#anabaptist — Public Fediverse posts

It’s in the Blood

In 1539, a fugitive former-priest-turned-Anabaptist, in his seminal work “The Foundation,” penned the following words:

“Christ is our fortress; patience our weapon of defense; the Word of God our sword. …Iron and metal spears and swords we leave to those who, alas, regard human blood and swine’s blood of well-nigh equal value.”

So said Menno Simons, principal leader of the Protestant sect which then became known as the Mennonites.

More than 500 years later, his words still resound with a mighty truth.

At the risk of sounding morbid, it has to do with blood.

While Menno specifically refers to the difference between human blood and that of an animal, his larger point is the “value” we place on the blood of another.

My point is quite simple.

Killing will not end through education, conflict resolution, or disarmament, though all of these are important and can help. Killing will end only when there is a fundamental shift in the mind and heart of those who kill.

For how can you kill someone if you believe that their blood is just as valuable as your own?

Let’s call it – for lack of a better term – bloodism.

The other – their humanity, life, blood – is somehow less than I, and therefore, their humanity, life, blood, is not as valuable as my own. It becomes quite easy then to justify killing the other, ie. spilling his/her blood.

The directors of death throughout history from every nation, tribe and religion have understood and disseminated this concept quite well. A person (and those like him/her) is described as having the wrong beliefs, the wrong skin color, the wrong gender, the wrong age, the wrong station in life, the wrong land, the wrong possessions, the wrong clothing, the wrong language —- the wrong blood. These others are not as valued as you are, the leaders of the macabre scream, though they couch their speech in terms such as vigilance, freedom, history, security, and truth.

Then the killing begins.

The Nazis did it to the Jews. Israelis do it to the Palestinians. Hutus did it to the Tutsis. Shiite do it to the Sunni. Palestinians do it to the Israelis. Sunni do it to the Shiite. Muslims do it to the Christians. Christians do it to the Muslims. This country does it to that country. That neighborhood does it to this neighborhood. This race does it to that race. That religion does it to this religion.

And any one of a million other combinations.

STOP!

Do not allow your mind and heart to be filled with bloodism.

We are made in the image of God.

ALL of us.

And that divine DNA resides in the very marrow of our bones and flows through our veins.

It’s in the blood.

July 28, 2014

It’s in the Blood

In 1539, a fugitive former-priest-turned-Anabaptist, in his seminal work “The Foundation,” penned the following words:

“Christ is our fortress; patience our weapon of defense; the Word of God our sword. …Iron and metal spears and swords we leave to those who, alas, regard human blood and swine’s blood of well-nigh equal value.”

So said Menno Simons, principal leader of the Protestant sect which then became known as the Mennonites.

More than 500 years later, his words still resound with a mighty truth.

At the risk of sounding morbid, it has to do with blood.

While Menno specifically refers to the difference between human blood and that of an animal, his larger point is the “value” we place on the blood of another.

My point is quite simple.

Killing will not end through education, conflict resolution, or disarmament, though all of these are important and can help. Killing will end only when there is a fundamental shift in the mind and heart of those who kill.

For how can you kill someone if you believe that their blood is just as valuable as your own?

Let’s call it – for lack of a better term – bloodism.

The other – their humanity, life, blood – is somehow less than I, and therefore, their humanity, life, blood, is not as valuable as my own. It becomes quite easy then to justify killing the other, ie. spilling his/her blood.

The directors of death throughout history from every nation, tribe and religion have understood and disseminated this concept quite well. A person (and those like him/her) is described as having the wrong beliefs, the wrong skin color, the wrong gender, the wrong age, the wrong station in life, the wrong land, the wrong possessions, the wrong clothing, the wrong language —- the wrong blood. These others are not as valued as you are, the leaders of the macabre scream, though they couch their speech in terms such as vigilance, freedom, history, security, and truth.

Then the killing begins.

The Nazis did it to the Jews. Israelis do it to the Palestinians. Hutus did it to the Tutsis. Shiite do it to the Sunni. Palestinians do it to the Israelis. Sunni do it to the Shiite. Muslims do it to the Christians. Christians do it to the Muslims. This country does it to that country. That neighborhood does it to this neighborhood. This race does it to that race. That religion does it to this religion.

And any one of a million other combinations.

STOP!

Do not allow your mind and heart to be filled with bloodism.

We are made in the image of God.

ALL of us.

And that divine DNA resides in the very marrow of our bones and flows through our veins.

It’s in the blood.

July 28, 2014

Visual Art Interpretation – My Hopes and Dreams for the Next Year

This feels less like a list of resolutions than a marquee-map of my identity and desire: a radiant, hand-made 2027 filled not so much with tasks to accomplish as with the people, callings, loves, and practices that make my life feel alive.

The bright red border and repeated golden lights give it the appearance of a theater sign, a carnival ride, or an illuminated road. It seems to announce the year joyfully: Here is what I hope will shine. But inside that celebratory outline, the words do not sit neatly in straight lines. They curve, turn, reverse, overlap, and require the eye to travel. That seems important. My hopes are not separate boxes. Pastor, husband, author, musician, PeaceGrooves creator, friend, artist, woodworker, child of God—all of these identities wind through and around one another.

The words I placed inside the year—Sing, Play, Memories, God, Laugh, Journey, Pastor, Author, Husband, PeaceGrooves, Friends, Art, Church, Love, Woodcraft—are striking to me because so many of them are relational or creative. Even the roles are not primarily about achievement. Author is near Husband. Pastor winds along the same road as Journey. PeaceGrooves circles alongside Friends, Church, Love, and creativity. I did not imagine the coming year as productivity alone. I imagined it as belonging, expression, vocation, joy, and connection.

The Word I Did Not Write

After finishing the piece, I realized that I did not write health or healing anywhere inside it. Those things matter deeply to me, especially in light of some of the physical concerns and uncertainties I have been carrying. And yet, perhaps their absence does not mean they were forgotten. Perhaps I instinctively wrote the life I hope healing will allow me to continue inhabiting.

I did not write healing, but I wrote Sing-Play: the hope that my body and spirit can still release themselves into music.

I wrote Laugh: the hope for lightness, delight, and joy.

I wrote Journey: the hope that I can continue moving forward.

