On Thursday I arrived at the lobby in front of the exhibition hall about halfway through the daily Pink Menno noon worship service. For the most part, I’ve participated in any Pink Menno-led worship that I’ve attended, but this time I decided to sit on a bench outside the circle and observe that permeable boundary between the pink worship space and the rest of the convention. I’m never completely comfortable in this blatantly observatory role—it makes me feel creepy—but at that moment it seemed possible to do it somewhat inconspicuously, so I went for it.
I wish I could say I witnessed something truly revealing, but mostly I just watched passing teenagers watching Pink Menno. Some of them stopped to stare. Their faces told me nothing. I had to resist the urge to impose my own speculative narratives on them, which is always a temptation to anthropologists; when there is no clear story in what we’re studying, we long to make one up and then force it onto our evidence, for fear that otherwise no one will want to read what we write. I saw a lot of curiosity, but that’s all I can claim with confidence.
But then there were also the ones—and again, I’m mostly talking about youth here—who saw what was going on and headed straight for it, accepting the pink hymnals that Katie Hochstetler handed to them as they joined the circle. Read more ›