Photo by Chase Snyder.

“Presente”.

This Spanish word took on new meaning after I attended last year’s School of the Americas protest in Fort Benning, Georgia.  As I marched along with thousands of others in solidarity to the solemn role call of victim after victim followed by the crowd sung response “presente”, the feelings of bitterness, sadness and anger were tough to hold back.

I had arrived at the gates of the School of the Americas knowing that behind the firm barrier of fences, trees, and police officers lay the institution that had militarily trained some of my Latin American brothers and sisters that would later carry out some of the most horrific atrocities known to their respective countries.  It was soldiers from this school, from which I found myself only a stone’s throw away, that had gone on to become brutal dictators in Bolivia, Argentina, El Salvador and Panama, among others.

The role call of the names of victims that had been subjected to torture, suffering and death under these dictators and their regimes continued for what seemed like hours.  Their names blurred together in a cloud of pain and brokenness so incomprehensible that I found myself lost in a rush of overwhelming questions, thoughts and reflections.

Now a year later, in light of my rapidly approaching graduation day, I have been contemplating the value of my college education and the connection that it gives me to these historical and current atrocities.  Experiences, such as the one that I had last year in Fort Benning, have been an integral part of my education and have helped form an inextricable link between my thoughts and actions and the suffering of others.

My education has taught me that rooted in the mess that has been caused by the School of the Americas lies the United States’ twisted foreign policy in Latin America.  Regardless of what politicians claim, this policy is based around specific economic interests that benefit our nation at the expense of others.  Perhaps more importantly, it has also taught me that I contribute to the mess through the tax money that I add to the estimated 20-30 million dollar budget that the school maintains.  I don’t pull the trigger, but I buy the guns.

This conscious awareness of the how the world operates and how you fit into the system is a binding contract in which refusal to accept the responsibility that this knowledge carries with it is choosing to turn your back on the marginalized and giving a nod of approval to the system that gives you abundance while others suffer.

Let us not be mistaken that each one of us finds ourselves in a position of relative elitism based on our level of education.  Along with the gift of education comes the responsibility to act in service of those who don’t enjoy such privileges.

This weekend, thousands will gather once again as the names of the victims of the School of the America’s graduates will be read at the gates of the school in Fort Benning, Georgia.  Here on campus we will show our solidarity with those who have suffered, and recognize our role in the healing process with a vigil at 9:30 pm on Monday night in Schrock Plaza.  I encourage everyone to attend and put your education into action.

Photo by Molly Kraybill.

The current round of discussions surrounding the playing of the national anthem has taken on a renewed sense of urgency.  The prospect for change seems real this time, and I’m surprised how much I care about this issue.  It strikes close to the heart and soul of Goshen College’s identity.

I still don’t understand what is so sacrosanct about an athletic contest that makes it the ultimate proving ground for one’s identification with country.  The anthem is not played at most other public assemblages.

I’ve been attending GC games since I was a junior high kid.  Never have I heard the national anthem played.  Never have I seen the flag displayed.  And never have I heard a word of explanation why GC chooses to make this statement of cultural defiance.  The sports fan is left in a vacuum to make his/her own conclusions.

I deeply regret that our athletes, coaches and athletic directors have unfairly borne the brunt of our institutional stance.  It is they who get accosted by disgruntled fans in the hallways after games.  It is they who must explain a position that has only recently been articulated by campus leadership.  I feel badly about this.

The current proposal for playing an instrumental version of the anthem falls short of finding middle ground.  It doesn’t explicitly mention the flag, but I‘m told the intention is to have the flag on display for the anthem.  This proposal merely acquiesces to common practice in college sports.  I think middle ground could be achieved by playing “America, the Beautiful”, prefaced by a very short printed and verbal statement as to why this song is consistent with GC’s faith-based values.  Two well-worded sentences could instill basic understanding to campus visitors. This alternative anthem has a beautiful tune and lyrics that honor America without conjuring militaristic images.  It doesn’t require the flag.  Shucks, it’s even singable.

Some may call for a prayer at the outset of a game.  While I’m not necessarily opposed, I still wonder what is so hallowed about a game.  I’ve never been to a concert or a play where a prayer implored the Almighty to keep the trombones from splitting a lip, or the actors from breaking a leg, or that everyone would be on their best behavior, or that the audience would all return home safely.  That’s the essence of most pre-game prayers.

Let’s continue to think critically and act with intentionality.  I am sure we’ll find common ground.

Stan Miller is the GC registrar and a season ticket holder since 1963.

Photo by Molly Kraybill.

