The Mennonite Fellowship of Montreal's "Grande Salle" was crowded and I found myself sitting right up front, almost in the trumpet section.  I had heard the concert band's rendition of "Give us This Day" many times during the week, but on this final worship service of Westgate's music tour, I found my eyes welling up.  Good music, and not a night sleeping on a church floor, can do this to a principal.  The concert choir later brought the congregation to its feet with the African folk song "Hlohonolfatsa," a response not common in the Mennonite worship circles our kids have served in.

The church prepared lunch after the service.  As I forked through my potato salad, a woman joined my circle of chairs.  In halting English, she expressed her pleasure that we had chosen to come all the way to Montreal to serve in worship.  To be able to hear as many students as she had that morning, she claimed that she would have had to go "to one of the big Mennonite places."

Big Mennonite Places.  It is clear that she considered herself a member of a small Mennonite outpost, and saw Winnipeg being, at least in relative terms, an epicentre of Mennonite presence, and perhaps, of some influence.

This notion of Big was clearly stated by Canadian Mennonite University's Irma Fast Deuck's address at the most recent Westgate Bursary Banquet.  Irma adapted Brian Eno's essay, "The Big Here and the Long Now" to Westgate's reality.  As I later trundled along Highway 17, and shared views of Lake Superior with my bus bound students, I recognized that I am living the "small here and the short now."  I was in a Westgate moment, where we were passing through, living for the moment, not thinking too far ahead or too far back.  (Well, some Gr. 11s behind me were reading and discussing Les Miserables for a pending test).

Contrast this with the Long Now, recognition that the moment we live in grows out of the past and is a seed for the future.  As Irma phrased it, "The longer your sense of Now, the more past and future it includes, and this helps form and develop a Big Here.

To me, the small here and the short now of a senior choir and band tour, and a myriad of other day-to-day and year-to-year Westgate experiences, give shape to our school, church and Christian community's Long Now and Big Here.  To the eyes and ears of our new Francophone friends, it was clear that our Westgate music makers are a part of this Here and Now.   This alone was worth the small here of 63 hours of bus time and the short now of 6 episodes of Glee.

I remember my cousin phoning me up and asking if I wanted to go to a movie. The year was 1977. The movie was Star Wars. When the Imperial Star Destroyer began filling the screen in the first scene, and the whole theatre audience gasped in awe, I knew this was a defining moment in my life. I may not have been able to articulate it at the time, but I still had an idea that something had changed, some new vision of seeing the world had been ushered in with that movie. I knew that a golden age of space exploration had begun in the minds of all children and adults alike.

Last month I went to see the movie Avatar, a film that would not have been possible without Star Wars paving the way before it. I had already heard some of the criticisms. For example, I heard people talk about how we are always on the side of the spiritual but never on the side of the religious. I heard someone question whether our sensitivities would have been with the blue people if they were Roman Catholics and if it had been the Vatican which was targeted like the Sacred Tree.  Definitely some of these criticisms are valid and they tell us something about a society in which we must be suspicious of institutionalized religion, but honour the spiritual impulse supposedly inherent to every human being (as long as those humans have not been corrupted by religion).

So, I could go on about these things, but I realized something else while watching Avatar. Hidden beneath the unbelievable special effects was not just a Pocahontas story. Despite a weak plot, there was a strong message: it is good and just to kill as long as we are spiritual. In other words, if someone is threatening us, and we are trying to connect with the world soul, we are allowed, maybe even instructed, to kill. We might say that we are killing in the name of balance - I heard that a lot in the movie. Or maybe we are defending nature. But whatever the reason, it was clear that Avatar gives license to kill if the killer is spiritual.

Note the connection with Star Wars. Just as in Avatar, the Jedi may have to kill to bring balance to the universe. Yes, the world soul has to be bigger in the galaxy far, far away, so we give that force that is everywhere the very creative name of "The Force." It pains me to say it, but the spiritual ones of Star Wars are just as one sided as the blue people in Avatar as they notice only the deaths of the "good guys." Obi Wan Kenobi feels great distress when Alderaan is destroyed, as there is a deep disturbance in the Force, but when the Death Star splatters across the screen, none of those connected with the Force notice any disturbance, only joy.

