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Gelassenheit

T. SHER SINGH

In the village of less than 5,000 residents where I live in Canada, there are at least nine churches representing a wide variety of Christian denominations. Most of them are on my street. The rest are but a few blocks away.

There are many more within a short distance out of town, in every direction.

There are no gurdwaras (Sikh places of worship), at least not within an hour’s drive in any direction. For good reason: there aren’t many Sikhs who live here in the countryside.

I have a small gurdwara at home, with parkash of Guru Granth Sahib, the Sikh scripture. It meets my spiritual and meditative needs, though from time to time I do hunger for sangat … a congregation.

When I do, and if it doesn’t make sense to drive a hundred kilometres on a whim, I walk down the street on a Sunday morning and slip into one of the churches.

I’ve tried a number of different ones in the three years I’ve been here. It doesn’t matter which one I enter, because what attracts me is that I like being amongst people in worship, regardless of who they are, which group they belong to.

There is a purity and an innocence, peace and serenity, when we are in prayer. I like that. As long as there are no theatrics involved. I don’t care much for those who jump up and down in frenzied piety, or those who burst into tongues. Or the ‘laughing’ churches, for example, which were trendy not too long ago.

Just simple quiet. No more. Music and song I like, though, even when I don’t understand the words.

On Christmas Day recently, I was drawn by the cars pulling up outside the new Baptist Church across the road from me. So I stepped out and walked in, and seated myself in their grand new sanctuary. I knew many in the congregation, since I have inherited their century-and-a-quarter old church -- the predecessor of this new one.       

In the three years I have been here, the locals have figured out that I like being with them during worship but I am no conversion material, no potential recruit. And they also know by now that I’m no threat … I’m not here to convert people to Sikhism. And they know that I feel comfortable in my Sikhi.

So, there is no tension if and when I walk into their service unannounced any Sunday morning.

During the Christmas service, the Baptist Minister paused at one point and, looking at me from across several rows of pews, said: “Sher, would you like to come up and join in our celebration by reading a selection from the Bible?”

It caught me by surprise. But I liked the idea. Gary and I are friends; we often get together for coffee to talk about the World and our respective worlds.

So I did.

I liked that.

They did too, I think.

I thought it was a good way to end the old year and start a new one.

And then, a few days ago, my friend Noah Martin called and asked if I would like to come back for a visit to his church, and join his family for a meal thereafter.

He belongs to one of the many Mennonite communities that populate this part of the province. Mennonites are akin to the Amish, and subscribe to similar beliefs and practices.

Noah knows that I enjoy being amongst them and am always trying to learn more about them, in order to understand why I feel so comfortable with them. He -- and a few others I have befriended in this most warm and welcoming community -- has introduced me to a number of different sects within their larger community, as well as to different aspects of the culture: worship, lifestyle, schooling, celebrations, clergy, courting, marriage, funerals … and farming practices.

I have, through his friendship, befriended the most conservative of them -- the Gorrie Mennonites, for example -- and different groups along the spectrum, all the way to those who have adopted more “modern” lifestyles. 

It’s been a two-way street. While I discover their world, I’m cognizant of the fact that I, as the first Sikh they have known, am a novelty in their firmament. They are as curious about me as I am about them.

With a visit long overdue by a few months … even though Noah and I do get together for coffee or lunch often when he comes into Mount Forest on errands … I readily said ’yes’, and yesterday morning found myself amongst a couple of hundred of Mennonites in Noah’s ‘home’ church 40 km west of here, in the middle of, well, nowhere! 

While I sat through the two hours of their Sunday morning service, I did spend a few minutes wondering what I was doing there.

I reminded myself that, at one level, they and I are as far apart as I was, for example, from my Buddhist monk friend from Thailand who I had befriended when I was a young boy, and with whom I reconnected after four decades only a few years ago.

Here in the church, I am the only male with his head covered. All the men and boys have left their black hats outside in the lobby. I am the only one with a beard. I am the only non-Caucasian. And the only non-Christian.

Yet, I see so much of own Faith -- certainly its ideals -- reflected in the sea of faces around me.

Three essential things unite us.

First, the role that three central pillars play in our respective lives: worship, work and sharing. These are elements that are more common between us, in the way we practice them, than between Mennonites and other Christian sects … such as, Catholics, Protestants, etc.

Then, secondly, the absence of ostentatious ritual and ceremony, of iconography and pretensions. And the all pervasive simplicity. Albeit, the Mennonites still enjoy these features; we Sikhs seem to be losing sight of them somewhat.

And then, thirdly, and probably most importantly, there’s Gelassenheit.

It is what, in my mind, sets Mennonites apart from all other Christians I know. And it is an aspect of their lifestyle and practice that makes me see them as the closest to the Christian ideal. And the Sikh one too.

Gelassenheit -- pronounced “glass-en-height” -- is as elusive in translation as the Sikh concept of “Chardi Kalaa”. Yet, both shape the minds and souls of the respective communities. They overlap somewhat but when looked at in their proper context, they are ultimately quite similar, if not identical.

Both inspire and invigorate. They set the two communities apart from all the others that people their respective backgrounds and environments.

