New Voices: By and about young adults

I don’t know about your generation, but mine grew up hearing all about the parable of the prodigal son. It must’ve made an impression, because we seem to have ended up living it—with a twist. Consider this:

Generations of Mennonite parents have been passing on a priceless inheritance: commitment to faith-centered Anabaptist community (or “church,” if you like it short and sweet). The youngest sons and daughters of these faithful parents (my generation) have welcomed their inheritance. We love the vigor of Mennonite colleges, the relevance of Mennonite Central Committee, the beauty of Mennonite camps, and—most of all—the full benefits of Mennonite community.

Masses of post-college Mennonite young adults are flocking to vibrant cities such as Denver, Portland and Pittsburgh to enjoy that social richness. It’s easy for us; generations of diligent ancestors set the foundation for it.

But we forget (or choose not) to nurture our inheritance. Thanks to the social connections we’ve inherited, we can now throw great parties or field fun-loving softball teams. But how much are we doing to build up our local Mennonite congregations? It’s as if we enjoy our Mennonite identity so much on Saturday night that we don’t have any energy left to bring it to church on Sunday morning.

If the trend continues, it’s hard to believe that we’ll maintain the only thing that could pass this inheritance on to our kids: the church. You won’t find the Mennonite generations-to-come rallying around their grandparents supper club, or that great election party they threw in 2008. Our social connections can be great, even spiritually fulfilling, but I can no longer deny a hard truth: When it comes to the future of Mennonite identity, we’re withdrawing, not investing.

While we do our part as the free-spending prodigal son, there are those who must feel like the prodigal son’s brother. They’ve committed to their home churches while the rest of us have gallivanted around the world. There must be times when they resent those of us who drop by church because we want a place to make a name for ourselves, get married or bring our visiting parents. It must be even harder because the congregation rushes to accommodate us; they want to win us back.

The connections to the parable are almost tailor-made.

There’s a new twist, though. A third sibling has quietly joined us in the meantime. She (or he) often has a background that we don’t consider traditionally Mennonite. She may be from a growing church plant for non-English-speaking Mennonites. Or she may be one of the many spiritual seekers who are finding that Anabaptism weathers postmodernism surprisingly well.
Still, we overlook her contributions. We feel an almost familial connection to the Mennonite friends we’ve known longer, even those not at church.

As a result, we spend more time on our old friends and less of it welcoming people who choose to be there. I do this every time I welcome a new person after worship but cut the interaction short to talk with my “traditionally Mennonite” friends.

We could invite the new person into the conversation, but she’d probably feel awkward—especially since so much of our “Mennonite” conversation is about people and events outside church. She’s there, she’s ready to invest, but we pass up the gift—even as our survival depends on it.

Over time, she has to be noticing this. And it has to feel insulting. It would be one thing if our church was hard to break into because we’re not good at building community; it’s another thing entirely when we’re great at it—just not with you.

So what’s the solution? I’ve heard enough about the prodigal son to know that it has something to do with grace. But grace for whom? Already as I write this, I fear I’m coming dangerously close to casting blame on friends—friends whose love sometimes feels more unconditional than the church’s.

But I also know that my current priorities are limiting the graciousness of my welcome, hampering my church’s growth and robbing future generations.

I don’t have an answer to this dilemma yet, but I do ask you to join me in prayer and discernment. God’s grace is sufficient for us all. By trusting in the power of the Holy Spirit, not ourselves, may we find ourselves—and all parts of our community—truly transformed.

Peter Epp lives in Portland, Ore., and is a member of Portland Menno­nite Church and a member of Young Adult Fellowship.