I woke up this morning, looked in the mirror, and I saw an image of God looking back at me. No, there was not an old white man peering over my shoulder as I brushed my teeth. I’m talking about my own reflection! God is a woman! And while I believe this to be true, I should qualify that by saying, God is also a man, not gendered, and so much more than our concepts of gender can possibly dare to describe.

Gender matters. If I look in the mirror and can see an image of God in myself, that is a beautiful thing. It also matters that I can look at you and see an image of God in you. The way we talk about God affects the way we imagine her, and the way we imagine God affects the way we relate to her. Obviously, no image can fully portray who God is. So, the more images we have for God, the better! Our language about God matters because it affects our relationships with God, and by extension, our relationships with each other.

I don’t think God is going to be offended by improper use of pronouns, but I do think that by using exclusive pronouns for a Being that far transcends them we develop an inaccurate understanding of who God is. Since we can’t possibly express or comprehend God, we should do the best we can with what our language allows. Pronouns and images do affect our relationships. Gendered language helps us to encounter God as a relational being, not a concept or abstraction. Images like Mother and Father allow me to relate to God in ways I otherwise could not. Gender makes God more accessible to us as humans, and inclusive use of pronouns and images move us closer to the fullest understanding of God we can hope for (gender-wise).

I have recently begun to use feminine language for God. I do this not to try and cast God as exclusively feminine, but because this is what I find most meaningful at this point in time. Feminine pronouns and images help me to relate to God in new and meaningful ways. Besides, there is enough masculine language for God already that it seems the least I can do to try for some kind of balance.

Audrey Engle is a junior Sociology and Spanish double major.

If you believe in playing our nation’s anthem, you shouldn’t ever have your convictions disrespected.  Likewise, please don’t think the campus anthem policy intends to offend.  Yes, it is a cultural oddity, but that’s business as usual in Mennonite history, where a core belief calls us to be “strangers and aliens within all cultures.” For the past several hundred years we’ve been regarded as a nuisance, from Switzerland to Bolshevik Russia to Colombia, for things we wouldn’t do – baptize our children, take oaths, or bear arms – because of religious convictions.

Idols come in all forms, but the Old Testament metal kinds stopped being temptations long ago.  The most dangerous idols, like money, can subvert our loyalties because they are, one, powerful, and two, inescapably part of our lives.  Nationalism is too.  While loyalty to GC or the cultural Mennonite identity can be harmful, it pales in comparison to what has been done in the name of nationalism since before Baal and golden calves were fashionable.

While on SST in Haiti I learned to appreciate, in ways I never had before, my country.  It has much good, and, whatever its flaws, it is always “home.”  To the extent that nationalism asks me to serve neighbors within the U.S. borders, I agree, but that definition is too narrow.  SST also taught me that the debt to serve and respect extends across the globe.

I feel passionate about nationalism as idolatry because of my time in Nicaragua and Central America, beginning in the 1980s when the U.S. was involved in wars in three of those countries.  Most of the thousands of civilian victims were not caught in cross-fire; they were targeted for other reasons, among them religious faith.  The victims included many lay Christian workers and more than 20 priests and nuns.  After El Salvador’s archbishop pleaded to the U.S. president to end aid to the Salvadoran army responsible for the massacres, army officials (trained by the U.S.) assassinated the archbishop – while he said mass.

When I spoke to groups in the 1980s about our country’s actions in Central America, it made some angry: not with our country for doing those things, but with me, for saying our country was doing those things.  They thought I was un-American.  The Reagan administration, criticized by many for aiding anti-government guerrillas in Nicaragua, responded by asking, “Whose side are you on?”

Let me paraphrase that: “No one can serve two masters. For you will hate one and love the other.”  The Mennonite church opposes military involvement around the globe not just because Jesus taught, lived, and died “love your enemies,” but because the innocents being killed are fellow global citizens.  This year the Mennonite Church in Colombia is asking for our solidarity, in part because of several hundred violations against church leaders of different denominations.

The Mennonite Confession of Faith explains that “the church itself is God’s nation, encompassing people who have come from every tribe and nation.” If we’re going to sing any anthem before games, I’d like to hear one to the church.

Doug Schirch is the Associate Professor of Chemistry at Goshen College.

Photo contributed.

There was an article in last week’s paper about the National Anthem. It was stated that the Anthem “promotes and honors violence in our nation’s past…”

NOWHERE in the Anthem does it condone violence. Francis Scott Key, the writer of “The Star Spangled Banner,” only wrote about the battle at Fort McHenry in 1814 during the War of 1812 (1812-1815). After the battle was over, he saw the American flag still waving over Fort McHenry and he knew that they had survived.

