Heritage of Faithfulness

For as long as I can remember, my churches (the ones that I was a part of--the ones that welcomed me) were non-denominational. That is not to say they didn't have any idiosyncrasies because they did--plenty of them! The difference was there was no heritage. No history. No journey. To some, these things don't matter. To me, they do. They inspire a sense of community, belonging. A realization that the saints who've gone before are still part of that community. Heritage creates an atmosphere of purpose--a sacred, reverent, holy purpose. A purpose that you will never be able to completely fulfill because it is one that can only be accomplished once all members of the community are working at it together.

My heritage is Mennonite. For many, Mennonites are known only as pacifists and, at the most, they are known for the simple life. This is true, but this is not by any means all there is to it. We are non-resistant. Not only do we see war as a direct affront to the Prince of Peace, we see any violent resistance as a human response to a situation that demands a soft answer, forgiveness, and God's grace. However, this is only one facet of this particular interpretation of the Christian faith. The Mennonites were also marked for their simplicity. They learned to take pleasure in the simple things--God's gifts to man rather than man's gifts to himself. But there is so much more that is part of being Mennonite. More that I haven't begun to learn, but this is my heritage.

One day when I was 17, I was privileged to be a part of that heritage in a small way. It was a communion and footwashing service and, after singing the beautiful hymns with a four-part harmony that you can only find in a traditional church, we partook of communion--the love feast. With the breaking of bread and the pouring of wine, we celebrated our Lord's sacrifice that made us free, but it was what was to follow that made the experience unforgettable. The women went to the back of the church while the men stayed at the front. We sang another hymn a cappella and as we paired up to wash one another’s feet, I found my grandmother kneeling by my feet. She tenderly bathed and dried them. As she sat back down, I knelt at her feet and repeated the gesture. Then, we both stood up and hugged and kissed each other. The holy kiss of the early church preserved two millennia later. It is through the beautiful past and rich story of a people group that these practices are kept sacred.

But over the following years, I discovered something. I discovered that I could bring this heritage with me. I could introduce it into other circles and share my wealth with others, and footwashing is indeed rich with meaning. You have heard it said that through marriage a man and a woman are made one flesh, but I found that through footwashing, two believers are made one Body, the Body of Christ. I have only participated in footwashing a handful of times, but I remember each experience vividly. My first time was with my grandma, but in subsequent years, I was to find this bond with a fellow student, a dear elderly couple, a respected elder woman, a stranger, and a very close friend. Each face is burned into my memory. These are my brothers and sisters. In this vulnerable act of submission, we touch the beautiful feet of Jesus.

In this way and many others, I stand on the rich heritage of my ancestors and I share this wealth with others and receive in kind. I’m claiming my thread in the heilsgeschichte and together may we weave a tapestry glorifying to God. Soli Deo Gloria.