In this way, I find Avatar, and maybe Star Wars, much more scary than any Rambo movie. Yes, all of them contain the myth of redemptive violence, but in Avatar and Star Wars that myth is connected with faith, something that we, as Christians, believe to be helping us resist violence. In these movies, our connection to the ultimate source of life instructs and even aids in the killing of others. Spirituality has become nothing more than an excuse to kill those who are not on our side.

But spirituality has not always been thought of in this way. Think of those whom we label as the spiritual leaders of the twentieth century. I would think that Martin Luther King Jr. would have been appalled by Avatar. He would wonder why there was such a quick movement to violence. I can imagine Gandhi thinking that with that many blue people ready to die, a huge non-violent protest could easily change the situation.

So when did this change? When did we fuse spirituality with violence? Did this all begin with Star Wars? I loved Star Wars. It saddens me to ask the question, but was it this movie that should be credited with the corruption of spirituality? Or has it nothing to do with movies? Has the word "spiritual" become a vacuous word, a word which simply refers to trendy pursuits outside of traditional religion? Maybe this is why spirituality has been so easily corrupted by society. Even so, we need to ask: has our Christian spirituality been corrupted in the same way?

As I mentioned some of these frustrations I had with the movie, I was verbally assaulted by the grade nines. There was the "you're reading too much into it" comment (which is always a funny thing to say about a movie) and the "it wasn't about anything deep so don't think about it like that" comment. But there was also the "what would you have wanted the blue people (I keep forgetting what they are called) to do? Should they just sit there?" Now why does it always come down to that? Why are there always only two options? We can kill people or we can just sit there. Have we so little imagination that we can think of nothing else?

And here, Star Wars comes to our aid. Unlike Avatar, Star Wars still has the imagination to give us other options, or at least the discussion of other options. As the initial trilogy comes to a close, Luke rejects violence as he refuses to kill his father, and in this way, the Force is balanced once again. I'll just forget about the fact that Vader ends up throwing the Emperor into some crazy electrical canyon where he blows up due to his evilness. Let's just stick with the point that Luke rejects violence. I want to still be able to like the most important movie trilogy of my childhood.

So I can now relax. Star Wars is redeemed and Avatar is simply a movie about spiritual blue people who solve problems with violence. However, we need to be careful how we watch and interpret a movie like Star Wars. Let's be careful with assuming we can do anything in the name of the Force, but let us embrace the imagination of a movie way beyond its time in the 70s.  Let us make the crazy and unbelievable claim that it is not up to us; it is up to God. Let us resist violence and look like fools as we say: God acts in this world; we do not need to kill.

Westgate Mennonite Collegiate's 2008-2009 academic year was significant in the school's history, a watershed of sorts.  We celebrated fifty years of educating and nurturing faith of two generations of students.  Homecoming week with a worship service, a collective expression of music making at a packed Choral Concert, and a Westgate community display of visual arts at the Mennonite Heritage Gallery all served to remind us how blessed we have been over the last half century.   

Within the same year, the board recognized that the school will face challenges as it moves into the next fifty years.  Development of this campus to meet our needs is not possible, and with the help of a survey and consultations with our school community, a strategic plan report was written that identifies our core priorities and how they need to be supported in the decades to come.  I invite you review the Strategic Plan Report by clicking "The Future of Westgate" on our website.  I also invite you to contact me to share any questions or observations you may have about our school as we enter the second half of the school's century.

Bob Hummelt

The Presence of God in the Middle East, or: Another Thing That Western Christians Need to Learn from the Arabic Speaking World

There was a lot of energy in my classroom as we had our first Middle East trip meeting of the year.  Clearly the trip participants, an eclectic collection of over twenty students, are looking forward to this unique adventure, and the trip planners are equally excited.  One of our plans this year is to learn a few Arabic words so that we can stumble through a market transaction or even a home visit.  As we began with the first Arabic word, I told the students how my friend, with only two Arabic words in his arsenal, was able to make a joke, calling me "majnun" (crazy) in front of two Lebanese women who seemed to really enjoy his suave, albeit limited, sense of humour.  But as I began reflecting on language, I began thinking about other experiences, and was once again reminded of the many lessons I learned when I lived in the region, a region generally known only for war and religious conflict.