I wrote Husband and Friends: the hope of remaining present in love and relationship rather than retreating into worry or isolation.

I wrote Pastor and Church: the hope that I can continue serving meaningfully among people.

I wrote Art, Author, Woodcraft, and PeaceGrooves: the hope that creativity will continue flowing through me rather than being swallowed up by discouragement, exhaustion, or fear.

Perhaps healing is everywhere in this drawing without having been named. It is hidden beneath almost every word: Let me be well enough, free enough, encouraged enough, and alive enough to keep inhabiting these loves.

But perhaps the omission also tells me something tender and difficult about myself. When I think about the future, I often think first about what I can give, create, serve, love, and build. I may not always think first about what I need. This picture invites me to remember that somewhere in the glowing year ahead, there must also be room for my own care. I am not only the husband, pastor, artist, author, musician, friend, and creator. I am also a person who needs healing, rest, gentleness, and grace.

The Smear Between Author and Husband

One of the small accidents in the piece occurred in the space between Author and Husband. Water smeared the color there, and I had to cover it as best I could. I was mostly able to hide the mistake, though I know it happened. I know that beneath the finished surface there is a place where the colors once ran together in a way I did not intend.

That accidental smear now feels strangely meaningful. Author and Husband are two of my most intimate identities: the part of me that creates worlds and gives language to inner experience, and the part of me that shares an actual life in love and covenant with another person. Perhaps those two identities were never meant to be sharply separated. My writing rises from my lived relationships, from tenderness, memory, fear, faith, longing, disappointment, and love. And my creative life inevitably spills into the life I share with my wife.

The water touched the border between those words, and I tried to repair it. That is not a failure of the picture. It may be one of the most honest parts of it. Life does not remain perfectly inside the lines. The roles I care most about do not remain untouched by mess, vulnerability, or accident. Sometimes the colors run together. Sometimes I try to cover what went wrong. Sometimes a trace remains, visible mostly to me.

Yet I did not throw the picture away. I continued working on it. I allowed the imperfection to become part of the finished whole.

Perhaps that is an image of grace. A life of grace is not a life where nothing ever gets smeared. It is a life in which even the smeared places can be incorporated into the beauty.

Church: Almost Illegible

I also noticed that Church almost looks like “Churgh.” It is there, but it is not the clearest or most immediately readable word. That, too, feels symbolic.

Church is deeply present in my hopes for the coming year. It is part of who I am, part of my calling, part of my relationship with God and with community. But church is not always simple or perfectly clear. It can be difficult to read. It can be beautiful and messy, life-giving and exhausting, sacred and profoundly human all at once.

In this picture, church does not appear by itself in a clean, isolated space. It is crowded into a circling path alongside other words: Love, Friends, Art, perhaps even the movements of creativity and ministry surrounding it. That seems truthful. For me, church is not separate from love, friendship, art, imagination, service, or reconciliation. It is entangled with them.

The fact that the word is only almost clear may express something I feel: church is something I continue to believe in and belong to, while also still trying to see clearly. It is present. It matters. It is part of the year I hope to live. But it is not polished or uncomplicated.

Perhaps that is what makes it real.

The Shape of the Year

The large number itself is not simply filled in. It becomes a winding course. The words curve around turns and corners; some appear upright from one angle and upside down from another. To read the whole image, I almost have to rotate it, follow it, and let my eyes travel through it.

That feels like an honest representation of the year ahead. I do not know exactly how it will unfold. My hopes do not form a straight road or a neatly numbered plan. They form a brightly lit labyrinth. Something that appears upside down from one position may look different once I travel farther along the curve. Something that seems peripheral now may become central. Something disappointing may redirect me toward an unexpected opening.

This drawing does not say, Here is my plan to master the next year.

It says, Here is the glowing path I hope to inhabit.

That is truer to my life. Music feeds ministry. Woodcraft feeds contemplation. Writing feeds faith. PeaceGrooves gathers together my imagination, my longing for peace, my love of play, and my desire to offer something meaningful to others. Marriage and friendship keep my creative life from becoming merely solitary. Church places my personal dreams within a larger body. God is not outside all these things, looking down upon them from a distance, but present among them.

My life is not a ladder climbing toward a single success. It is a winding, illuminated journey through many loves.

The Lights Around the Border

The repeated yellow bulbs around the border give the piece a vintage, celebratory feeling. They make the year look like something being announced: a show beginning, a stage opening, a bright invitation to enter.

There is something almost exuberant about it. I did not draw a quiet little calendar page or a restrained list of intentions. I drew the year as a spectacle of hope. These dreams are not small to me. They are worthy of light. Music, laughter, love, friendship, art, faith, craft, writing, church, PeaceGrooves—these are not hobbies or decorative extras around the edge of life. They are among the things that make life worth living.

And yet the lights are not machine-perfect. They are hand-drawn. Each one is slightly different. Some are rounder, some rougher, some more irregular. That matters too. The brightness of this coming year is not a slick commercial promise that everything will be perfect. It is the brightness I have carefully drawn around my hopes with my own imperfect hand.

Most moving of all, the lights continue around the bends. They do not shine only along the smooth or impressive stretches. They follow the narrow turns, the dips, the places where the shape curls inward. The light does not abandon the complicated places.

What This Picture Says to Me

This is a picture of my hope not merely to survive another year, but to remain fully myself within it.

I want to sing and play.

I want to laugh.

I want to remember.

I want to journey.

I want to love and be loved.

I want to remain a husband, a pastor, an author, an artist, a craftsman, a musician, a friend, and a dreamer.

I want PeaceGrooves not merely to exist as a project, but to become an expression of something deep within me: my longing to imagine, create, and make peace.

I want God not as an abstract religious idea floating somewhere outside my life, but as a living presence woven among music, love, creativity, friendship, church, memory, laughter, and journey.

And perhaps beneath the entire picture is the word I did not write: wholeness.

Wholeness includes health. It includes healing. But it is larger than both. It is the hope that all these different names for myself will not compete with one another, break apart, or fade away, but somehow curve together into a single radiant life.

The smear between Author and Husband, the almost-illegible Church, the reversed words, the crowded pathways, the uneven bulbs, and the wandering design do not lessen the picture. They make it more truthful.

