Today I worshipped with Mennonites
Oct 17, 2021 23:14:38 GMT -5
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Post by robjh22 on Oct 17, 2021 23:14:38 GMT -5
It's long been an ambition to make a practice of visiting churches not of my faith, to celebrate and pray with the congregants, to learn of their doctrines and practices, and to compare and contrast their exotic religions along the way. My plan was to collect religious experiences and share them with my Catholic friends, like a big game hunter collects stuffed heads and shows them off at cocktail parties. Not really. Well, kind of.
My safari finally started today! I am Catholic and had already been to "Sunday" Mass yesterday, a Saturday, so this morning was free (we Catholics call Saturday Mass a "vigil", this, I think, to avoid the sin of omitting to keep holy the Sabbath, which is ironic, since the Sabbath for Jews is on Saturday anyway.)
I chose to favor the Mennonites with my first extra-Catholic, exploratory "taste-and-see." I was really looking for an Anabaptist church, because I've always liked Anabaptists, but Mennonites were all I could find of that persuasion within a reasonable driving distance. (Anabaptists are forebears of Mennonites).
As I was dressing, I wondered if my dove-grey, pleated slacks and striped, long-sleeved dress shirt were suitable attire. Was I over-dressed or under-dressed? Necktie, or no necktie? Was black jacket optional? I didn't have any suspenders or wide-brimmed straw hat as I assumed the men would all be wearing. I was already in knots about the straw hat and that suspenders business when I faced a second dilemma: to shave or not to shave? After agonizing, I elected to shave, but with ambivalence: On the one hand, I tend to look dirty when unshaved. I didn't want to pollute the service and disgust the congregants with my unsightly Catholic stubble. How horrible for them. On the other hand, I wondered what point there was in shaving for a Mennonite service in the first place; all the men would surely have long, flowing beards, like Moses. Would the elders discuss my appearance in a hushed, low German, vote to cast me out, and then shun me for having shaved? How long does a shunning last? I really didn't know, and so it worried me. As it turned out, these fears were unfounded.
It was a small church, as Mennonite churches tend to be in Texas. Kansas, I understand, is a different matter. I was warmly greeted by a young couple in the lobby, the husband of which -- shaved, mind you, and dressed exactly like me -- had grown up Catholic himself. After some pleasantries, we went into this low-ceilinged meeting room where service was held. It was not the Sistine Chapel, but neither is my church. Come to think of it, the first Masses 2000 years ago were held in dark caves or the small homes of the faithful, so this Mennonite environment is more faithful to the original Catholic practice than is St. Peter's Basilica in Rome. (You think?)
The structure of the service itself was not too dissimilar to a modern Catholic Mass, with these differences: 1)
there is no reading from the Holy Gospel, just one from Psalms and then one from a letter from St. Paul to the Ephesians. I don't know why the Gospel isn't read, and I forgot to ask. They referred to the letter as being "from the Book of Paul," which was jarring, but I got over it.
2) There is no "liturgy of the Eucharist," no breaking of bread, no mysticism, and certainly no transsubstantiation. There are no graven images or paintings of saints, of the Blessed Virgin Mary, or of Jesus.
3) At one point, everyone is invited to take the microphone and make a prayer request on behalf of themselves, a friend, or family member, or alternatively to announce some good news, like having found a job or having had a successful medical intervention.
When it came my turn, I asked everyone to pray for some wicked, sinful guitar players of my acquaintance. (I didn't mean you all, of course.) No, I didn't do that. I did thank them for welcoming me into their midst and, instead of a prayer request, made a kind of confession/admission of a personal struggle of mine. No one else did anything of the kind, probably because Mennonites aren't guilt-ridden Catholics accustomed to confessing sins in dark closets and then mortifying their flesh with a fish-hook-tipped cat o'nine tails. Like I do. Catholics do make prayer requests, but anonymously and in secret, like pretty much everything else we do.
I like the openness of the Mennonites. I wonder what they'd think of the Latin Mass, still celebrated in many places, including Dallas, with the priest's back turned to the congregation and covered with an ivory, emerald green, scarlet or purple chasuble, which is a giant "cape", more or less), depending on the season?