No country in this world can become a country without violence in one form or another. America’s own independence from Great Britain is an example.

The Revolutionary War from 1775-1783 was for America’s independence from Great Britain. This was a country that would subject us to their rules. If we did not fight for our independence, then America might not be enjoying the freedoms that we have today. We may still be answering to the king of Great Britain and following the laws and regulations of that nation.

On December 7, 1941, Pearl Harbor, Hawaii was attacked by the Japanese Navy. It is said that Naval Marshal General Isoroku Yamamoto said, “I fear all we have done is to awaken a sleeping giant and fill him with a terrible resolve.” Japan did wake a “sleeping giant.” What America did was fight back.

On September 11, 2001, America was attacked in New York City (the Twin Towers), Arlington, Virginia (the Pentagon), and one of the planes was taken down near Shanksville, Pennsylvania. For the second time in history, America was “awakened.” America fought back.

In light of the attack, President George W. Bush said, “From this day forward, any nation that continues to harbor or support terrorism will be regarded by the United States as a hostile regime… And what is at stake is not just America’s freedom. This is the world’s fight. This is civilization’s fight…”

In both cases, America did not sit back and let thousands of innocent lives that have been unnecessarily taken be forgiven.

In the Funnies section of the paper, the Grey Shirts: Robots Don’t Dance, the person in the middle killed the person on the left while the person on the right ran away crying. If Goshen College is going with the saying “Peace by Peace” this year, how is this okay with this college? Why is nobody complaining about this?

Several of my friends, including LCpl. Rice with the U.S. Marines and SSgt. Gallion with the U.S. Air Force, have also agreed that the National Anthem DOES NOT HONOR VIOLENCE. IT HONORS OUR FREEDOM!

So check your facts the next time you want to say that the Anthem honors violence.

Jamie Parker is a sophomore with a major in Journalism and a minor in Writing.

Photo by Emily Miller.

After listening to conversations during the last few weeks, I feel like there’s something missing in the National Anthem discussion.  I agree with those on campus who feel that we should abstain from playing the Anthem, but I have yet to hear many compelling reasons as to why we should not play it.  The traditions of Goshen’s past are valuable, yet citing them as a reason to continue this practice doesn’t seem to be enough for me.  Some have explained that Goshen students can be “good citizens” in other ways, yet I still feel that more vivid evidence is needed to continue our tradition.  To help students more fully understand this debate, I’ll address these topics and explain why I believe we shouldn’t play the Anthem.

I see Goshen’s custom of abstaining from the national anthem as an affirmation of the Anabaptist faith tradition rather than a denunciation of the United States. Our school’s past omission of the Anthem is not an expression of national loathing.  Rather, it’s an active expression of our core values and beliefs.  By not participating, our school is stating the differences it has with our government’s actions.  While I am thankful for many of the freedoms and opportunities I’m afforded in the United States, I’m also ashamed of how these have so often been given to me.  My refusal to sing the national anthem expresses this disconnect between the values I hold and those of our national government.

I also disagree with singing our Anthem because the song supports a nationalistic culture which too often clouds our religious and ethical perspectives.  Patriotism, or nationalism, is far from inherently wrong.  Being proud of one’s community, family and even one’s country bears no risks whatsoever.  However, when we become too deeply immersed in nationalistic ideas, our decision-making and ultimately our faith can suffer.  Just as consumerism or political polarization can warp our sense of reality, complete devotion to one’s country can be dubious.  By playing the National Anthem, it seems that Goshen would be taking a small, but symbolic step towards a nationalistic ideology that I cannot support.

If we do give up this National Anthem tradition, Goshen will lose a crucial part of its theology and instead be conceding to the most powerful social forces around us.  I truly see this as a concession rather than a step forward, because it seems like we are settling rather than progressing as an institution which accurately represents our faith as Anabaptists.  If the school’s response to this assertion is that we’re being more inclusive, then I would have to question what this means for the entire theology of our institution.  If we agree to support a nationalistic song which promotes and honors violence in our nation’s past, what else will we be willing to support in the years to come?

While I don’t agree that we should play the Anthem, I recognize the importance of respect and hospitality when it comes to this issue.  I think that we should recognize the legitimacy of our peer’s perspectives, and at the same time recognize how outsiders may view this practice.  While I acknowledge that not playing the Anthem may offend visitors to Goshen, I challenge everyone to understand what this outside response may mean.  If our Anabaptist traditions and beliefs are not misunderstood, yet they are still viewed negatively, we should certainly not change our traditions.  In recent discussions, disagreement has seemingly become synonymous with disrespect or at best, with an unwelcoming atmosphere.  Are respectful and welcoming communities really based on similarity and agreement?  I would suggest that a welcoming community is not based on similarities, but rather a loving recognition of our individual differences.