My hopes for the next year are not cleanly arranged or perfectly protected from mistakes. They are handmade. They are entangled. They are vulnerable. They are colorful. They are imperfect.

And they are still shining.

Visual Art Interpretation – My Hopes and Dreams for the Next Year

This feels less like a list of resolutions than a marquee-map of my identity and desire: a radiant, hand-made 2027 filled not so much with tasks to accomplish as with the people, callings, loves, and practices that make my life feel alive.

The bright red border and repeated golden lights give it the appearance of a theater sign, a carnival ride, or an illuminated road. It seems to announce the year joyfully: Here is what I hope will shine. But inside that celebratory outline, the words do not sit neatly in straight lines. They curve, turn, reverse, overlap, and require the eye to travel. That seems important. My hopes are not separate boxes. Pastor, husband, author, musician, PeaceGrooves creator, friend, artist, woodworker, child of God—all of these identities wind through and around one another.

The words I placed inside the year—Sing, Play, Memories, God, Laugh, Journey, Pastor, Author, Husband, PeaceGrooves, Friends, Art, Church, Love, Woodcraft—are striking to me because so many of them are relational or creative. Even the roles are not primarily about achievement. Author is near Husband. Pastor winds along the same road as Journey. PeaceGrooves circles alongside Friends, Church, Love, and creativity. I did not imagine the coming year as productivity alone. I imagined it as belonging, expression, vocation, joy, and connection.

The Word I Did Not Write

After finishing the piece, I realized that I did not write health or healing anywhere inside it. Those things matter deeply to me, especially in light of some of the physical concerns and uncertainties I have been carrying. And yet, perhaps their absence does not mean they were forgotten. Perhaps I instinctively wrote the life I hope healing will allow me to continue inhabiting.

I did not write healing, but I wrote Sing-Play: the hope that my body and spirit can still release themselves into music.

I wrote Laugh: the hope for lightness, delight, and joy.

I wrote Journey: the hope that I can continue moving forward.

I wrote Husband and Friends: the hope of remaining present in love and relationship rather than retreating into worry or isolation.

I wrote Pastor and Church: the hope that I can continue serving meaningfully among people.

I wrote Art, Author, Woodcraft, and PeaceGrooves: the hope that creativity will continue flowing through me rather than being swallowed up by discouragement, exhaustion, or fear.

Perhaps healing is everywhere in this drawing without having been named. It is hidden beneath almost every word: Let me be well enough, free enough, encouraged enough, and alive enough to keep inhabiting these loves.

But perhaps the omission also tells me something tender and difficult about myself. When I think about the future, I often think first about what I can give, create, serve, love, and build. I may not always think first about what I need. This picture invites me to remember that somewhere in the glowing year ahead, there must also be room for my own care. I am not only the husband, pastor, artist, author, musician, friend, and creator. I am also a person who needs healing, rest, gentleness, and grace.

The Smear Between Author and Husband

One of the small accidents in the piece occurred in the space between Author and Husband. Water smeared the color there, and I had to cover it as best I could. I was mostly able to hide the mistake, though I know it happened. I know that beneath the finished surface there is a place where the colors once ran together in a way I did not intend.

That accidental smear now feels strangely meaningful. Author and Husband are two of my most intimate identities: the part of me that creates worlds and gives language to inner experience, and the part of me that shares an actual life in love and covenant with another person. Perhaps those two identities were never meant to be sharply separated. My writing rises from my lived relationships, from tenderness, memory, fear, faith, longing, disappointment, and love. And my creative life inevitably spills into the life I share with my wife.

The water touched the border between those words, and I tried to repair it. That is not a failure of the picture. It may be one of the most honest parts of it. Life does not remain perfectly inside the lines. The roles I care most about do not remain untouched by mess, vulnerability, or accident. Sometimes the colors run together. Sometimes I try to cover what went wrong. Sometimes a trace remains, visible mostly to me.

Yet I did not throw the picture away. I continued working on it. I allowed the imperfection to become part of the finished whole.

Perhaps that is an image of grace. A life of grace is not a life where nothing ever gets smeared. It is a life in which even the smeared places can be incorporated into the beauty.

Church: Almost Illegible

I also noticed that Church almost looks like “Churgh.” It is there, but it is not the clearest or most immediately readable word. That, too, feels symbolic.

Church is deeply present in my hopes for the coming year. It is part of who I am, part of my calling, part of my relationship with God and with community. But church is not always simple or perfectly clear. It can be difficult to read. It can be beautiful and messy, life-giving and exhausting, sacred and profoundly human all at once.

In this picture, church does not appear by itself in a clean, isolated space. It is crowded into a circling path alongside other words: Love, Friends, Art, perhaps even the movements of creativity and ministry surrounding it. That seems truthful. For me, church is not separate from love, friendship, art, imagination, service, or reconciliation. It is entangled with them.

The fact that the word is only almost clear may express something I feel: church is something I continue to believe in and belong to, while also still trying to see clearly. It is present. It matters. It is part of the year I hope to live. But it is not polished or uncomplicated.

Perhaps that is what makes it real.

The Shape of the Year

The large number itself is not simply filled in. It becomes a winding course. The words curve around turns and corners; some appear upright from one angle and upside down from another. To read the whole image, I almost have to rotate it, follow it, and let my eyes travel through it.

That feels like an honest representation of the year ahead. I do not know exactly how it will unfold. My hopes do not form a straight road or a neatly numbered plan. They form a brightly lit labyrinth. Something that appears upside down from one position may look different once I travel farther along the curve. Something that seems peripheral now may become central. Something disappointing may redirect me toward an unexpected opening.

This drawing does not say, Here is my plan to master the next year.

It says, Here is the glowing path I hope to inhabit.

That is truer to my life. Music feeds ministry. Woodcraft feeds contemplation. Writing feeds faith. PeaceGrooves gathers together my imagination, my longing for peace, my love of play, and my desire to offer something meaningful to others. Marriage and friendship keep my creative life from becoming merely solitary. Church places my personal dreams within a larger body. God is not outside all these things, looking down upon them from a distance, but present among them.

My life is not a ladder climbing toward a single success. It is a winding, illuminated journey through many loves.