Gelassenheit.

It means surrender, but not in defeat. It’s a surrender that makes one stronger. A victor.

It means resignation, but not in despair. Instead, as in becoming part of the whole. Resulting in growth and magnification.
 
It means going with the flow of life, but not in a fatalistic way. In a way that you gain from, and add to, all that goes on around you, instead of fighting against it.

It means acceptance of everything, whether it seems good or bad, with untrammelled gratitude.

It means yielding. But not in weakness.

It means balance. Equipoise. Stability.

It means eternal optimism, always looking ahead, always moving forward.  

It means selflessness. Seeing the oneness in all.

It means abandoning the self, but not in negation. Nor in passivity. Instead, in interconnectedness.

It means peace. Stillness. Serenity. Calm …

I’m afraid I’m trying to describe the indescribable. If all of this sounds too esoteric, it is because it defies definition. It is, like all good things in life, meant to be experiential, not illustrative.

But I know why I like coming back here, over and over again. I see ourselves in Noah’s people. Like in a mirror, a magic mirror. I see what, in some ways, we ought to be, not what we are. And I learn … I come back home each time understanding Sikhi a little bit better.

Don’t take me wrong … I’m not suggesting, by any stretch of the imagination, that I see theirs as a perfect lifestyle. None of us are flawless or deserving blind emulation. Or too much imitation.

*   *   *   *   *

Around noon, we head out to Noah’s and Darlene’s farm and homestead a few kilometres away.

Some of the kids have gone off to their friends for the day’s main meal together. Those who have come home have brought a few friends along for dinner. The parents have also invited a couple of their own friends, in addition to me.

There are about 16 of us as we sit down at the sprawling dining table in the huge farmhouse kitchen to eat.

Noah, 52 and his wife, Darlene, 47, preside. A short, silent prayer, and then we dive into a feast of meat balls, potatoes, salad, corn, and bread. A heavenly dessert, cookies and coffee will follow later.

Noah, almost single-handedly, manages 160 acres, most of it farmland.

He and his family belong to a group of Mennonites -- known as the Markham Group -- which is a step removed from the Old Order. That is, they have given up the horse-buggies and accepted cars as their mode of transportation. But they have to be black, with no ostentations.

No television, though. Electricity, yes. And a telephone and a computer, but only for business purposes. 

A debate still rages amongst church elders over internet and similar modernities.

He grows soya beans and grain corn. And some silage corn as well, for animal feed.

He rears his own beef cattle, roughly 2 to 3 dozen of them. He also does “custom feeding” which involves boarding and grain-feeding livestock for other farmers, who take them away when they’re ready for the ‘market’.

When needed, Noah’s sons give him a hand, even though each has his own preoccupation.

In addition to the farming, Noah has another full-time profession: he repairs farm equipment. Which keeps him in high demand, often travelling scores of km in either direction all year round.

Darlene looks after the home-front. Which has meant bringing up six children, three of them daughters. She also manages all that is needed to support a family … including managing her huge kitchen garden, and processing supplies (cooking, preserving, caning, bottling, etc) for the winter months. 

Andrew, 24, is the eldest of the six children. He works on his own business of “custom farming” which includes supplying manure to other farms. He still lives at home, and therefore contributes to the expenses of the household, as do all children who are over 16 and are gainfully employed.

Katrina, 22, and Bethany, 18, work as teachers.

Rochelle, 20, works as a restaurant cook, and part-times on cleaning jobs. She’s been “going out” with Mathew for a year now; they’re planning a wedding late in the summer. Mathew, a wood-worker, has already purchased a home in preparation for the event.

Caleb, having turned 16, is done with schooling and has started working at another farm as a welder and on repairs of farm equipment. He now has an income, and therefore pitches in with a nominal portion as his contribution to the household. He’s got a driver’s license now. Two more years and he’ll be financially independent … that is, “on his own”, with a separate bank account and all that independence entails.

Given the nature of work that both Andrew and Caleb have chosen, they are not interested in taking over the farm once Noah is ready to retire.

Joel, now 12, has staked his claim to the farm which he hopes he’ll buy off his Dad some day. He’s still in school, but dreams of turning the property into a sheep farm. He has a permanent smile on his lips, with naughtiness lurking in his eyes. It may have something to do with his being the ‘baby’ of the family.

When not studying or helping his Dad with chores, or playing with his toys, he tends to his menagerie.

A dog, Tucker, and, at last count, 15, no 16, maybe even 17 … well, give or take a couple … cats!

They clamber all over him as he stops to introduce me to them, one by one.

There’s Curious George. And Hewey. And, of course, Dewey. Then, there’s Oliver Brown and Schnickel Fritz. Fluffball and Fluffy. Louie and Fogey. Tiger and Blackberry.

There used to be Ouch, but he’s gone now. But here’s Oops, named thus because he survived!

The transition from Noah’s world to mine, as I head home in the evening, is not without a lot of introspection. The half-an-hour’s drive helps.

But every time -- and there’s never an exception -- I come back a little bit more content. Contemplative. And always with a smile hidden in my beard.    

January 14, 2013      

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