As we continue this important discussion, we need to be respectful yet unreserved about our attitudes towards this tradition.  If our arguments are clearly and honestly presented, we will be able to make a decision which honors both our Anabaptist tradition and the attitudes of all students on campus.

Jake Geyer is a junior.

Photo by Molly Kraybill.

Forced displacement is a social reality that I have always been exposed to. I am from the beautiful country of Colombia, and it is painful to see how violence has broken our society into pieces, as it finds itself emerged in a fifty year armed conflict. It is a very real issue that is directly affecting at least 3 million Colombians today, and indirectly even more, as family ties are broken, land is taken over, and respect for life is lost, disrupting and dividing Colombian society and the neighboring nations who serve as second and third places of refuge. I have made several relationships with Colombian refugees in Ecuador. These are brothers and sisters that find themselves in situations of despair, coming with the few clothes they have left into a new country where their adjustment is a slow and torturing process as they try to find ways to make a living for themselves. The flow of about 135,000 Colombians into Ecuador has instigated discrimination and prejudice, as both societies find themselves competing to survive in the context of poverty.

This was the subject of the UN-MCC Student Seminar that took place in New York in late October. The focus of the seminar was displacement in Iraq, the Congo, and Colombia.  We got some insights into how the United Nations, as an international organization, is responding to this critical issue. However, I will speak from personal experience on what is being done by faith based communities:

My home congregation, Iglesia Menonita de Quito, in Ecuador, is a small but very active congregation that has received dozens of Colombian refugee families throughout the years. The congregation has provided a community of support (spiritual, economic, psychosocial) to a people that have been separated from their relatives and their material possessions. The church has also provided a place where the boundaries are erased, allowing Ecuadorians and Colombians to make deep, long lasting relationships in which they are humanized by acts of compassion, solidarity and friendship. Children start making friends with other Ecuadorian children, and entire families, both Colombians and Ecuadorians, begin to be transformed, as they realize that God has taken an option for them; an option embodied in their neighbors who become their new family. Real change is happening where people agree to live by each other, caring for each other so that no one goes hungry. Lives are transformed when grassroots communities commit themselves to processes of humanization. These networks of relationships can mend the most divided societies.

The Mennonite church in Colombia is also doing great work as a response to armed conflict and displacement. Through entities like Justapaz, the Colombian Mennonite church is an active body that plants seeds of peace by guiding churches and their leaders in their process of becoming “sanctuaries of peace”, by directly intervening for the prevention of child recruitment by legal and illegal armed groups, by responding to the needs of displaced people, and by advocating for conscientious objection.

International organizations help us get a grasp on the impact that violence has on groups of people, but it is truly at the grassroots level that we get a grasp of possible and effective peace-building.

I deeply encourage you to get informed about what is happening just south of this continent. Colombia has one of the largest internally displaced populations, yet little is known about this critical social reality. Be aware that negligence is contributing to the policies that foster violence and create displacement, especially in Colombia.

Daniel Moya is a senior Peace, Justice, Conflict Studies major.

Photo by Emily Miller.

One of the prominent aspects of theological discussion around campus is gender-inclusive language regarding pronouns for God. I think this conversation evidences both a willingness to entertain new ideas as well as a deviation from Biblical truth. But my opinion regarding this topic isn’t what I believe relating to God, but what I see this conversation pointing to about our collective faith.

What happens if you accidentally address your female friend with a male pronoun? Likely giggling, and possibly some contemplation of Freud. The point is, pronouns don’t impact or affect relationships—they are merely shorthand referents to prevent redundancy in constantly having to say someone’s name. If that’s the case, then why do we make such a ruckus about the gender image of God? Are not our pronouns simply words that are meant to address an Almighty infinitely beyond our capacity to comprehend? Is not quibbling about pronouns silly at best, and an insult to God at worst?

I think this tendency of ours to discuss, debate—and, really, do everything but worship and praise and commune with each other and God—stems from a much deeper problem. When people talk about God, God is inevitably conceptualized, or crammed into a word or words that can be managed by the human brain. We talk about God because ultimately, to us God is a concept. God is an abstraction, not reality, and thus conceptual trivialities like gender take on enormous importance, because the god of our minds needs to have attributes, like gender, to complete it as a concept. Furthermore, gender is so hotly debated because this god of ours, this pet god or goddess, won’t be something that we don’t want—it’s ours! And we’re going to make it have the attributes we want.