The Lights Around the Border

The repeated yellow bulbs around the border give the piece a vintage, celebratory feeling. They make the year look like something being announced: a show beginning, a stage opening, a bright invitation to enter.

There is something almost exuberant about it. I did not draw a quiet little calendar page or a restrained list of intentions. I drew the year as a spectacle of hope. These dreams are not small to me. They are worthy of light. Music, laughter, love, friendship, art, faith, craft, writing, church, PeaceGrooves—these are not hobbies or decorative extras around the edge of life. They are among the things that make life worth living.

And yet the lights are not machine-perfect. They are hand-drawn. Each one is slightly different. Some are rounder, some rougher, some more irregular. That matters too. The brightness of this coming year is not a slick commercial promise that everything will be perfect. It is the brightness I have carefully drawn around my hopes with my own imperfect hand.

Most moving of all, the lights continue around the bends. They do not shine only along the smooth or impressive stretches. They follow the narrow turns, the dips, the places where the shape curls inward. The light does not abandon the complicated places.

What This Picture Says to Me

This is a picture of my hope not merely to survive another year, but to remain fully myself within it.

I want to sing and play.

I want to laugh.

I want to remember.

I want to journey.

I want to love and be loved.

I want to remain a husband, a pastor, an author, an artist, a craftsman, a musician, a friend, and a dreamer.

I want PeaceGrooves not merely to exist as a project, but to become an expression of something deep within me: my longing to imagine, create, and make peace.

I want God not as an abstract religious idea floating somewhere outside my life, but as a living presence woven among music, love, creativity, friendship, church, memory, laughter, and journey.

And perhaps beneath the entire picture is the word I did not write: wholeness.

Wholeness includes health. It includes healing. But it is larger than both. It is the hope that all these different names for myself will not compete with one another, break apart, or fade away, but somehow curve together into a single radiant life.

The smear between Author and Husband, the almost-illegible Church, the reversed words, the crowded pathways, the uneven bulbs, and the wandering design do not lessen the picture. They make it more truthful.

My hopes for the next year are not cleanly arranged or perfectly protected from mistakes. They are handmade. They are entangled. They are vulnerable. They are colorful. They are imperfect.

And they are still shining.

The Maranatha Empire

There is a prayer so holy that it should burn the tongue of every empire that tries to speak it.

Maranatha.

Come, Lord.

It is the cry of the small church under pressure. The cry of the persecuted and the patient. The cry of those who have no armies to summon, no throne to defend, no voting bloc sufficient to save them, no market share large enough to secure their future. It is the cry of those who wait because they know they are not God.

But in every age, there are those who take this prayer of waiting and turn it into a banner of possession.

They say, “Come, Lord,” but what they mean is, “Give us control.”

They say, “Thy kingdom come,” but what they mean is, “Let our faction rule.”

They say, “Prepare the way of the Lord,” but what they build are prisons, borders, propaganda machines, religious celebrity platforms, and monuments to their own fear.

This is the Maranatha Empire.

It is not one nation only, though nations may become its servants. It is not one denomination only, though denominations may become its chapels. It is not merely Rome, nor Geneva, nor Washington, nor Moscow, nor any other city that has mistaken power for providence. The Maranatha Empire is the recurring temptation of the religious heart: to stop waiting for Christ and begin replacing him.

It begins quietly.

It begins with concern.

The world is dangerous. The children are vulnerable. The church is shrinking. The enemies are multiplying. The culture is changing. The old certainties are crumbling. The people are afraid.

Fear, when baptized, often calls itself faithfulness.

So the frightened church begins to reach for tools Jesus refused.

A throne.

A sword.

A spectacle.

A scapegoat.

A strongman.

A law that can accomplish what love has not yet persuaded.

A state that can enforce what the Spirit has not yet formed.

A leader who promises to defend Christ, as though Christ ever asked Peter to keep swinging after Gethsemane.

This is how the prayer becomes an empire.

The early church cried, “Come, Lord Jesus,” because it knew that Caesar was not Lord. The Maranatha Empire cries, “Come, Lord Jesus,” because it wants Caesar to become useful.

The early church broke bread in homes. The Maranatha Empire builds platforms and calls them altars.

The early church welcomed the stranger. The Maranatha Empire sees the stranger as a threat.

The early church died rather than kill. The Maranatha Empire kills and calls the dead collateral damage in the defense of righteousness.

The early church believed the Lamb had conquered. The Maranatha Empire keeps looking for a beast strong enough to protect the Lamb.

And there is the blasphemy.

Not that empire rejects Christ outright. That would be too honest. The Maranatha Empire does something more dangerous. It uses Christ as decoration for a power that is fundamentally afraid of the cross.

It sings of the Lamb while trusting the dragon.

It preaches resurrection while organizing itself around survival.

It displays the cross while despising weakness.

It quotes Jesus while ignoring the people Jesus told us to notice: the poor, the imprisoned, the hungry, the foreigner, the enemy, the child, the wounded man beside the road.

The Maranatha Empire is not built by atheists. It is built by believers who have lost patience with the way of Jesus.

For the way of Jesus is slow.

It is seed, yeast, salt, light.

It is foot-washing.

It is forgiveness seventy times seven.

It is refusing the shortcut of domination even when domination appears efficient.

It is telling Peter to put away the sword when everything in Peter’s body screams that this is the moment for holy violence.

It is standing before Pilate and saying, “My kingdom is not from this world,” not because the kingdom has nothing to do with the world, but because it does not come by the world’s methods.

The Maranatha Empire cannot tolerate this.

It cannot tolerate a Messiah who will not seize power.

It cannot tolerate a church that would rather be faithful than influential.

It cannot tolerate a people whose politics begin at the basin and towel.

It cannot tolerate enemy-love, because enemy-love ruins the machinery. Empire requires enemies. It needs them. It feeds on them. Without enemies, the crowd might look too closely at the throne.

So, the Maranatha Empire manufactures urgency.

There is no time to love.

No time to listen.

No time to discern.

No time for reconciliation.

No time for peacemaking.

No time to ask whether the means resemble the Christ we claim to serve.

The hour is late, they say. The danger is great. The stakes are too high. We must act now. We must take control now. We must win now.

And somewhere beneath all that urgency is a terrible confession:

They do not actually believe the Lord is coming.