The hymnal featured many songs that my own church sings, including some by the GREAT Marty Haugen ("Eye Has Not Seen"). This commonality helped to ground me.
I could go on about all this but will save it for my book.
It was a very pleasant and rewarding experience, and I hope to visit the local Mennonite church again soon.
My safari finally started today! I am Catholic and had already been to "Sunday" Mass yesterday, a Saturday, so this morning was free (we Catholics call Saturday Mass a "vigil", this, I think, to avoid the sin of omitting to keep holy the Sabbath, which is ironic, since the Sabbath for Jews is on Saturday anyway.)
I chose to favor the Mennonites with my first extra-Catholic, exploratory "taste-and-see." I was really looking for an Anabaptist church, because I've always liked Anabaptists, but Mennonites were all I could find of that persuasion within a reasonable driving distance. (Anabaptists are forebears of Mennonites).
As I was dressing, I wondered if my dove-grey, pleated slacks and striped, long-sleeved dress shirt were suitable attire. Was I over-dressed or under-dressed? Necktie, or no necktie? Was black jacket optional? I didn't have any suspenders or wide-brimmed straw hat as I assumed the men would all be wearing. I was already in knots about the straw hat and that suspenders business when I faced a second dilemma: to shave or not to shave? After agonizing, I elected to shave, but with ambivalence: On the one hand, I tend to look dirty when unshaved. I didn't want to pollute the service and disgust the congregants with my unsightly Catholic stubble. How horrible for them. On the other hand, I wondered what point there was in shaving for a Mennonite service in the first place; all the men would surely have long, flowing beards, like Moses. Would the elders discuss my appearance in a hushed, low German, vote to cast me out, and then shun me for having shaved? How long does a shunning last? I really didn't know, and so it worried me. As it turned out, these fears were unfounded.
It was a small church, as Mennonite churches tend to be in Texas. Kansas, I understand, is a different matter. I was warmly greeted by a young couple in the lobby, the husband of which -- shaved, mind you, and dressed exactly like me -- had grown up Catholic himself. After some pleasantries, we went into this low-ceilinged meeting room where service was held. It was not the Sistine Chapel, but neither is my church. Come to think of it, the first Masses 2000 years ago were held in dark caves or the small homes of the faithful, so this Mennonite environment is more faithful to the original Catholic practice than is St. Peter's Basilica in Rome. (You think?)
The structure of the service itself was not too dissimilar to a modern Catholic Mass, with these differences: 1)
there is no reading from the Holy Gospel, just one from Psalms and then one from a letter from St. Paul to the Ephesians. I don't know why the Gospel isn't read, and I forgot to ask. They referred to the letter as being "from the Book of Paul," which was jarring, but I got over it.
2) There is no "liturgy of the Eucharist," no breaking of bread, no mysticism, and certainly no transsubstantiation. There are no graven images or paintings of saints, of the Blessed Virgin Mary, or of Jesus.
3) At one point, everyone is invited to take the microphone and make a prayer request on behalf of themselves, a friend, or family member, or alternatively to announce some good news, like having found a job or having had a successful medical intervention.
When it came my turn, I asked everyone to pray for some wicked, sinful guitar players of my acquaintance. (I didn't mean you all, of course.) No, I didn't do that. I did thank them for welcoming me into their midst and, instead of a prayer request, made a kind of confession/admission of a personal struggle of mine. No one else did anything of the kind, probably because Mennonites aren't guilt-ridden Catholics accustomed to confessing sins in dark closets and then mortifying their flesh with a fish-hook-tipped cat o'nine tails. Like I do. Catholics do make prayer requests, but anonymously and in secret, like pretty much everything else we do.
I like the openness of the Mennonites. I wonder what they'd think of the Latin Mass, still celebrated in many places, including Dallas, with the priest's back turned to the congregation and covered with an ivory, emerald green, scarlet or purple chasuble, which is a giant "cape", more or less), depending on the season?
The hymnal featured many songs that my own church sings, including some by the GREAT Marty Haugen ("Eye Has Not Seen"). This commonality helped to ground me.
I could go on about all this but will save it for my book.
It was a very pleasant and rewarding experience, and I hope to visit the local Mennonite church again soon.