Thus, when other people start using language and concepts that disagree with our god/goddess concept, we get defensive because our concept is invalidated. Our concept is excluded. And that offends us.

On the other hand, if we actually believe in God or Goddess as an ultimate reality, we’ll develop an existential relation to this Being. We’ll actually move with it, and communicate with it, and it will move us! And one of the things it will show us is absurdity of talking about God—it’s like talking about the sun, or maybe the galaxy. No one does it, except to refer to its presence or influence, because it’s obviously beyond any scope we can imagine. Let us realize God is far beyond the sun and galaxy. And let us hold our peace regarding this issue, if for nothing else than a universal understanding of who God isn’t—a concept with attributes that need to be quibbled over.

Photo by Molly Kraybill.

As I walked into the Union last Thursday night, hyped to buy my tickets for the upcoming Hour Afters, I was met by a long line, and I realized I should have come earlier. The line was already at the Fraker doors.  For those who were there you know that I had nothing to worry about because as the time wore on the line would extend all the way to the blow up bounce place and possibly further than that. However, the long lines for tickets are not what this perspective is about. It is about the fact that as I stood in line I noticed that the people in the group in front of me kept getting bigger. Apparently these people didn’t worry about coming earlier to wait like everyone else. And why should they when they can just find someone they know and join the pimple in the line.  As I stood there I counted about 6 people joining that group and advancing towards the tickets ahead of me.

The longer I stood there and the more people joined this group the more I became angry and frustrated. Why is it that I had come at a time that I thought was early to get tickets I wanted when people who wanted to take their sweet time could come in and get ahead of me? As most of you know this happens a lot whenever there is a demand of tickets or entrance to an event. This is unfair and some may say “well life isn’t always fair.” I agree with this statement, to a certain extent, my stopping point is when it is something we as humans can control. I may not be able to stop a car from hitting my dog but this line cluster is something that we can stop.

I didn’t say anything of course. Who wants to be the jerk and say “I’ve been standing here for a while longer can you get to the back of the line.”? Most people say “I let them in front of me so I’m being moved back as well.” This is so inconsiderate of others time. I stood in line for about a half hour longer than some of the people who were joining the game of “blob” in front of me and yet I was one of the last to get Pop Choir Coffeehouse tickets. As some of us know the Pop Choir Coffeehouse sold out. These people who were all in front of me all got the tickets they wanted and because we are allowed to get tickets for those who can’t make it just by bringing their cards their friends all had tickets too. I feel outraged for those who didn’t get tickets to coffeehouses that they wanted because some selfish people thought that they should have precedence over others just because they are who they are. This is just another thing that kindergarten taught me there will always be “butters” and they will reap the benefits while the rest of us flounder in the sea of lingering.

Disi Diaz is a senior theater and English double major.

Photo by Molly Kraybill.

First off, I want to say a BIG “thank you”!!  Thank you to a group of 33 wonderful students who explored Northern Ireland, Evansville, Guatemala, Washington D.C., Fraser Lake Camp, The Early Church, Highland Retreat, Orange County, Philadelphia Praise Center….well, I could go on with the list of many places you served this summer, but I won’t.  You were part of the summer 2009 Inquiry Programs (Camping, Ministry, Service) that dared you to ask the “big questions” of life, faith and vocation as you developed a variety of skills that often stretched you. I thank you for the courage you demonstrated, braving dangerous endeavors that may cause you to alter your life paths (or affirm your current direction).

Clearly you 33 IPers engaged in your surroundings with wondrously joyous spirits in which you learned from your hosts, listened to the lives of others, and offered your hospitable selves–at least that is the feedback that I received from your host supervisors!  Clearly you have realized that that there is more to this world than your own sphere and eagerly desire to be affected by that reality…at least that is what I heard you say to me in our reflective debriefings.  Clearly you responded to a God whose workings can be unknown, mysterious, and awe-inspiring, even if that came through from the eyes of a little child, the struggle of homelessness, or the joy of authentic community.

Even though my IP experience was from the confines of my office in AD 12, the stories you sent me throughout your experience were wonderful!  I liked hearing some of you say “this fits with me” or “I didn’t know ministry/service could be done in this way.”  At the same time, knowing that a military coup was happening in Honduras seemed to exhaust my prayers for your safety–Julia, please don’t cause such upheaval again or you’ll give SIP a bad name!  And I know that some of you had some genuine struggles in your host site or even with your mentor, and for this, I commend you for sticking with it, making the most of it, and posturing yourselves with humility and desiring to learn from your reality.

