Mary Ann Zehr
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September 9, 2015

This morning I’d like to reflect on creativity. 

The passage in Isaiah, which is one of the lectionary scriptures for today, is a reminder that the writers of the Bible were creative.  The passage contains images to depict the glory of God.  The wilderness will burst into bloom like a crocus.  When God comes on the scene, those who have been disabled will leap like a deer and streams will gush out of what had been the parched land of the dessert where jackals had once lain.  Grass and reeds and papyrus will be able to grow.

These images stir our imagination much more than if the writer had said flatly, God’s coming is something good.

I understand that Eighth Day takes its name from the title of Elizabeth O'Connor's book, The Eighth Day of Creation.  The idea is that after God created the world in seven days, we humans became co-creators with God for the continuing creation of God's dream.

So it seems appropriate for us to think about our creative potential.

How do I see members of 8th Day being creative?

Creativity is in the videos Eugene makes with action figures.  It’s in Addie’s drawings that she makes at Duke Ellington School.

I see explosive creativity in the performances of Ben in Sanctuaries, which calls itself “a diverse arts community with soul.”

Creativity is in Helen’s sense of style in the way she fixes her hair and in how she selects jewelry to spruce up an outfit.

I see creativity in the salad that Dixcy invents.  It has beets, grilled vegetables, goat cheese, a grain that is like quinoa but not.  And it tastes delicious.

It’s in the lighting, minimalist furniture, and visual art that Emily selected to make the Potter’s House seem spacious and welcoming.

It’s in the songs that Connie and Kent write and sing.

Creativity is in the questions that Gerald asks about the universe.

It’s in the deep-throated singing of Karen and Meade.

It’s in the rhythms that Mike plays on the drums.

Creativity comes through in the stories that David Hilfiker and Ann Barnet have published about putting medical knowledge and skills to work to help poor people.

Creativity is in the actions of civil disobedience that Eve and her companions devise to speak truth to power.

Creativity is how Gail searches out new locations from year to year where we can have a vacation as a community.

It’s in the way Jennie uses photos about polar bears to express her concern about the need to protect the environment in the arctic.

These are just a few ways that I see people letting their creativity go at 8th Day.

I’d like to share with you my story of coming to appreciate creativity, particularly reconciling my creativity and faith.

As many of you know, I was raised as a Mennonite.  In that tradition, creativity—at least in the form of many kinds of art—was not universally welcomed when I was a child.  Certain kinds of creativity were accepted, such as making quilts or furniture with elegant lines, but Mennonites didn’t call that art. 

But things were also changing while I was growing up.  My mother had taken a course at a Mennonite college on the fine arts from a pioneer musician in the Mennonite church and Mom had become someone who appreciated art.  (This professor had been discouraged by Mennonites from playing the cello, but she went ahead and played it and got a PhD in music).  My father didn’t appreciate art.  About the time I was born, a Canadian Mennonite named Rudy Wiebe wrote a novel called Peace Shall Destroy Many.  It was controversial because it showed the hypocrisy of some Mennonite practices and views, including pacifism.  Even its title Peace Shall Destroy Many isn’t exactly an advertisement for peace.

Many Mennonites frowned on what they considered to be airing one’s dirty laundry in front of the world.  Because of the opposition, Rudy Wiebe had to resign from his job as an editor for a Mennonite newspaper.  However, one of the more open-minded Mennonite institutions, Goshen  College, snapped him up to be an English professor.  I remember when I was a teenager, my father criticized the novel because he said it took all the problems of the Mennonite community and put them in one book.  Well, isn’t that what novels do?, I thought at the time, but I wasn’t yet brave enough to contradict my father. 

Over time, appreciation of literature and art have become a big part of my life.  I majored in English in college, and as a college student, I had a short story and some poems published.  I still love literature.  As a teacher last year at Wilson High School, I brought six authors and two filmmakers to my classroom to talk with students about their work.  I considered it to be a great perk of teaching to meet all of these artists.  Yesterday, at the National Book Festival I listened intently to one of my favorite authors, Marilynn Robinson.  She’s a master in creating characters who didn’t grow up going to church but feel compelled to know more about God.  She attends a Congregationalist church.  A hall in the convention center was packed with hundreds of people.  The interviewer observed that Robinson is a very rare writer in that she writes about prayer in novels.  And Robinson observed of her own work that one of the characters in her book—what she called “a creative pastor” in small-town Iowa—is unusual in the world of fiction, which usually ridicules any religious leader.  I admire Robinson because she so adeptly draws on both her creativity and faith.

