"We who were formerly no people at all..."

In my newspaper today, which was devoted mostly to the tenth anniversary of 9/11, I found an ad for picture frames on sale. So this afternoon I bought a frame for this print, which I have had for almost a year:

Among other things, it says this, if you can't read the picture:

"The Prince of Peace is Jesus Christ. We who were formerly no people at all, and who knew of no peace, are now called to be a church... of peace. True Christians do not know vengeance. They are the children of peace. Their mouths speak peace, and they walk in the way of peace."

-Menno Simons, Reply to False Accusations, 1552

Ten years to the day after the solemn voice of my high school principal interrupted a test I was taking in freshman Drama class to announce that planes had flown into the World Trade Center and Pentagon, I will hang in my home this call to peace written by the founder of the church I embraced because of 9/11.

On that day, I was worried: first for the safety of my cousins who live in New York City, and then, increasingly as days and weeks passed, about what new horrors would arise as a result of the terror of that day. I felt angry - first at the nebulous, powerful, extensive terrorist organization I was learning about for what they had done, and then at the bloodlust I saw from politicians and ordinary people as they responded.

Flags flew, voices on the radio and television called for retaliation, the National Anthem was played more than ever in my life, Arab and Muslim Americans were made victims of hate crimes, flags showed up on politicians' suits and people's t-shirts, bombing began in Afghanistan.

I said the Pledge of Allegiance on one of those early days and for the first time, I thought about what I was saying. "I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America..." which was omnipresent in those days, "...and to the republic for which it stands..." which was breaking my heart with its swift retribution.

I wanted to take part in the national mourning, but the national mourning in one breath expressed grief and called for infliction of further violence. How could we cry for the loss of three thousand innocent people and at the same time demand more death? I wanted calls for peace, I wanted to think about how a country makes brave strides toward forgiveness and seeks true justice in the face of terrible violence. I remember George W. Bush on television, assuring America that "You're either with us or you're against us" as he called for war. I felt profoundly alienated.

Each successive 9/11 anniversary, my anger and alienation have lessened and sadness and commitment to peace have grown.

On this 9/11/11, may we be reminded that we humans are children of peace. May our hearts overflow with peace. May we speak peace and walk in the way of peace.

Remembering baptism

My sister was baptized today. I wasn't able to be in Kansas City to see it, but I was certainly with her in spirit. I am so proud of her. Congratulations, Grace!

In our Easter service at church (or maybe whenever we have a baptism?) we have a ritual during communion called "remembering your baptism" wherein, after taking communion, people may share the date and place of their baptism with the pastor and be anointed with water. Our church allows "all who seek the way of Christ" to take communion, not just baptized members, so I like this ritual of calling attention to the importance of baptism. After all, as Mennonites, we are Anabaptists -- "re-baptizers". Our denomination was born out of the radical idea (for the 1500s, not for the early church) that joining the church through baptism ought to be a decision made by an adult believer. Traditionally, only the baptized take communion, which is how I was raised.

I think I was baptized in the spring of 2002. Possibly 2003. It was spring, but wasn't Easter, and I have forgotten the date. I was 14 or 15, but my birthday is in May, so I might remember that I was 15 when I hadn't actually turned 15 yet - hence the confusion about the year. I remember being baptized vividly. I wore a blue and white floral skirt I had bought on a trip to Europe and a white sweater. I sat in the right front pew with my friend Kate. We were so nervous; we giggled at the mundane image on the worship bulletin cover. We were baptized together - kneeling, her to my right, backs to the congregation, first Kate, then me. I remember Carmen, the deacon who held the water pitcher, and Beatrix, a beloved Sunday School teacher who held towels for us, though I didn't really need one; there was much less water poured on me than I thought there would be.

I chose to be baptized because 9/11 had happened, and the invasions of Afghanistan and maybe also Iraq, and I had uncovered my pacifist Mennonite roots. My spiritual upbringing had been a combination of my parents' somewhat mystic spiritual beliefs, a staunch prohibition of toy guns and violent media, Sunday School stories, and church camp. I started praying and going to church of my own accord in middle school. But 9/11 and its aftermath prompted the discovery that I was, as it turned out, "in the world but not of the world." And so I was baptized.

There was no conversion experience. I still do not have a "personal relationship with Jesus," although I believe that what he taught is worth following. As far as I'm concerned, my baptism doesn't secure me a place in heaven. What I do have is ownership of my heritage, a personal relationship with my church community, and a commitment to that community and to continual spiritual reflection and discernment. Baptism was choosing that commitment.

Mennonite DNA

Yesterday at Fall Fest, I discovered the Mennonite DNA Project. This project is using Y-chromosome and mitochondrial DNA markers to trace paternal and maternal lines and, by comparing DNA markers to genealogy charts, discovering previously unknown relationships between families. It's a pretty cool idea, and an interesting application of DNA haplotyping technology.

As I was filling out my genealogy chart at the Mennonite DNA Project table, I heard a woman exclaim to her sister, "Oh, Mrs. Wiebe has a name! It's Katharina! Her name is Katharina! We've got to tell Mom; she'll be so excited!"

This woman didn't remember an ancestor's name, so she had the volunteer look her up in GRANDMA (the Mennonite genealogy database) and print a chart of her ancestors. Apparently, when her family had been researching their ancestry, they couldn't find any information about a this female ancestor; she was recorded only by her husband's name. But the database had a record of her.

There was something special about that moment to me, and it made me realize that there's something powerful about being able to trace maternal lines. I had them print my mom's ancestry chart (I'm not in the database). I now know that when the Mennonite DNA Project tests my mitochondrial DNA, they will be following a line from me to Helen Margaret Goertz to Margaret Ruth Krehbiel to Helen Ruth Eymann to Maria Franz to Eva Schroeder, my great-great-great-grandmother who was born in 1836. And I don't know; there may be more recorded beyond her (the printout only covers 5 generations).

Even though last names get changed with every generation and sometimes not even first names are recorded, the Mennonite DNA Project will be able to tell my family what other Mennonite female lines we are related to. My DNA will unlock genetic relationships that patrilineal tradition obscured.

As a feminist Mennonite biology nerd, what more could I ask for?