But what really strikes me is how you, God, and I worked together throughout the past 11 months to dream up and carry out this potentially life-changing/affirming experience.  I think back to when you first applied last winter and hearing what your references said about you, and then doing an initial interview with you where I first heard of your dreams and hopes for what this experience could do and be.  Then came the time to find a place for these dreams to be lived out.  Now, for some of you, finding a placement was a “slam dunk”–to all the CIPers, thank you!  But there were a few of you who helped to gray my hair! However, what I have learned in those particular experiences is that God is faithful even if sometimes things move more slowly than desired or fall through unexpectedly!  Yet, our collective persistence eventually paid off, even if a site wasn’t finalized until just a few weeks before you were to begin.  Right, Tori, Daisy and Breanna?

To you Hannah C., Seth, Krista, Patrick, Kara, Katelyn, Sarah Ro., Anna, Laura, Isaac, Maria, Jordan, Lauren, Arienne, Scott, Hannah M., Annali, Jennifer, Ana, Greg, Crystal, Julia, Deanna, Allyson, Andrea D., Daniel, Daisy, Andrea K., Melody, Breanna, Elizabeth, Sarah Ri., and Tori–I thank you for your courage, for the ways you represented Goshen College, and selfishly, for the ways you fueled my own faith!

Photo by Emily Miller.

I don’t like French-vanilla flavored coffee.  Coffee, as in robust, fresh, dark or lightly roasted, with milk—or just black, depending on the day—and no sugar is wonderful; of that I’m positive.  As for French-vanilla coffee, I’m confused.  I love the “French” flavor—it’s actually hazelnut (I learned this as a barista)—and vanilla is wonderfully soothing.  For reasons beyond my control, I don’t like the two flavors together.  However, I make a point of getting my fill of hazelnuts–they’re a healthy snack, and lately I’ve also been enjoying vanilla yogurt.  So, if you don’t like something as a whole, break it up and enjoy it in parts.

Thirty-one years ago, in the Nov. 10, 1978 (vol 88, no. 9) issue of the Record, writer Judy Weaver wrote an article titled “Do GC students ever ‘go for it?’” Weaver was referring to the dating atmosphere on campus—or rather the lack of dating atmosphere—and she interviewed students for their perspectives.

In 1978, students at Goshen College were concerned that the first-year students were dressing up more and appeared trendier—they reasoned this was because those students wanted to be asked out on dates.  Sophomores, in the article, typically said they were embarrassed to visit their friends from the other gender during open house hours because it implied romantic interests.

Juniors and seniors in 1978 talked about the social mood on campus, saying it was “chummy” enough for them.  However, Weaver also wrote that they “spoke unabashedly of being choosy about their friends.”

Said a senior in 1978, “I feel more comfortable choosing friends now that I can see ‘types’ of people and know the type of people I want to have for friends.”

Thirty-one years later, not much has changed.

Clothing and styles are still important to Goshen College students.

People still avoid dating. I say, go on dates.  It helps the economy.  It’s fun.  You get to know yourself—as well as the other person.

But the comment about friend groups is tough.  Do we really have to choose our friends based on the “types” of people we want to hang out with? When I look at it in terms of coffee, the answer is yes.  French-vanilla flavored coffee is a type of coffee I know I don’t like.  However, I also know I like hazelnut and vanilla separately.

If French-vanilla is a tightly formed social network at Goshen College—of which there are many, do I have to enjoy the French-vanilla bled at once?  I want to enjoy the French (hazelnut) and the vanilla in different settings.

I also agree that the social atmosphere at Goshen College is “chummy.”  I think this is really great.  I just wish it wasn’t an all or nothing sort of affair.  We should make hybrids of our social groups (and of universal coffee flavors because I’m tired of French-vanilla).

I’m talking to all those who are feeling hazelnut—find another flavor to blend with in addition to your trusty vanilla.  Hazelnut and toffee, hazelnut and cinnamon…even hazelnut and chocolate.  Yum.

Same goes for the vanilla-minded people—find some other flavors as well.  Vanilla makes anything wonderful…it’s the secret addition to Allison Yoder’s pancakes, but don’t tell anyone.

I’ll end with one more thought.  Hilary Shirk, one of the eight other women I live with, has a coffee cup.  I like coffee cups.  I also like hippos, and these two things are related because she has a hippo-coffee cup—and the snout of the hippo actually protrudes out from the mug!  This is the perfect example of why it’s important to make hybrids out of our social groups at Goshen College: cool things might happen.