Or, if he is coming, they do not trust him to arrive in the right way.

So they build him an empire to inherit.

But Christ does not inherit empires.

He judges them.

He walks in alleyways, not palaces. He asks whether the churches have kept their first love. He warns those who are rich and comfortable and self-satisfied that they may be poor, blind, and naked. He stands at the door and knocks, not because he has been defeated by secularism, but because religious people have locked him outside while holding meetings in his name.

The Maranatha Empire is always shocked when Jesus is found outside the gate.

Outside the camp.

Outside respectability.

Outside the approved narrative.

Outside the walls with the crucified, the excluded, the unclean, the inconvenient, and the condemned.

The empire expected him in the capital.

But he is with the refugees.

The empire expected him in the cathedral of victory.

But he is with the mother of the disappeared.

The empire expected him on the reviewing stand.

But he is washing feet in the basement.

The empire expected him to bless the troops.

But he is asking why his followers are still carrying swords.

This is why Maranatha must remain a dangerous prayer.

It must never be allowed to become a slogan for conquest. It must never be printed on the banners of those who are unwilling to be converted by the One they summon. To pray “Come, Lord” is not to invite divine endorsement of our projects. It is to invite judgment upon them.

Come, Lord, and judge our churches.

Come, Lord, and judge our flags.

Come, Lord, and judge our markets.

Come, Lord, and judge our weapons.

Come, Lord, and judge our sermons.

Come, Lord, and judge our secret hatreds.

Come, Lord, and judge the ways we have used your name to avoid your way.

This is the prayer empire cannot honestly pray.

Because if the Lord comes, the first thing to fall may not be our enemies.

It may be our idols.

The algorithm.

The nation.

The party.

The brand.

The gun.

The strongman.

The myth of innocence.

The lie that we can harm others for a righteous cause and remain untouched by the harm.

The Maranatha Empire teaches us to fear the collapse of Christian influence.

Jesus teaches us to fear gaining the world and losing our soul.

The Maranatha Empire asks, “How do we take back the culture?”

Jesus asks, “Can you drink the cup that I drink?”

The Maranatha Empire says, “Blessed are the winners.”

Jesus says, “Blessed are the meek.”

The Maranatha Empire says, “Blessed are the forceful, for they shall secure the future.”

Jesus says, “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God.”

And perhaps this is the word for us now:

The church does not need to become more powerful.

The church needs to become more faithful.

Not passive. Not silent. Not withdrawn into pious irrelevance. But faithful in the particular, cruciform, stubborn way of Jesus. Faithful enough to resist evil without becoming its mirror. Faithful enough to tell the truth without hatred. Faithful enough to protect the vulnerable without worshiping violence. Faithful enough to build communities of economic sharing, hospitality, forgiveness, courage, and joy. Faithful enough to be a people who can live without controlling the outcome.

That is the hard part.

Empire is attractive because it promises control.

Jesus offers communion.

Empire promises security.

Jesus offers peace.

Empire promises victory over enemies.

Jesus offers reconciliation that may begin with our repentance.

Empire promises to make us great.

Jesus invites us to become small enough to enter the kingdom.

So, let the Maranatha Empire fall.

Let it fall first in us.

Let it fall in every place where we have confused anxiety with zeal. Let it fall where we have preferred dominance to witness. Let it fall where we have wanted laws to do what discipleship would not. Let it fall where we have used the suffering of others as fuel for our own righteousness. Let it fall where we have asked Jesus to come only after we have arranged the throne to our liking.

And when it falls, may something older and more beautiful remain.

A table.

A basin.

A towel.

A loaf.

A cup.

A people gathered without illusion, without empire, without the need to be impressive, whispering the ancient prayer not as conquerors but as witnesses:

Maranatha.

Come, Lord Jesus.

Come not to crown our domination, but to free us from it.

Come not to baptize our fear, but to cast it out.

Come not to make our empire holy, but to teach us again that your kingdom comes like a seed, like yeast, like mercy, like a Lamb who was slain and yet lives.

And until you come, make us faithful.

Not imperial.

Not triumphant.

Not afraid.

Faithful.

The Maranatha Empire

There is a prayer so holy that it should burn the tongue of every empire that tries to speak it.

Maranatha.

Come, Lord.

It is the cry of the small church under pressure. The cry of the persecuted and the patient. The cry of those who have no armies to summon, no throne to defend, no voting bloc sufficient to save them, no market share large enough to secure their future. It is the cry of those who wait because they know they are not God.

But in every age, there are those who take this prayer of waiting and turn it into a banner of possession.

They say, “Come, Lord,” but what they mean is, “Give us control.”

They say, “Thy kingdom come,” but what they mean is, “Let our faction rule.”

They say, “Prepare the way of the Lord,” but what they build are prisons, borders, propaganda machines, religious celebrity platforms, and monuments to their own fear.

This is the Maranatha Empire.

It is not one nation only, though nations may become its servants. It is not one denomination only, though denominations may become its chapels. It is not merely Rome, nor Geneva, nor Washington, nor Moscow, nor any other city that has mistaken power for providence. The Maranatha Empire is the recurring temptation of the religious heart: to stop waiting for Christ and begin replacing him.

It begins quietly.

It begins with concern.

The world is dangerous. The children are vulnerable. The church is shrinking. The enemies are multiplying. The culture is changing. The old certainties are crumbling. The people are afraid.

Fear, when baptized, often calls itself faithfulness.

So the frightened church begins to reach for tools Jesus refused.

A throne.

A sword.

A spectacle.

A scapegoat.

A strongman.

A law that can accomplish what love has not yet persuaded.

A state that can enforce what the Spirit has not yet formed.

A leader who promises to defend Christ, as though Christ ever asked Peter to keep swinging after Gethsemane.

This is how the prayer becomes an empire.

The early church cried, “Come, Lord Jesus,” because it knew that Caesar was not Lord. The Maranatha Empire cries, “Come, Lord Jesus,” because it wants Caesar to become useful.

The early church broke bread in homes. The Maranatha Empire builds platforms and calls them altars.

The early church welcomed the stranger. The Maranatha Empire sees the stranger as a threat.

The early church died rather than kill. The Maranatha Empire kills and calls the dead collateral damage in the defense of righteousness.