I remember driving to our home in Lebanon.  Along the way, I picked up a man who was walking along the side of the road.  As he entered the car he said, "yatiik il-afiya" (God give you the strength).  After I drove him a mere half kilometre, he said, "islamu ideek" (God bless your hands).  I was struck how in the Arabic mindset, over such a seemingly meaningless act of giving someone a lift, God is extremely important: it is God alone who can give me the strength to drive my car half a kilometre, and it is God alone who blesses my hands after doing this "good deed." 

Such an incident and such comments concerning one's actions are not uncommon in the Middle East.  In the Arabic language, there are countless expressions which speak of God's presence in the world.  It seems that every little thing one does is connected in some way with God; every insignificant little action is connected with the ultimate being, to the supreme purpose of life.

Clearly, it is much different in North American society.  In the Middle East, people often append "inshaallah" (God willing) to the formation of their plans, recognizing the fact that they are not the ones in control over the fruition of their endeavours.   But in North America, we simply make plans without making any reference to God, occasionally saying "hopefully" if we have some uncertainty.  In the Middle East, in responding to "how are you," there will often be a powerful and hearty "ilhamdullah" (thanks be to God).  But in North America, we rarely give thanks in everyday conversation, and when we do, we go no further than thanking "goodness."

I wonder whether Christians in North America are no different than other North Americans.  We seem to be no less afraid to call on the name of God in the course of our daily lives.  Surely, in our churches or in our meetings with other Christians we feel very comfortable talking about God, but in our relations outside of those confines, we often feel tentative.  It seems that we do not want to offend those who do not believe in God, so we avoid bringing God into the conversation or into the structure of our everyday affairs.

What we attempt to do is speak in a language which we feel is common to all people.  Instead of talking about the will of God or about being thankful for what God has given us, as Arabic speakers invariably do, we speak about hope or fate, concepts that we think everyone can understand.  But there is a problem in using this form of communication: this supposedly objective language does not exist.  By substituting the concepts of hope and fate for the will of God and thankfulness to God, we may be unconsciously accepting an understanding of the universe in which God is notably absent.  Rather than finding a neutral unbiased foundation for communication, we may be adopting an outlook of life in which God is superfluous.

The response to this criticism may be that although we may not use God in our everyday language, we still believe in God and in God's presence in the world.  However, to separate thought and language in such a surgical way does not recognize the intimate connection between the two.  I remember when my daughter was just learning to say "thank you."  When she began uttering this expression, she had no idea what "thank you" meant; she was simply learning when it was appropriate to say the phrase.  Slowly, as she continued in this way, she learned what it means to be thankful, and has become able to think about thankfulness.  In the same way, it is only by giving vocal thanks to God that we can understand the blessings that God has given us.  We cannot know what it means to be thankful to God apart from using the language to express that thankfulness.

Listening to the importance of the reality of God in the Arabic language (and watching my daughter grow up) has shown me that Christians in North America, myself included, need to recover the use of God-laden language in common affairs if we hope to see the centrality of God in human life.  It is through confidently expressing our belief in God that we can find the imagination to see God at work in our lives and in our world.

When we lived in Gaza, our neighbour's daughter who was not yet two years old died in a tragic accident.  When I tried to give him my awkward condolences, his first response was "ilhamdullah" (thanks be to God).  I was shocked, but for him, even the most terrible things in life are still worthy of our praise because such things are the will of God.  I am not sure whether I would have the strength to give thanks to God after such a horrific occurrence, nor am I sure that accepting tragedy as the will of God is theologically sound.  Still, his vocal acceptance of God's will during this tragedy was a witness to me.  I pray that with God's help I can more confidently testify to the presence of God in the words which I speak, and through these words, I pray that I can more clearly see a universe created and sustained by God.

James Friesen

Thoughts on Christian Education; or What's Westgate Mennonite Collegiate got to do with the Church?

From the mission statement of Westgate Mennonite Collegiate:

Westgate . . . is a school grounded in the Anabaptist tradition.  It is the mission of the school to provide a well-rounded education, which will inspire and empower students to live as people of God.

When we unpack this mission statement, it is worth noting that it holds two areas to be important: the grounding of the school in the Anabaptist tradition and providing a well-rounded education within this tradition.  Moving past the mission statement to Westgate's vision statements, we find more of the same: Westgate strives to "enable students to achieve excellence in academic studies" and at the same time "nurture spiritual growth and stewardship." 