Photo by Molly Kraybill

For too many years I biked in a bubble. I can tell you the year that my single-speed J.C. Higgins with a headlight and balloon tires was stolen (2007) and how much I paid the Physical Plant for a replacement bike with a metal mesh basket ($25).  I can even tell you my preferred parking spot—it’s the first slot to the left at the east entrance to Newcomer.

But I never paid any mind to other cyclists on campus – what kind of bikes they rode, whether they had trouble with theft, where they liked to park. I might as well have been the only biker at Goshen College.

Then last year the marketing gurus from Mindpower came for a visit. On the way to devising our Peace by Peace campaign, they brought their outside perspective to campus.  Goshen emerged with several distinctives: one was that we have a tendency toward spontaneous outbursts of song; another was that we have a strikingly large number of bikes on campus.

If we needed confirmation of the bike count, we got it this fall. For the first time in my nearly 10 years of teaching at Goshen, I’ve had to park my bicycle illegally – several times. Once I parked against a tree at the Recreation-Fitness Center and another time against a wall in front of the library.  I’ve arrived for class at the Ad Building and found that all the parking spaces were full in the nearby racks – and so I had to wheel my bike over to a rack near the entrance to Westlawn.

Curious about how many bikes are actually on campus this fall, I checked with Clay Shetler, director of the Physical Plant.  He said they have a rolling system, simply adding new bikes to the registry each year – without striking any from the rolls. So there’s no official, comprehensive annual count.

“We do think we need more parking,” Shetler said. “Two places we have identified for sure are the Visual Arts Building and the College Church. We get a huge amount of bikes for chapel. But how many racks do you put in when they’re used for only 45 minutes twice a week?”

Right now there’s parking for 10 at the Visual Arts Building and for 15 at the College Church. If more racks are ordered, Shetler said they’ll come from our supplier in California, whose first customer was Stanford.

Still curious about the number of bikes, I made the rounds one Sunday afternoon. The number is not official, but I counted 345 bikes, with most of them, as you’d expect, clustered around the dorms. In places, two bikes were squeezed into parking spaces intended for one. Given 639 students who live on campus, that’s one bike for every 1.85 students.

What’s more important than confirming our ranking is recognizing that we are a campus where bicycles – and people who love them – flourish. Bike people, to generalize, are friendly and welcoming. They’ll slow down. They know how to share a sidewalk.

There’s one more thing. Lisa Jordan of Mindpower said Goshen College also stood out for the kind of bicycle she found here. Unlike most campuses, where pricey bikes serve as status symbols meant to impress, here she found rows of simple bikes intended to get from point A to point B. To the roll call of compassionate peacemakers, passionate learners, global citizens and servant leaders, we might add this: humble bikers.

Photo by Emily Miller.

My good friend Drew wrote an article in The Record a few weeks ago addressing his own personal stance on spirituality.  His view closely coincides with my own, although I approach it from a slightly different perspective, and his courage to share what for many is a very sensitive topic encouraged me to share what I would consider my own religious identity.  I hope to generate the same kind of constructive dialogue that Drew accomplished with his relatively pantheistic conception of the divine.

I have grown up Mennonite, like Drew, and closely adhere to the core values of the Mennonite faith: peace, service, emulation of Jesus; these concepts make up the framework of my faith.  What’s more, these interpretations are rooted in the broader framework of the Christian faith, and so I inevitably acquiesce to this label as well.  But here’s the kicker: while acknowledging my religious identity as specifically Mennonite and more broadly Christian, I realize that these core values have surrounded me, at both explicit and implicit levels.  Therefore, I acknowledge my inability to fairly assess the legitimacy of any other religion’s truth and salvation claims because my own religious identity is so entangled with my cultural identity.

Phew.  Okay.  I think I should slow down.  Did you catch that last statement?  I’m attempting to acknowledge the inevitable tie between religious identity and cultural identity.  I’m also attempting to explain that it is through this connectedness that we as individuals assert hypotheses on what is and is not truth.  Our experience is so highly influenced by our dominant cultural background that we often mistake cultural presuppositions for absolute truth.  I would assert that because everyone is so heavily and deeply influenced by their dominant cultural background, it is unfair to assert that one religious identity holds claim to all truth.

