Timbrel Archives:
Here on Humble Street

“Here on Humble Street” is a light-hearted column about an imaginary congregation. Written by Angelika Dawson of British Columbia, these stories will make you smile even as you recognize issues from your own faith community. Humble Street is Everychurch and no church, a place found only in the mind where we can take an honest look at issues found in real congregations—but do so with our Groucho Marx glasses on, gaining a new perspective on things we tend to take so seriously. Each installment in Timbrel magazine includes questions for journaling, prayer, and group discussion.

So welcome to Humble Street Mennonite Church, where Grace (avenue, that is) is just around the corner.

Sample articles:
Soup war comes to a boil
Singled out of a pairs party
Lack of volunteers leads to The Experiment
Time for everything but small group
Warrior mama meets her match

* * * * * * * *

Soup war comes to a boil
By Angelika Dawson
Timbrel, March-April 2002

When Sarah Burkholder, chairperson of Humble Street Mennonite Church, walked into Pastor Miller’s office, she found him at his desk rubbing his temples. “I’ll get right to the point,” he began, vaguely waving her into a chair. “I think we’re facing something that could split the church.”

“What? I take a two-week vacation and now the church is splitting? You’ve got to be kidding!” she exclaimed.

Pastor Miller handed her two letters. One had been sent to the Humble Hospitality Committee. In it Mrs. Martha Pries-Neufeld asked that the committee consider making vegetable soup for the annual Lenten Luncheon instead of the traditional chicken noodle. It seemed her daughter had been converted to vegetarianism while at Bible college.

“Uh oh,” Sarah said.

“That’s just the beginning,” Pastor Miller groaned. “Read the next one.”

The second letter was printed on homemade letterhead with a banner across the top declaring that it was from “Chicks for Chicken!—We’re not chicken to stand up for all that’s fowl!” Apparently one of the church women’s groups had gotten a whiff of the request for veggie soup and had taken offense.

Some of the women were from chicken farming families and felt that the request was an attack on their work. Besides, HSMC had been serving chicken soup at the Lenten Luncheon since time immemorial, using an old family recipe from Mrs. Zacharias, an elderly saint in the church whose feelings the Chicks did not want to hurt. “We’ve had enough change!” their postscript read. “If you mess with our chicken soup, where will it end?”

Sarah began rubbing her own temples.

“People have been streaming in to talk about this,” Pastor Miller said. “Not only do we have Chicks for Chicken, now we have VEGGIES: Vegetarians for Equality: Guarding God’s Ideally Edible Stuff. Some of them say that vegetable soup is too modest a change and we should serve lentil soup instead. Somehow they make a connection between lentils and Lent.”

He got up to pace the well-worn track in his office carpet and explained how various people had brought up all kinds of tangents, ranging from finances to evangelism.

Families from the Chicks for Chicken group always donated the meat and homemade noodles, so chicken was actually a cheaper option than vegetable or lentil soup.

Daphne Friesen-Yoder-Zuckerman, who wasn’t officially part of the VEGGIES (because she really liked the chicken soup), pointed out that offering an alternative might draw the younger people and others from the community into the church. What better way to do evangelism than with food?

 Nellie Quiring had come in, practically in tears, saying that she had already tolerated so much change (“All those foreign songs, with drums and everything!”) that she couldn’t bear anymore, and people who didn’t like chicken soup could just stay at home. 

“Edith Klassen, the Hospitality Committee chair, isn’t answering her phone anymore,” the pastor concluded sadly.

“Oh dear,” Sarah murmured. She had attended Humble Street her whole life and couldn’t remember an issue that had caused so much division. Unless it was that time the church needed to replace the carpet in the sanctuary, and someone suggested a color change. But even that hadn’t produced groups with letterhead or acronyms.

“I guess I’d better call an emergency Executive Committee meeting this week,” she said, pulling out her daytimer. But as she opened it she gave in to curiosity. “Which side do you lean towards?” she asked.

Pastor Miller sat back down and continued to massage his temples. “This Lenten season,” he said, “I will be fasting.”

For reprint permission, contact the editor.

Singled out of a pairs party
By Angelika Dawson
Timbrel, May-June 2002

As Marylin Klippenstein watched her cat Abner jump out of the punch bowl and into the veggie plate, it dawned on her that this wasn’t quite the impact she had wanted to make. Cringing, she wondered, What possessed me to do this?

It was probably the way the announcement was made. The Humble Street Mennonite Church “Young Marrieds” class sponsored an annual fun night and this year would be a thematic costume party, Carol Heinrichs had told the group. “You all need to come dressed as a famous pair,” she declared, adding as an afterthought, “And could one of the singles please volunteer to baby-sit?”

“Singles!” Marylin fumed later. Her friend Scott just rolled his eyes. They had often discussed how they hated that term—reasoning you’d never refer to disabled people as “disables.” “You know what?” she said. “I’m going to crash that party. I’ll bring Abner. I think he counts as my significant other; after all, we’ve been together for 10 years!”

Scott chuckled. “If you do that, I’ll volunteer for childcare duty just so I can see the look on Carol’s face!”

