Searching for Intruders

Stephen Raleigh Byler

Intruders take many forms in Stephen Raleigh Byler's novel Searching for Intruders. They are known and unknown, inside and outside, metaphorical and literal, small and big, perceived and real. They take the form of cockroaches, cancer, even change. Byler's main character, Wilson, responds to these intruders in different ways, sometimes shying away, sometimes responding, almost always with a tone of fear or frustration. Perhaps this is normal, as intruders may not always seem to be normal problems in our lives to deal with. In fact, it might seem that many Mennonite communities are especially sensitive to this. Historically, you could probably say that Mennonites have kept to themselves and formed tight communities, working at keeping out intrusion from government or persecutors.

The intrusion aspect of the novel caught my interest, but so did the fact that his book is a part of our session on Mennonite masculinity. I find it interesting that this book, written by a male author from a Mennonite background, is so different from the work we have read by women writers. It is much darker, and contains more episodes of violence, whether physical or emotional. This seems to conform to gender stereotypes pretty well, and makes me wonder if this is because Byler, as a man, actually experiences more violence or if it is just easier or even more acceptable for him to write about it.

My mother's parents

The other weekend I was riding in the car with my mother, and with MennoLit fresh on my mind, I began to ask some questions about the history in our family. Mom told me about our food of course, but then went into stories of language. She remembered how her grandpa would swing her around, laughing and saying "Zoom, zoom!" in a heavy German accent, and how she and her sisters would wake up and fall asleep to their own parents conversing in German too. I asked if she had ever learned the language, and she stated that she didn't. She then proceeded to tell me me that she feels as if German is such a part of her that she understand it anyway, although she's never had a lesson in her life.

This may sound ridiculous, but -- maybe it's just because I'm her daughter -- I think I understand what she was getting at. There is a part of her that she "inherited" from her family, and even if that part never quite blossomed, it will always be there. I'm beginning to think religion, or at least the cultural aspect of religion, works that way too.

In class, we talked about how our identity, whether chosen or not, can shape us. At first I struggled with applying this concept to Mennonite identity, as I've always seen religion as a choice. To an extent I still believe this, but the more I think about it and hear other's stories, the more inheriting a Mennonite identity in particular seems to make sense. In the same way Julia Kasdorf felt her Mennonite identity in her poem "Green Market, New York" when meeting an Amish woman from her area, my mom feels her Mennonite heritage in a German accent.

I realize that this isn't the case for everyone, and that everyone has a different family history and different family stories. But beginning to understand how much my family's Mennonite legacy is affecting me is starting to make me wonder about all of the other aspects of my life that I thought were total independent choices, but have much to do with my family or my upbringing. For example, I thought that I was making an independent choice to deviate from chocolate and vanilla and choose a lemon cake for my birthday, until my aunt informed me that I was just like grandpa and uncles, who find pleasure in eating lemons plain.
I enjoyed it anyway.

Listen up!

Yesterday, Jack Dueck came to visit out class. Dueck is a storyteller and writer who has had work published in both secular and religious publications. (You can read one of his stories from the Mennonite Brethern Herald here http://www.mbconf.ca/home/products_and_services/resources/publications/mb_herald/mb_herald_october_2009/features/come_come_and_see/). He told us many stories from his past and from the past of his people, diverging on delightful tangents and enthralling us with bits of wisdom along the way. His stories were those of redemption, forgiveness, grace, and yes, borsch. As a class, we've learned and discussed about many of these topics already through literature. I have to admit though, although the poems and stories we've read have been pretty good, none of them affected me quite as powerfully as Dueck's tales did. I don't want to discredit any of the authors; rather, I think my enjoyment is almost solely because the stories were told out loud this time, by a real person that I was watching.

What is it about a good spoken story? Ancient Greeks and Hebrews told them 'till their faces were blue, boy scouts have billions of ghost stories up their sleeves for the campfire, and grandparents (well, at least mine) can sit and tell stories about missionary trips to India, food, people, or the land for hours and hours. And we, as a people, are still telling stories. Maybe our stories are casually laughed about or thought on by close friends and family, or perhaps the venue is a bit bigger--a festival, for example (http://www.storytellingcenter.net/festival/). If the audience is in the few thousands or just one, I don't think the oral story is going anywhere anytime soon.

I'm still not sure why this is so, or why the spoken word has so much power. Perhaps it is because more senses are engaged when listening than when one reads. After all, you are using both your ears to hear and your eyes to pick up body language. I know I find it much easier to cry if someone else is crying, or laugh when I see someone else laughing. Maybe it's because vocalization seems to be one of out most common ways of obtaining information, so it's just what we're used to. Or perhaps hearing a story is comforting, as it maybe reminds us of the many times Grandpa pulled us on his knee, or how Uncle Tim tells us about the two foot long pike he caught every Thanksgiving. Maybe it's just easier to stay focused listening, or maybe the preference is genetic.

With all of that said, I won't give up reading anytime soon. I still love the feel of pages and a cover. Place a book in front of me, and I'll be happily satisfied for a few hours, more or less depending on the subject. Put me in the presence of a good storyteller however, and as long as they're around, all hope for my productivity flies out the window. Go figure. Nonetheless, I'm almost guaranteed to leave smiling, just as I did yesterday.

Food for Thought

Reading the book Mennonite in a Little Black Dress by Rhoda Janzen made me hungry.

       Ok, so that's not the point, and it's not like was drooling all over my desk for a few zwiebach.  Nonetheless, I was a initially surprised at how much food was mentioned. Her mother baking bread, her memories of getting made fun of as a kid for her obscure lunches, several dinner parties or special meals, even a trip to McDonald's for burgers (or chicken sandwiches). Almost every chapter had some mention of something edible, if not dedicated to the topic, and we spent time in class discussing the vast differences of Russian-Mennonite food from German/Swiss-Mennonite food.
       Growing up in a strange but fairly common mix of Mennonite and epicurean parents, all of this food talk didn't hit me until I took a step back. I began to wonder if this topic would show up as much if Rhoda had been Methodist, or Muslim. What is it about Mennonites and food?
       Rhoda talks about it a little bit in her book, how foods gives us connection. It connected out ancestors (and sometimes us) to the land, connects us to each other, and grounds us in our bodies. This is great, because as Rhoda remembers and sees upon her visit, many Mennonites have rural farming roots and place emphasis on community and the body (God incarnate). Food is not just something to keep you alive. Rather, it is tradition and medicine and history and holy. It is a way to show love. Perhaps this is why borsht is mentioned so much in Mennonite in a Little Black Dress. It certainly shows culture and provides a laugh, but I believe it also is a way in which Rhoda embraces her family again, reflecting on and affirming her family's crazy culture.

 Sounds delicious.