Recently I attended a gathering where a Mennonite poet spoke who teaches at a Mennonite college.  His name is Jeff Gundy.  He reflected on how many artists still leave the Mennonite church.  He implied that the church still doesn’t welcome artists who are critical of the tradition.  But if a church denomination loses all its artists and critics, he said, it is left with all the boring people.  Also, he asked a question that stuck with me, “Can’t God handle creativity?

This summer I wrote a personal essay that focused on the harm caused by patriarchy in the Mennonite church and also my immediate family.  My father was patriarchal and although my mother and siblings and I loved him very much we all feel a bit more relaxed now that he isn’t with us.  Right after my father died, my mother cut her hair for the first time in her life.  She had always worn it long and wound up in a bun.  She said she had kept it long for Dad and since he had passed away, she could make a change.  And I’m also feeling more empowered to write about my family and Mennonite heritage, both its good parts and bad parts.

I went to a writers’ workshop in Taos, New Mexico, in July and got feedback on the essay I’d written.  Then I shared it with my mother and siblings. 

My eldest brother sent me an email.  He wrote:  

I see more and more clearly with time the evils of overbearing religion and spiritual abuse…You Zehr women have done well in tenaciously holding on to your individual identity in the face of the relentless accusation of being irrational.  The character of God extends far beyond the reach of our reasoning abilities. 

I bless you all to discover the joy and freedom of fulfilling your unique identities.  Please bring it to my attention if I treat you in a condescending manner.  I want to live by the truth that in God's valuing of humankind there is "neither male nor female". 

Even if my essay is never published, I’m encouraged by the interaction that sprung out of it in my family.

As well as using creativity to tell personal stories, I’m interested in how it is applied in working for social justice, a goal of 8th Day.

I recently read the book, The Other Wes Moore, by Wes Moore.  The author wrote about how visiting South Africa helped him realize the power of creativity.  He said,

“I learned about the music of the apartheid era and how it was musicians and artists, even more than the politicians and activists, who informed the world about the country’s injustices.”  p 187

NPR  had a report about artists who are helping the public to identify with migrants who cross the US-Mexico border.  They create art from the objects left behind by migrants in the Arizona desert.  Alvaro Enciso, makes art from discarded tuna cans.  Many migrants eat tuna on their journey because it is easy to carry and high in protein.  Another artist, Deborah McCullough, makes visual art from toothbrushes left on the ground.  She says that when people see the toothbrushes, it “humanizes” the migrants.

When Marcia and Mike gave a report on how the problems of the people of Detroit are being ignored by most of the people in the nation, they pointed out that the artist community in that city has brought attention to important issues.

In addition, I’ve been thinking about how people are exercising creativity in schools and I want to be a part of that movement.  I’m very excited about my new teaching job, working in the International Academy at Cardozo.  Almost all of my students are migrants from Guatemala, El Salvador, or Honduras who have slipped across the US border.  Seventy-five percent of them are boys.  Many of my students dropped out of school in the elementary grades in their home countries.  I have one student from Eritrea who is 18 and apparently never went to school until last year.  He’s just begun to read and came last week to practice with me during lunchtime.

It takes every ounce of creative power I possess to figure out how to connect with my students and help them to acquire English so they can get good jobs here.

One of the teachers I just met at my new school, Steven Donkin, has written a novel.  The book contains a conversation about creativity between a young teacher and a retired D.C.  teacher named Malcolm.  The young teacher has just told Malcolm she’s impressed with the creativity of a musician named Allegri.  Malcolm challenges her to think of creativity more broadly.

He says:

“Remember that creativity can be more than making things.  We can spread beauty through the world with our acts too.  Take this Allegri.  Now he made beautiful music, sure; and he became famous for it.  But what about the people in his life who helped him out, gave him the support and nurturing that allowed him to make the beautiful music he did?  I don’t know if that would have been his family, teachers, neighbors, wife—whoever it was, there had to be some people who performed acts that helped him out, that allowed him to create his music…And who’s to say those unknown acts didn’t enhance the beauty in the world as much as his music?  Such acts at least must push back some of the ugliness of the world, don’t you think?”

I like this way of thinking, that we can all be creative, even if it’s mostly appreciating the creativity of others and supporting them.  I encourage us to be creative in thinking about how we can use our creativity.

I’m thankful to be part of a faith community that values art, criticism, and creativity.