Marylin wasn’t given to crashing parties or making scenes. She was just tired of single people being left out. But when she arrived, wearing her red t-shirt, she sat in the parking lot a while with Abner in her arms, summoning the courage to go inside. She watched couples go in dressed as the Flintstones, Romeo and Juliet, Superman and Lois Lane. She even had a good laugh watching the Epps struggle to get out of their car—they had come as a pair of dice. “Not famous,” Marylin thought as Abner purred, “but clever.”

When she finally went in, the party was in full swing. Several people stopped to stare at Abner in his tiny necktie, Bill and Hillary waved, and Carol “Cinderella” Heinrichs, with Prince Charming in tow, stood at the food table with her mouth hanging open. Scott—with a fake pear in sunglasses on his hat (a “famous pear,” apparently) and a toddler perched precariously on his shoulders—was nearly doubled over.

Marylin marched right over to Carol. “Great party, er, ball, ‘Cindy,’ ” she said with a bright smile. “And I love your outfits. I had no idea you could get glass slippers in wedge heels. Now, does this mean we all have to go home at midnight?”

“You . . . you brought your cat,” Carol stammered.

“Yeah, we’re Calvin and Hobbes,” Marylin replied. “You know, the little kid and his stuffed tiger from the comic strip.”

“But, but, I thought . . . I assumed . . . I wasn’t expecting . . . a cat,” Carol stuttered. “I thought you’d bring a man.”

“Oh?” Marylin asked innocently. “Why?”

“Well, I mean, I know that not everyone is married yet but everyone’s couples and . . . ah. . . .”

Two things happened to stop Carol in mid-babble: she realized what she was saying and Abner chose that moment to leap out of Marylin’s arms and into the punch bowl.

The shock of the ice sent Abner, yowling, into the veggie plate. From there he tumbled into the dip and managed to hit the cake before hitting the floor. He knocked over Jack and Jill’s pail of water and sprinted a full lap of the room, spreading footprints of punch, dip, and chocolate frosting everywhere, before sliding under a chair to lick the concoction off his fur. Everyone was screaming or laughing. Tears of hilarity streamed down Scott’s cheeks.

“Carol, I’m so sorry, I didn’t want this to happen,” Marylin moaned. “I’m such an idiot. I’ll just find Abner and go.”

“I’m the idiot,” Carol said. She put her arm around Marylin’s shoulder. “I never realized . . . well, it’s amazing the things you just don’t think about.” She gave Marylin a squeeze. “Actually, the paw prints in the icing make for a dramatic presentation. How long did you have to coach Abner before he could behave so perfectly like Hobbes?”

Marylin grinned as she returned the hug. “Wait until you see us do the three-legged race,” she said.

For reprint permission, contact the editor.

Lack of volunteers leads to The Experiment
By Angelika Dawson
Timbrel, November-December 2003

At first, when someone suggested choosing volunteers by pulling names from an offering plate, Fred Pankratz thought it was a good idea. His years on the Nominations Committee at Humble Street Mennonite Church had proven that it’s always the same 20 percent of the congregation that does 80 percent of the work, and the 20 percent were getting tired and grumpy. Matching jobs from one offering plate with names from another seemed like a fair way to distribute the work evenly and include everyone. Besides, it was only a one-month experiment.

Then Fred became the choir director. Fred had always described his musical abilities as limited to playing the stereo—although he fondly remembered his recorder lessons with Miss Appleby in the fourth grade. Miss Appleby had been so encouraging—and cute. Yet that had not prepared him to wave his arms at 30 singers. The music just looked like black dots on paper. And no matter what sound the choir made, it all sounded the same to him.

But he wasn’t the only one experiencing difficulty.

Jan Derksen, who had been the HSMC pianist up until The Experiment, had become the janitor. It seemed that when the plumbing in the centuries-old building caught wind of this, it promptly plugged up. So Jan did what she would have done at home: she called Plug Busters, who came out and solved the problem at great expense.

Jan handed the bill over to Mrs. Zacharias, the 100-year-old matriarch who was now church treasurer. Mrs. Zacharias also did what she would have done at home: she ignored the bill and so it accumulated interest at a rather alarming rate. 

Pauline, who hated cooking, found herself the head of the Kitchen Committee. Her crew included Scott, who considered Kraft Dinner a delicacy, and Albert, a retired farmer who had always felt the kitchen was a woman’s place unless the menu included barbecue, in which case the danger involved made it a man’s place. Their first fund-raising luncheon consisted entirely of BBQ’d KD and was a qualified disaster. The noodles were charred and the orange powder was impossible to get off the grill. The only one happy was Mrs. Zacharias, because no one gave any money.

But while some were languishing, others discovered new passions. When high school wrestling coach Mark Yoder became the librarian, he thought of transferring his membership to another church. But when he entered the library for the first time in all his years at HSMC, he fell in love. The library was the jewel of the old church. It had a large children’s section, a great reference library, and comfy chairs. Mark found himself coming here daily after practice, just to be with the books. When friends asked, he simply shrugged and said, “I like the way they smell.”