The early church believed the Lamb had conquered. The Maranatha Empire keeps looking for a beast strong enough to protect the Lamb.

And there is the blasphemy.

Not that empire rejects Christ outright. That would be too honest. The Maranatha Empire does something more dangerous. It uses Christ as decoration for a power that is fundamentally afraid of the cross.

It sings of the Lamb while trusting the dragon.

It preaches resurrection while organizing itself around survival.

It displays the cross while despising weakness.

It quotes Jesus while ignoring the people Jesus told us to notice: the poor, the imprisoned, the hungry, the foreigner, the enemy, the child, the wounded man beside the road.

The Maranatha Empire is not built by atheists. It is built by believers who have lost patience with the way of Jesus.

For the way of Jesus is slow.

It is seed, yeast, salt, light.

It is foot-washing.

It is forgiveness seventy times seven.

It is refusing the shortcut of domination even when domination appears efficient.

It is telling Peter to put away the sword when everything in Peter’s body screams that this is the moment for holy violence.

It is standing before Pilate and saying, “My kingdom is not from this world,” not because the kingdom has nothing to do with the world, but because it does not come by the world’s methods.

The Maranatha Empire cannot tolerate this.

It cannot tolerate a Messiah who will not seize power.

It cannot tolerate a church that would rather be faithful than influential.

It cannot tolerate a people whose politics begin at the basin and towel.

It cannot tolerate enemy-love, because enemy-love ruins the machinery. Empire requires enemies. It needs them. It feeds on them. Without enemies, the crowd might look too closely at the throne.

So, the Maranatha Empire manufactures urgency.

There is no time to love.

No time to listen.

No time to discern.

No time for reconciliation.

No time for peacemaking.

No time to ask whether the means resemble the Christ we claim to serve.

The hour is late, they say. The danger is great. The stakes are too high. We must act now. We must take control now. We must win now.

And somewhere beneath all that urgency is a terrible confession:

They do not actually believe the Lord is coming.

Or, if he is coming, they do not trust him to arrive in the right way.

So they build him an empire to inherit.

But Christ does not inherit empires.

He judges them.

He walks in alleyways, not palaces. He asks whether the churches have kept their first love. He warns those who are rich and comfortable and self-satisfied that they may be poor, blind, and naked. He stands at the door and knocks, not because he has been defeated by secularism, but because religious people have locked him outside while holding meetings in his name.

The Maranatha Empire is always shocked when Jesus is found outside the gate.

Outside the camp.

Outside respectability.

Outside the approved narrative.

Outside the walls with the crucified, the excluded, the unclean, the inconvenient, and the condemned.

The empire expected him in the capital.

But he is with the refugees.

The empire expected him in the cathedral of victory.

But he is with the mother of the disappeared.

The empire expected him on the reviewing stand.

But he is washing feet in the basement.

The empire expected him to bless the troops.

But he is asking why his followers are still carrying swords.

This is why Maranatha must remain a dangerous prayer.

It must never be allowed to become a slogan for conquest. It must never be printed on the banners of those who are unwilling to be converted by the One they summon. To pray “Come, Lord” is not to invite divine endorsement of our projects. It is to invite judgment upon them.

Come, Lord, and judge our churches.

Come, Lord, and judge our flags.

Come, Lord, and judge our markets.

Come, Lord, and judge our weapons.

Come, Lord, and judge our sermons.

Come, Lord, and judge our secret hatreds.

Come, Lord, and judge the ways we have used your name to avoid your way.

This is the prayer empire cannot honestly pray.

Because if the Lord comes, the first thing to fall may not be our enemies.

It may be our idols.

The algorithm.

The nation.

The party.

The brand.

The gun.

The strongman.

The myth of innocence.

The lie that we can harm others for a righteous cause and remain untouched by the harm.

The Maranatha Empire teaches us to fear the collapse of Christian influence.

Jesus teaches us to fear gaining the world and losing our soul.

The Maranatha Empire asks, “How do we take back the culture?”

Jesus asks, “Can you drink the cup that I drink?”

The Maranatha Empire says, “Blessed are the winners.”

Jesus says, “Blessed are the meek.”

The Maranatha Empire says, “Blessed are the forceful, for they shall secure the future.”

Jesus says, “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God.”

And perhaps this is the word for us now:

The church does not need to become more powerful.

The church needs to become more faithful.

Not passive. Not silent. Not withdrawn into pious irrelevance. But faithful in the particular, cruciform, stubborn way of Jesus. Faithful enough to resist evil without becoming its mirror. Faithful enough to tell the truth without hatred. Faithful enough to protect the vulnerable without worshiping violence. Faithful enough to build communities of economic sharing, hospitality, forgiveness, courage, and joy. Faithful enough to be a people who can live without controlling the outcome.

That is the hard part.

Empire is attractive because it promises control.

Jesus offers communion.

Empire promises security.

Jesus offers peace.

Empire promises victory over enemies.

Jesus offers reconciliation that may begin with our repentance.

Empire promises to make us great.

Jesus invites us to become small enough to enter the kingdom.

So, let the Maranatha Empire fall.

Let it fall first in us.

Let it fall in every place where we have confused anxiety with zeal. Let it fall where we have preferred dominance to witness. Let it fall where we have wanted laws to do what discipleship would not. Let it fall where we have used the suffering of others as fuel for our own righteousness. Let it fall where we have asked Jesus to come only after we have arranged the throne to our liking.

And when it falls, may something older and more beautiful remain.

A table.

A basin.

A towel.

A loaf.

A cup.

A people gathered without illusion, without empire, without the need to be impressive, whispering the ancient prayer not as conquerors but as witnesses:

Maranatha.

Come, Lord Jesus.

Come not to crown our domination, but to free us from it.

Come not to baptize our fear, but to cast it out.

Come not to make our empire holy, but to teach us again that your kingdom comes like a seed, like yeast, like mercy, like a Lamb who was slain and yet lives.

And until you come, make us faithful.

Not imperial.

Not triumphant.

Not afraid.