So how does this apply to my original assertion as a Christian Mennonite?  I would see my Mennonite core values—peace, service, emulation of my religious identity’s prophet—as part of a transcendental framework that makes up all religious traditions.  While firmly believing in the Christian value system, truth claims, and salvation claims, I also hold all other religious identities as equally valid. They are different cultural interpretations of the same pursuit of defining that “enigmatic presence,” difficult to conceptualize, acknowledged within any religious identity.

Viewing “God” as un-definable and un-conceptual could be labeled a religious pluralist assumption: believing that each religion is firmly rooted in the fallibility of human attempts to describe reality, resulting in the affirmation that humanity can and will never fully understand “things in themselves,” or things outside of the human conception of them.  This pluralist concept assists in understanding the pragmatics of my religious beliefs.  Acknowledging the fallibility of any religion because its interpretation of truth and salvation are bound to the confines of human conception makes religious identity lose as an exclusivist argument and triumph as a pluralist opportunity for constructive interfaith dialogue.  Once all religious interpretations have pedagogical equity and this equity is established within the human psyche, authentic religious expression can be practiced without claims of religious superiority creating conflict among the varying religious identities.

So now I will try one more time to define my own position as a Mennonite religious pluralist: my own perception of Christianity is unavoidably influenced by my acknowledgment of its inherent flaws, but because Christianity is the lens which I most intimately understand the concept of the divine, I adhere to it as my particular form of religious expression.  So, while my argument does put me into the same cultural constraints as any claim on truth and salvation, it appreciates each religion as the closest one can come to truly understanding God.

Ben Handrich is a senior English major.

Photo by Molly Kraybill

I started kindergarten at a Catholic school in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, which is founded and run by Italian missionaries. For those of you who might not know where Ethiopia is, it is located in East Africa bordering Kenya, Somalia, Sudan and Eritrea.  I went there until grade 7, at which point I was expelled because I didn’t really agree with some of the beliefs and rituals that they forced upon students– for example, attending mass.

What made it hard for me was that I went to a protestant church called MKC on Sundays, which taught me a different religious perspective.  I grew up mostly with my grandfather, (Tsigie Derseh), who shared Ethiopian orthodox religion, and who is probably the most important person in my life. He passed away three years ago. He was a very devout man, but he never had a Western education or any education, really. He was a farmer and a soldier all his life, but he taught me one of the most important principles in life: to treat others as I want to be treated. On top of the collision of different religious ideas that I experienced, my home—the furniture, colors, wall decorations and cooking materials—look like an Islamic home, but we are Protestants living there.  We don’t follow the Islamic faith, but our lifestyle revolves around that culture because my family is from Harrar, a very strong Muslim city near the Somalian border.  I think that has played an important role in shaping what I think.  Being surrounded by a different Muslim culture and having Muslim friends in the school also showed me a little of what Islam is like.

To some extent when I came here to Goshen, it was a completely different cultural and religious scene.  It took me a while to get used to it. I didn’t really want to come here in the beginning.  One of the reasons I stayed was because of the people.  That doesn’t mean Goshen is a safe zone for everyone, though, and there are some things I can’t really change.  But there are some policies—such as chapel and convocation—I don’t find really agreeable.  I think they force too much of a certain religious perspective on a person.

I completely understand that Goshen College is a faith-based education center, but coming here and seeing a required religious chapel for people who don’t necessarily believe in that faith is something I disagree with.  Some might argue and say there are alternatives, such as writing a paper, but I think religion is personal. It should not be something we are required to reflect on, but it should stay personal.  People might be interested in how one approaches a certain religious view, but I think the requirement should be cut off.

Global Citizenship is sometimes misunderstood by the administration and students. I can’t go on SST.  I was told that coming to Goshen was my SST experience.  If you come from any part of the world that is not the US, they assume you already know some culture.  However, I have no idea how people live in Cambodia or Tanzania.  There is a preconceived idea that the United States of America is the center of the world and anything outside of that is just “foreign” and all the same. In reality this is not true, and Ethiopia and Cambodia are by no means alike. I feel like I’m being denied a class because I’m not part of a certain group. When I look at the SST that other students get to experience, I see organized groups that are briefed and instructed and walked through their experiences as a team.

If some say this is my SST, why is no one caring about how I’m doing after my three-day orientation?  Sure, we have some pizza and refreshments sometimes, but they should put us in groups to help us break down and understand the culture at Goshen just like students do on SST.

Despite these shortcomings, I appreciate being at Goshen. I enjoy the company of my good friends and what I have learned, both in and out of the classroom. I really want to thank everyone: faculty, staff and especially my friends for the unconditional love, comfort and support.

God Bless,

Befekadu Abi Tsigie