Carol Heinrichs went from being in charge of the young marrieds to being in charge of the nursery. After two Sundays of playing with babies, she threw out her birth control pills and told anyone who’d listen that she and Bill were earnestly trying to get pregnant. Although Bill was quite keen on the method, he wasn’t nearly as thrilled as Carol about the possible result; but Carol was sure he’d come around after a few more weeks in the nursery.  

At the end of The Experiment, all agreed that volunteers should choose tasks according to their gifts. Fred gratefully relinquished his pitch pipe (which he still couldn’t use properly) and vowed that he would never utter a word of criticism against any musician. Although Albert no longer wanted to be on the Kitchen Committee he did agree to barbecue in the future—if pasta was not involved. And Mrs. Zacharias offered to pay the interest on the plumbing bill from the money jar stashed in her freezer, just so long as she wouldn’t have to face another ledger again.

The congregation ended up with more volunteers than jobs and people no longer complained but served happily. Fred had to smile at that. It seemed that the Humble Nominations Committee would have a much easier time finding volunteers from now on. No more hours on the phone. What would he do with his spare time? Vaguely, he wondered if Miss Appleby was still teaching recorder.

For reprint permission, contact the editor.

Time for everything but small group
By Angelika Dawson
Timbrel, September-October 2004

Sarah Burkholder added a doodle to her notes as she listened to the friendly chatter around her. She, Scott Weaver, Doug and Daphne Friesen-Yoder-Zukerman, the Heinrichs, and the Showalters had met to plan a small group. They had all been inspired by Pastor Miller’s sermon at Humble Street Mennonite Church on the importance of meeting together during the week for fellowship (even though some still weren’t sure they understood his sermon title, “Got Koinonia?”). It had taken two hours but they had  managed to decide the two most important things: what they would study and what they would eat.

“We should all take turns,” said Betty Showalter, an Atkins devotee who had brought a cheese plate for the meeting. “But remember, no carbs!”

They agreed to take turns with the snacks and to bring two things so that carb-lovers would also be included. Carol Heinrichs was particularly pleased by this as she was expecting their first child and was always hungry.

Selecting a book was a greater challenge. Doug proposed using Christianity for Dummies but became flustered when Carol suggested that his choice was based on unsold inventory from his bookstore. Her preference, Laboring for the Lord: Lamaze for Christian Moms, was soundly rejected by Scott, who said the whole group might as well study 100 Righteous Places to Meet Your Christian Mate.

Sarah made a pitch for the new, voluminous Mennonite history book, but Carol claimed that in her condition she couldn’t even pick it up, much less read the whole thing. Betty’s husband, Herb, suggested the Mennonite Starter Kit, but Doug complained that the part on Mennonite acronyms was too much for anyone to be expected to understand.

Finally the group decided to start with something simpler. They settled on the book of Revelation, with a comparison study of all the minor prophets. Carol quite liked this idea as she and Bill were considering baby names and Carol felt that this study would help them choose.

“Now all we have to do is agree on a time to meet,” said Sarah. “What night works for everyone?”

“Well, not Mondays,” said Scott. “That’s basketball night for me and we play year round.”

Betty and Daphne spoke simultaneously: “Choir practice is on Wednesday.” “Our kids have soccer every Thursday.”

“Tuesdays I go to yoga,” Carol announced.

“Yoga? Aren’t you Mennonite?” Herb asked.

“Okay! Tuesdays aren’t good, either,” Sarah blurted, heading off the argument she saw coming, adding that the Humble church council meetings were also on Tuesdays and filing the discussion topic of “other religions” in her mind as a possibility for the future.

“Maybe we could meet Fridays,” Herb said, but Doug reminded him that the bookstore was open late that night as Scott bewilderedly asked Daphne, “Do I look like the kind of guy who doesn’t have a date on Fridays?”

“Well, we can’t meet on the weekend,” Betty said. “This is supposed to be a mid-week meeting.”

Meeting during the day wasn’t an option as they all had jobs. They considered a breakfast gathering, but for those with school-age children it just wasn’t practical. The more they talked the more it seemed they’d never be able to meet until Sarah, who had been quietly scribbling notes, declared a solution.

“We’ll rotate,” she said. “One week we’ll meet Monday, the next week we’ll meet Tuesday, and so on. That way you’ll only have a conflict once every five weeks. If a holiday falls on one of those days, we’ll just skip that week and continue with the schedule the following week.”

“It’s so crazy it just might work,” Doug enthused and everyone agreed it was a brilliant idea.

“Then all we need is a volunteer to draw up a calendar and post the dates in the bulletin,” Sarah said. “Who’s game?”

The room instantly silenced. It was as though they had chosen The Quiet in the Land to study and they’d all begun practicing at once. Then, just as suddenly, everyone began talking over each other.

“Well, I couldn’t possibly. . . .”

“With basketball and coordinating my busy social life. . . .”

“Pregnancy has made me so forgetful. . . .”

Sarah sighed, put down her pen, and reached for the cheese plate. Someone else would have to be brilliant about this, she decided.

Warrior mama meets her match

* * * * * * * *

Subscriptions (one year, six issues): $10 U.S./$12 Cdn.
To order, send checks (payable to Timbrel) to the MW USA office. 

7.19.2005