite, Amish and other migrants, are almost unimaginable. Think rats, seasickness, chronic illnesses, burials at sea, insufferable heat, unbelievable stench, and having to sleep in stacks of wooden bunks packed next to other passengers night after night.

I wonder if any of us would have been hardy enough, or desperate enough, to have considered taking this kind of risk, but reading this book certainly added to my appreciation of the sheer courage our forefathers and mothers demonstrated in doing so. 

Here's a link to another post about this voyage: https://harvyoder.blogspot.com/search?q=francis+and+Elizabeth 

Roses And Ashes: Local Marriage And Divorce Numbers For 2023

Flowers can be expensive, but a good
marriage is priceless.

Today, February 14, is both Ash Wednesday, the first Day of Lent, and Valentines Day, a day for celebrating love, roses and romance.

As a pastor and marriage and family counselor I’ve been keeping record of the number of local marriages and divorces each year since 1996. While our Rockingham/Harrisonburg population has grown significantly since then, the number of divorces granted in 2023, 366, remained relatively low, and the number of marriage licenses issued, 961, remained at near the average number of marriages each year since 1996.

While 366 marital breakups is a lower number than most years, it nevertheless means the painful disruption of the lives of 732 partners, along with whatever distress it creates for their children and countless numbers of friends, parents, grandparents and other loved ones. 

Meanwhile, while we have good records of documented marriages in our community, we lack any statistics on the increased number of partners who are living together without registering their de facto marriages. This means we have no record of how many of these undocumented couples also experience undocumented divorces, with equally distressing effects on children and/or other close family members and friends.

Here are the official numbers as provided by the local Circuit Court:

Year       Marriages     Divorces

1996           873                 387

1997           950                 405

1998           964                 396

1999           932                 405

2000           947                 365

2001          1003                438     (most annual marriages)

2002           976                 421

2003           961                 399

2004           959                 437

2005           889                 381

2006           929                 389

2007           925                 434

2008           950                 405

2009           903                 347 

2010           879                 358     (fewest annual marriages)

2011           933                 433

2012           995                 445

2013           924                 484    

2014           972                 427

2015           955                 474

2016           985                 612     (most annual divorces)

2017           983                 426

2018           935                 476

2019           947                 487

2020           882                 445

2021           994                 466

2022           954                 332     (fewest annual divorces)

2023           961                 366

We should note that the marriage numbers above are based solely on the number of marriage licenses issued, and include those who come here from other localities to get married, whereas divorce numbers include only the official breakups of people who live in the City or County. However, it is reasonable to assume that a roughly equal number of residents from here marry in other jurisdictions as marry here from other communities, so the numbers given should be reasonably valid for comparison purposes.

It should also be noted that we cannot assume a rate of divorce based on any one year's numbers, as in "35% of the first time marriages in our community will end in divorce,” since many of the above couples are marrying or divorcing for a second, third or fourth time. But with numbers like these over a period of years, we can safely conclude that the odds of a given first marriage surviving are well over 50%.

Separations and divorces may certainly be justified in cases of ongoing patterns of abuse, addictions or adultery. But in every way possible, our community is better off supporting ever more marital roses and ever fewer ashes of failed marriages and severed relationships.