How Not To Be a
Mennonite
In memory of
Aunt EstherSomehow
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
Gods 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 couldnt 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.
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