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2004-05-04 issue:

Mennonite to the point of vomiting?

Speaking Out

by Sarah Thompson

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Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.—Matthew 5:48

Good Mennonites are not self-serving. They keep their daily struggles in the United States in perspective to the wars, famines and massacres around the world. One is supposed to “live simply that others may simply live.” The more spiritual discipline one has, the better. Forgive others with grace but scrutinize your own actions. Put others first, yourself last. Do not be gluttonous. Purity, purity, purity. Work harder to get close to God. Let your faith be visible. Sacrifice.

I went from a Mennonite Mecca (Goshen, Ind.) to a desert—only 70 Mennonites in a town of 4 million. There were only two Mennonites in my school of 2,000. I felt called to this place and wanted to be here, but being Mennonite meant being odd. In this Christian school I was odd theologically, but my greater oddity was my cultural Mennoniteness.

I became a representative for the entire Mennonite population. I became an expert at giving the one-minute rundown about Mennonites and our relationship to our buggy-driving cousins. The campus looked to me, my faith, to lead the antiwar movement. The last thing I wanted was to be caught in a situation that was full of contradictions and hypocrisy, for the sake of the Mennonite church and my reputation. I wanted to be pure, disciplined and humbled enough to be a leader others could follow.

I was not prepared for the consequences this responsibility had on my body. Through research I learned how capitalism, expansion and gluttony were responsible for many U.S. actions around the world. I tried to follow the teachings of the Bible about purity and perfection in the midst of consumer greed. I became increasingly disciplined, refrained from consuming anything frivolous.

One day I sat in the school cafeteria staring through tears at my vegan meal and my banana, which displayed a sticker that said, “Made in Costa Rica.” I couldn’t take it anymore. It was hard to eat, so I trained myself to stop. When I ate, I felt gluttonous, so I threw it back up, an attempt to rid my body of the toxins and death I saw as a part of U.S. capitalism. Jesus’ call in Matthew 5:48 influenced my actions; I strove to be perfectly disciplined and live my faith in a humble, visible way. I was willing to make the sacrifice of not eating enough so that others would have abundance and joy in their hearts. The eating disorder was not the result of my faith, but faith became its justification.

I felt justice and peace were so important that I would risk all for their sake, even though I knew I would be no good to the cause if I were sick. As I maintained leadership in the antiwar movement at my school, no one could tell me I wasn’t doing all I could to live an alternative, anti-greed lifestyle. Even as I got weaker, I saw my eating disorder as physical evidence of my triumph over the greedy forces in the world.

But it wasn’t a triumph. I couldn’t ignore the toll my self-discipline was taking on my body. After a forum at my school and a discussion with my pastor, I observed how a rigid faith may become distorted in times of isolation and crisis. I started identifying my thinking errors, both in my relationship with food and with God.

As my eating disorder abated, I strove to accept imperfection and hypocrisy and realized it is there, particularly, where Jesus enters. I asked myself what is important in life, and I studied how Jesus took care of himself. Learning to understand Mennonite tenets in moderation, I reclaimed myself as a beautiful creation of God and declared my efforts as a peacemaker to be a witness to the love and benevolence of a higher power. Removing the pressure of the outcome of world situations from my shoulders to God, I stopped purging to be perfect.

I am learning to respond to people’s questions about contradictions with a grace that comes from God. I am reminded of the necessity of celebration in spiritual disciplines. I don’t know what my sacrifices will be in the future, but I have gained the tools to sacrifice in a way that is life-giving.

Sarah Thompson is a student at Spelman College in Atlanta and hopes telling her story will inspire others to tell theirs. Respond to treehugger18@juno.com.

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