When we begin with this dichotomy, it seems that our challenge at Westgate is to somehow hold these two areas in a healthy tension, that we make sure we do Christian type activities as we teach non-Christian subjects. But is this a healthy way to look at a Christian education?  Why do we think Christianity is something which must be integrated into non-Christian things? 

I want to offer another way of thinking about it.  I want to suggest that there is no true academic foundation without a truthful tradition on which to base those academics.  In other words, at Westgate, we believe that there is no academic study apart from Christ.

Now, I'm sure a common reaction to this statement will be: "So, all public schools are wrong then."  Without having to go into pages on this reaction, let me simply say that my task here is not to write about public education.  Briefly, it might be worth noting that a Christian teacher at a public school may in fact do an excellent job, even a better job, of understanding the fact that our academics are from God. 

Back to the mission statement.  Note that although the mission statement sets us up with the two aspects of the school, the Christian and the academic, it ends by showing that we cannot think of them as two aspects.  The well-rounded education is intended to inspire students to live as people of God; the well-rounded education is a Christian education, not simply an education in a Christian school.

The greatest struggle, then, at a school like Westgate is to avoid making the distinction between academics and Christian spirituality.  When we do so, we make the well-rounded education into a secular education which simply combines itself with the Christian aspects of the school.  We fall into this trap when we assume that our "Christian focus" is taken care of in our Christian studies classes, in devotions, or in chapel.  Or, in a similar way, we fall into this trap when we spend time and energy trying to insert our Christianity into our subject areas, thinking that if we do so, the "Christian part" of our job is done.    

Math classes are not made Christian when we use a formula to find out how many magi visited Jesus; science classes are not made Christian when we offer creationism as one of the possibilities for the creation of the world; language arts classes are not made Christian when we note Biblical allusions in literature.  Unfortunately, it is much more difficult than this.  Our mission is somehow to realize and teach within a framework that makes the radical claim that our subject areas are what they are because we are teaching them from within the Christian tradition.

There are, of course, many times when we fall short of this mission.  We fall short when we put provincial curriculum ahead of Christian education; we fall short when we put post-secondary education goals ahead of Christian education; we fall short when we put our secular text books ahead of Christian education.  Yet we continue to be challenged by the fact that all of our courses and all of our knowledge and all of our wisdom comes from God.

I'd like to end by looking at a course which I teach and explain some of the specific goals I have in relation to the onerous task of Christian education.  The course I have chosen to write about is the World Religions course.  Although it may seem to be an odd subject at Westgate, over the years I have found that it is an important Christian Studies course. 

A few years ago, we changed the course name from "World Religions" to "A Christian Response to Religious Plurality."  Just words?  I hope not.  This title makes the claim that even a study of other religions in a Christian school is a study in Christianity.  In other words, our Christian response to the other, to those who believe differently than we do, is an important aspect of our theology.  More importantly, such a title makes it clear that even when we study something which is seemingly non-Christian, it is actually a study of our Christianity.  As I said earlier, there is no academic study apart from Christ.

I'd like to highlight one other observation about the course.  Because it is offered within the scope of Christian education, it is much different than the "same" course offered in a secular school.  I have loved teaching this course because I can share who I am in it.  We don't simply study the history and practices of religions from a so-called objective framework; we study it subjectively as Christians.  I suspect that this may be happening in public schools despite the fact that we are told such courses are objective.  Still, in Christian education, we embrace the fact that we are teaching course as Christians within a Christian world view.

It may be tougher to see this Christian foundation in other courses, but it is my hope and my faith that in Christian education, that foundation is there.  That is not to say that we simply hope for it and it will be there.  We need to keep working at Christian education, finding ways to see the foundation of our academics as being of God.

May my teaching drop like rain,

my speech condense like the dew;

like gentle rain on grass,

like showers on new growth.

For I will proclaim the name of the Lord;

ascribe greatness to our God.

-          Deuteronomy 32: 2, 3

James Friesen teaches Christian Studies, Mathematics and English Composition and Literature

They have taken what Westgate has to offer and made themselves part of it.  When I asked them what they liked so much about Westgate, they all agreed that they liked the student - teacher relationships at the school.  Teachers took a keen interest in them as individuals and tried to get to know them better.  Secondly, they loved the variety of school activities that they could participate in.  They mentioned that German schools seldom plan extra curricular events for the students and that sports are usually left for community clubs to organize.  The new mural they painted in the senior lounge is their parting gift and will help us remember their contributions and enthusiasm for Westgate and all it had to offer them.  