Faithful.

https://anabaptistworld.org/u-s-defense-bill-calls-for-automatic-draft-registration/

#Conscription #Draft #SelectiveService #Mennonite #Anabaptist #Peace #ConscientiousObjection

Tagging: @MilitaryLawTaskForce @ehasbrouck

https://anabaptistworld.org/u-s-defense-bill-calls-for-automatic-draft-registration/

#Conscription #Draft #SelectiveService #Mennonite #Anabaptist #Peace #ConscientiousObjection

Tagging: @MilitaryLawTaskForce @ehasbrouck

Hype for the Future 40C: Southeastern Pennsylvania

https://novatopflex.wordpress.com/2025/12/10/hype-for-the-future-40c-southeastern-pennsylvania/

Hype for the Future 40C: Southeastern Pennsylvania

https://novatopflex.wordpress.com/2025/12/10/hype-for-the-future-40c-southeastern-pennsylvania/

https://anabaptistworld.org/whistles-a-nonviolent-way-to-resist/

#Mennonite #Anabaptist #ResistFascism #Fascism #Whistles #Ice

https://anabaptistworld.org/whistles-a-nonviolent-way-to-resist/

#Mennonite #Anabaptist #ResistFascism #Fascism #Whistles #Ice

Sharing this from another Social media platform:

#MennoniteAction is turning two, and it's a sobering anniversary. We wish to see a free #Palestine, and see our work become obsolete. And yet, we're encouraged by two years of faithful expression of #solidarity, two years of learning, training, taking bold public action, and experiencing unity together in this movement. We invite all in our community of #Mennonites 4Ceasefire
to join us on November 20th for our Anniversary Call, this month's Mass Call oriented to reflection, remembering, and recommitting to the work that still lies ahead. RSVP to join here: https://www.mennoniteaction.org/call

#Palestine #Mennonite #Anabaptist #Peace #ShalomSalaam

Sharing this from another Social media platform:

#MennoniteAction is turning two, and it's a sobering anniversary. We wish to see a free #Palestine, and see our work become obsolete. And yet, we're encouraged by two years of faithful expression of #solidarity, two years of learning, training, taking bold public action, and experiencing unity together in this movement. We invite all in our community of #Mennonites 4Ceasefire
to join us on November 20th for our Anniversary Call, this month's Mass Call oriented to reflection, remembering, and recommitting to the work that still lies ahead. RSVP to join here: https://www.mennoniteaction.org/call

#Palestine #Mennonite #Anabaptist #Peace #ShalomSalaam

My interests and hobbies are quite varied!
You may not want to sign up for all of it?
These are some of my common topics that you may wish to follow or mute:

⚽️ football/soccer (#fedifc) particularly #USWNT, #USMNT, #IXI (#USL), #CFC (#championsleague), and now #Bundesliga
🎶 music, particularly electronic, metal, and genre crossover things like industrial, darkjazz, trip-hop, etc.
🎲 table games, especially #ttrpg games
🚲 cycling and alternate transportation #waroncars
🕊️ faith with an #anabaptist and #mennonite perspective
🗳️🏴 politics with a left-libertarian, pacifist (see above) and anarchist perspective
🛡️ product and cyber security
🔎♻️ wildlife and watershed discipleship
🛶🥾 outdoor activities

This 500th anniversary of the founding of the #Anabaptist movement (from which the Mennonites, Brethern, Amish, and realted traditions sprung forth --- and that were theological cousins of the early Baptists) is all the more important to me this year, because of what happened yesterday in this nation. I'm grateful that the Anabaptist tradition is very clear that we do not kiss the ring, we do not bow the knee to the empire, ever.

This is one of the reasons I treasure my connections to this tradition.

One detail of my religious journey that many do not know, is that I chose to become Jewish through the Humanistic movement primarily because it was (and as far as I know still is), the only Jewish movement that is open to biereligous converts (those who are seeking to become Jewish, while still maintaining connections to another tradition). I had fallen in love with #Judaism (thankfully a passion that still is with me 10 years later), but I also loved the Mennonites, particularly its strong belief in the moral imperative of peace (or rather the Hebrew concept of Shalom which is far more than the cessation of hostility but also has the connotations of harmony, equity, and wholeness), a belief that #nationalism is just another form of idolatry, and the power of simple living (even though I do a lousy job of living this out). In other words, at its best moments, the #Mennonite / Anabaptist tradition provides a critical witness against the values of the American Empire through its focus on the ethical earthly teachings of Jesus.

I am grateful that I was able to find a path to embracing Judaism that did not require me to leave my Mennonite values out.

And so I say, Happy 500th birthday to the Anabaptist movement! And thank you to #HumanisticJudaism for giving me a way to be true to my #bireligoius values.

(graphic from Druhart on FB)

#Anabaptism500 #Theology #AntiNationalism

This 500th anniversary of the founding of the #Anabaptist movement (from which the Mennonites, Brethern, Amish, and realted traditions sprung forth --- and that were theological cousins of the early Baptists) is all the more important to me this year, because of what happened yesterday in this nation. I'm grateful that the Anabaptist tradition is very clear that we do not kiss the ring, we do not bow the knee to the empire, ever.

This is one of the reasons I treasure my connections to this tradition.

One detail of my religious journey that many do not know, is that I chose to become Jewish through the Humanistic movement primarily because it was (and as far as I know still is), the only Jewish movement that is open to biereligous converts (those who are seeking to become Jewish, while still maintaining connections to another tradition). I had fallen in love with #Judaism (thankfully a passion that still is with me 10 years later), but I also loved the Mennonites, particularly its strong belief in the moral imperative of peace (or rather the Hebrew concept of Shalom which is far more than the cessation of hostility but also has the connotations of harmony, equity, and wholeness), a belief that #nationalism is just another form of idolatry, and the power of simple living (even though I do a lousy job of living this out). In other words, at its best moments, the #Mennonite / Anabaptist tradition provides a critical witness against the values of the American Empire through its focus on the ethical earthly teachings of Jesus.

I am grateful that I was able to find a path to embracing Judaism that did not require me to leave my Mennonite values out.

And so I say, Happy 500th birthday to the Anabaptist movement! And thank you to #HumanisticJudaism for giving me a way to be true to my #bireligoius values.

(graphic from Druhart on FB)

#Anabaptism500 #Theology #AntiNationalism

Followed hashtags don't migrate, and weirdly you can't find a hashtag to manually follow it if you haven't federated with enough instances yet for those hashtags to have been used.

