We’re living in a time of turmoil, not only globally and nationally but within our church institutions. Congregations and conferences have left Mennonite Church USA, discord has shaken Mennonite World Conference, and people are reporting harmful treatment by Mennonite Central Committee administrators.

Disputes and misunderstanding are not unique to Mennonites, but I wonder if aspects of our history and culture make us more susceptible to conflict and harsh patterns of judgment and division.

Certainly, difficult accountability processes and separation are sometimes necessary. But how do we discern when these actions are legitimate or when they represent unhealthy reactions rooted in unrecognized or unresolved trauma?

I have found that the Sanctuary Model, created by psychiatrist Sandra Bloom, offers valuable insights. Bloom proposes that just as individuals use “fight, flight or freeze” behaviors to deal with trauma, so too do groups and institutions. They too can respond by fighting with aggression, shame and control; fleeing with fragmentation, confusion and denial; and freezing by withdrawal, numbness and paralysis.

Anabaptists have done all of these things.

The good news is that when we recognize and address trauma, we can find new possibilities for solving problems. Organizations can turn away from patterns of control, rigidity and top-down decision-making and instead commit to practices of non­violence, emotional intelligence, curiosity, open communication and shared responsibility.

I offer the following thoughts and questions for discussion and testing, especially for those of us from European ancestry. My intent is not to diminish the witness and courage of our ancestors. Yet, I think it is useful to explore how their experiences of persecution and martyrdom may have resulted in negative characteristics that have harmed our common life but that we can now recognize and change.

Perfectionism

I fear that our history of persecution has led us to binary perspectives on right and wrong, on who is in and who is out. Our ancestors needed to know who they could trust and who should be avoided. But this also encouraged rigidity about what is good and proper and fed the urge to separate from anyone who disagreed. It also fed an unhealthy, fearful image of God as one who demands purity and perfection.

Conflict avoidance

Emphasis on perfection and boundary maintenance made it difficult to raise questions or seek change, since voicing a different perspective could lead to isolation or even expulsion from the community. We demanded peace and harmony at all costs, making it almost impossible to manage disagreement in healthy ways or to address situations of injustice and abuse. Too often, we succumbed to destructive patterns of silencing, manipulation and separation.

We also came to think of ourselves as a large extended family and learned to defer to people we know and think we can trust. This gives great power to those who have the “right” names or have already served the church in multiple roles. Organizational supervisors or board members thus find it challenging to provide good oversight, because seeking more information or probing too deeply can be perceived as failing to trust a well-known leader. Even worse, it disrupts the appearance of harmonious family relationships.

Misuse of power

These realities, as well as our theology of the priesthood of all believers, make it hard to recognize power dynamics in our relationships and communities. We resist thinking of ourselves as powerful. We imagine that we are all still part of a persecuted minority. Such denial makes it hard for leaders to acknowledge their authority and use it responsibly. They can too easily assume a false sense of humility or victimhood and reject legitimate questions about how they wield their influence.

Inferiority and shame

Our identity as a peculiar people on the margins of society can make us feel unworthy and that we need to prove our value to the outside world. We are tempted to invest in renowned leaders or institutions and tie our identity and significance to them. When we make these “stars” too big to fail and too powerful to challenge, it becomes almost impossible to address misconduct or abuse.

Superiority

On the other hand, we are tempted to turn our martyrdom and ethic of service into arrogance, a badge of honor. This makes it hard to recognize the extent to which we are deeply embedded in oppressive social structures like patriarchy and racism. We want to believe that our history of persecution overrides our participation in the violence and dispossession caused by male domination, White supremacy and settler colonialism.

This can lead to blindness and self-confidence that allow those of us in the majority culture to imagine we don’t have to change or reckon with our role in these systems. Instead, our wealth and privilege encourage us to think we know what others need, without truly listening to them or understanding what they experience. Too often, we provide answers that cost us little and avoid true solidarity and partnership. We miss out on the vital truths we need to learn from those most directly suffering the effects of unjust social, religious, economic and political systems, including our own.

So, I return to my initial question. How can we honor our ancestors and what they suffered but also address the ways we might still be reacting out of that received fear and trauma?

We have started some of this work. We have studied and practiced conflict transformation and restorative justice. We have responded with compassion to many who are suffering. And we have done some work to understand and address patriarchy and racism.

Nevertheless, we continue to struggle with conflict, misunderstanding and division. We are on a journey toward healing but too often revert to harmful behaviors. We still need more reflection and answers to these questions:

— What are some ways we can turn away from our perfectionism and fear of difference and toward more compassion, curiosity and welcome?

— How can we use our anxiety and qualms about power to learn how to use our influence and authority wisely, especially in our own communities and institutions?

— How can we encourage one another to recognize our feelings of shame and/or superiority and nurture more honesty in our relationships?

— What are some ways we can truly listen to, believe and validate those who experience mistreatment and exclusion in our congregations and institutions? How can we more truly learn from and honor survivors of boarding schools, victims of sexual assault and those treated unjustly by our own organizations? How can we work to repair the harm done and better support people in their healing journeys?

— How can we structure our organizations to be more transparent and accessible, so that staff, donors and board members all have good information and processes for addressing concerns? How can we give more freedom and capacity to board members to ask uncomfortable questions? How can we encourage institutional leaders to recognize and act more quickly when outside expertise is needed?

— How can we be more honest about the patriarchy and White supremacy embedded in our culture, which continue to shape our assumptions and practices? What are steps we can take to repent of our role in justifying and perpetuating these systems? How can we better participate in efforts to repair the generations of injustice done to marginalized communities?

These are difficult questions. As we seek answers, I pray that we can acknowledge and release the ghosts of our past that haunt us. May God give us the grace and wisdom to learn and embrace ways of living together that build more just and inclusive communities.

Linda Gehman Peachey is a member of Blossom Hill Mennonite Church, Lancaster, Pa. Previously, she worked for Mennonite Central Committee on Women’s Advocacy and with her husband, Titus, as co-director of Peace and Justice Ministries. She and Titus have two adult daughters and enjoy visiting them in Chicago and Guatemala.