Towards the end of March, fourteen of our students will travel to Hamburg and Hannover to stay with their exchange partners and attend school with them.  These young people are working diligently to complete their Grade 11 assignments before their departure.  Even though they will have completed their year's work before departure, they will submit additional assignments while in Germany. Primarily, they will learn as much German and experience as much of the culture as possible.

Taking the risk of hosting an exchange student for three months is a brave endeavour for the student and their family.  Likewise, traveling overseas and becoming part of another family, school and culture takes courage and determination.  This exchange experience brings a number of challenges with it, but also rich rewards.

I am proud of all the Westgate students who are willing to take the risk.  I would invite the prayers of the Westgate community for all the participants in this exchange program.  God willing, they will all return home with experiences that will have broadened their horizons.

Charlotte Kroeker

“Never been a sinner… never sinned… ‘cause I’ve got a friend in Jesus…”

These lyrics from the classic 1970s tune “Spirit in the Sky” always make me think - and smile. The music has a driving bass guitar rhythm that is so infectious, it makes even conservative Mennonites want to dance. As I jokingly tell my grade 12 students, though, there are two kinds of Mennonites in the world: those who will not dance for religious reasons, and those who should not dance for aesthetic reasons. Tragically, I fall into the second category. Nonetheless, earlier this year, we cranked up the volume on the surround-sound speakers in the chemistry lab and danced the Carwash (a line dance) to “Spirit in the Sky.” It seemed an appropriate response to the freedom and joy expressed not only by the music but by the liberating words of the lyrics quoted above.

Freedom from sin, freedom from guilt - forgiveness, in a word. The lyrics remind us that, through Christ, our faults and failings cease to exist. As the apostle says, “in Christ, we are a new creation.” It is this liberating message that both overwhelmed and inspired German reformer Martin Luther in the early sixteenth century, as he read the New Testament. My Mennonite History students have just spent a month studying the context and content of Luther’s beliefs, including reading some of his writings in English translation.

I can only hope that some of Luther's enthusiasm for the “freedom of a Christian” transfers to Westgate's students.

Janis Thiessen

Not that I planned this, but when I offered to write a commentary for our website, I didn’t realize that Terry Dirks would be writing about the same topic. Therefore, this is some ways a response to her article, as well as a sharing of some struggles I have faced as a coach and player.

I agree (with Terry) that sport has the ability to build community; to unify a group of people, not unlike what religion can do. Unfortunately, I have also seen the opposite happen. I have seen sport encourage an “us vs. them” mentality, where the opposition is viewed as an enemy and victory at all costs is the goal. Even on an individual level, I have experienced the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat. I have seen the best of me come out (in terms of cooperation, discipline and work ethic) as well as the worst of me (cockiness, anger and even aggression/violence) show itself.

As I have moved from a player role to that of a coach, I have had the opportunity to observe myself over the years. When I started coaching as a 17 year old, my own self worth was often determined by how well my team played. I pushed them hard to play well, because if they won, I won. And if I won, I was somehow a better person than the other coach. I thank God that I have (I hope) moved beyond this immature stage in my life to a point where I view my opposing coaches (and teams) as worthy adversaries: as fellow educators hoping to teach young people about the benefits and beauty of sport. I have made a point to try to get to know my opposing coaches better and even ask about their families, hobbies, etc. as we meet. For me, this “humanizes” sport in a way that respects fellow competitors and encourages respect and caring, rather than the dehumanizing and demonizing of opponents that sometimes still happens in sport (and in religion as well).

I still struggle with many aspects of coaching at a Christian school. How do I justify unequal playing time that damages the self-esteem and self-worth of my players? Am I “doing right” when my game strategy takes advantage of another player’s weakness? The many hours spent practicing and playing seem like a waste of time when I consider other volunteer opportunities in which I could participate. But I too, like Terry, believe that sport can be a positive force in our world; that the lessons we learn on the playing field can be translated to the rest of our lives; and that sport can teach us how to lead more Christ-like lives as well.

Karl Langelotz