Somehow I always knew better
how not
to be a Mennonite
Those aunts of mine, some divorced,
some who left the church
since there was no room for their woman strength
their brilliant minds, their artistic flare.
They found their niche in other places
and served like missionaries in cities
far away from the Pennsylvania fields where they grew up.
Singing, sculpting, writing, teaching, and doctoring
they moved the world.
Those musicians who played jazzy music
blues and bebop
and kept time with their bodies,
drank beer, smoked cigarettes,
frequented bars.
Their music was dark and seedy next to the
heavenly church choirs singing "Elijah" and "The Messiah,"
and Brahms’ "Requiem."
The Mennonite Men in black suits
standing straight and tall, never moving
never swaying
as they sang about joy
and seeing God as they passed through the gates of heaven.
I knew it was a sin, but I believed God’s music
came from a saxophone
and the Holy Spirit wrote the blues.
That Sunday morning I stood in front and blew my horn
as the congregation sang "Precious Lord"
I wished I could I bring them in, my aunts who couldn’t stay,
to show them how to be a Mennonite.

—Joyce Peachey Lind is a mother, teacher, and musician who lives in Harrisonburg, Virginia. She is pursuing an M.A.T. in Early Childhood Education at James Madison University.