So I'm writing a post with some of my hashtags so I can click on them and follow them.

#Kitchener #Waterloo #WatReg #WaterlooRegion #RTZ #WeTheNorth #WNBA #Drupal #PHP #WordPress #Mennonite #Anabaptist #H5P #CarryShitOlympics #Bloomscrolling #WRAwesome #KWAwesome #PowerPlatform #Microsoft365 #SharePoint

Followed hashtags don't migrate, and weirdly you can't find a hashtag to manually follow it if you haven't federated with enough instances yet for those hashtags to have been used.

So I'm writing a post with some of my hashtags so I can click on them and follow them.

#Kitchener #Waterloo #WatReg #WaterlooRegion #RTZ #WeTheNorth #WNBA #Drupal #PHP #WordPress #Mennonite #Anabaptist #H5P #CarryShitOlympics #Bloomscrolling #WRAwesome #KWAwesome #PowerPlatform #Microsoft365 #SharePoint

Very deeply moved by the news of today's protest at the US Capitol by #Mennonite Action in which around 130+ protesters were arrested for civil disobedience with a message of calling for #CeasefireNOW between #Israel and #Hamas.

https://www.fox5dc.com/news/pro-palestinian-protest-underway-at-cannon-rotunda-on-capitol-hill

#Peace #ShalomSalaam #Palestine #Gaza #Anabaptist

@heribertschindler @kolev also to clarify - the #Amish are not #Mennonite but are related to them as fellow anabaptists.

##Anabaptism ##Anabaptist

I really appreciated how this book lays out the core convictions of #anabaptist #christian faith tradition.

A great thrift store find!

I really appreciated how this book lays out the core convictions of #anabaptist #christian faith tradition.

A great thrift store find!

The following is a talk I gave at Joy Mennonite Church in Oklahoma City on April 23, 2023. I am very thankful that this church (where I once ministered) was willing to let me come back and share some of my observations from these two traditions (FYI, I am now Jewish).  Also, FYI – the accompanying slide show for this talk can be found here.

(SLIDE 1)  It is such a joy to be here at Joy today! (laughs)

Today I’m going to speak about what I see as significant common ground between the two spiritual traditions that have shaped my life the most — the Anabaptist/Mennonite tradition and the Jewish tradition. But I also want to share a bit about the differences between these two traditions. My hope is that this exploration will help you to understand your Anabaptist views better, but also to hopefully have a better understanding of your Jewish friends, folks who you likely have a lot of common ground with.

But first, before I dig into those commonalities and differences, I wanted to share just a bit about my context and why I care so much about these two traditions, both of which are traditions I did not grow up in.

(SLIDE 2) So first, on the Mennonite side of things — I have had a connection with this congregation for almost 20 years.  The first time I visited was in 2003 — back when I was in law school and preaching at the Church of Christ where I grew up. 

(SLIDE 3) I had previously met Sadie for the first time at a peace protest in Oklahoma City. We had a great conversation (I believe at the Gold Dome corner), and while we were there holding protest signs, she actually invited me to come speak at Joy as a guest speaker by the end of this conversation. — And I never could say no to Sadie!

I had a wonderful experience visiting Joy, so much so that I actually considered leaving my old church and joining Joy right after being there, but Sadie discouraged me from doing this, saying I should “grow where I was planted.”

But a few months later, the Church of Christ fired me because I wasn’t evangelistic enough (and I also think because I was talking too much about peace during a time of war), so I took that as a sign that it was time for me to come to Joy. And I officially joined the church, the following spring on Easter Sunday 2004.

(SLIDE 4) During my last year of law school, Joy enabled me to start some peace organizing work focusing on helping members of the military get discharged, as well as to challenge mistreatment they experienced in the service. Doing this work under the auspices of Joy, eventually as our “Minister of Peace and Justice,” was a wonderful opportunity. And it brought me in contact with a cohort of older experienced activists who had been doing spiritually-rooted peace work for many years, including Catholics, Quakers, Unitarians, and other fellow travelers.

(SLIDE 5) But Joy wasn’t just my church. And it wasn’t just my hub for activist organizing . . . it also gave me a home, quite literally. At first, I lived in this building upstairs but later I was in the garage apartment (and then back and forth at least one more time)

And it was a good place to be.

(SLIDE 6) My first five years as an attorney were challenging but also good years. The congregation grew in numbers, especially with a new surge of young adults who were busy deconstructing their evangelical conservative upbringings but also seeking to find new ways to follow Jesus. 

(SLIDE 7) We did a lot of good work together, had a lot of fun, and built some strong friendships. And we were blessed to have so many elders to guide us, Moses and Sadie especially, but others too, both inside the congregation as well as some fellow travelers like Art & Marianne.

(SLIDE 8) We also faced challenges and times of conflict too, but through it all, this congregation and its people taught me a great deal about what it means to seek the way of peace and justice in the context of a spiritual community.

But by 2011, my personal life was getting messy. I was hitting a wall of burnout in my activist lawyering but also was reconnecting with Becky, who I would end up marrying at the end of the year. 

(SLIDE 9)  Marrying her at age 35 also meant that I would become one of Ty’s dads.

… which brings me to the Jewish part of my story. In our first year of marriage, Becky came out to me as being secretly interested and compelled by Jewish spiritual practices. She came to this place, not because of her background, but rather because she found that the spiritual practices she had inherited from her Christian upbringing didn’t give her what she needed when she was fighting cancer and going through a divorce as a new mother. In those difficult days, she had experiences that pointed towards Jewish spiritual practice as a way for her but she had not yet had a chance to really explore them in earnest.

(SLIDE 10)These conversations led our family to seriously explore Jewish spirituality in our home context, while still remaining part of our respective church communities. This exploration evolved over the years and became more and more important to us — and to make a very long story short, we as a family reached a place where we felt it was time for us to commit to Jewish community in a more tangible way. 

(SLIDE 11) This desire, coupled with my desire to take a break from some congregational conflict that we were dealing with at Joy during that time period, led me to step down as one of the ministers of this congregation.

(SLIDE 12) Today, I see myself as a Jew, but as one that has been shaped in deep and profound ways by the radical community of Jesus-followers here at Joy Mennonite, as well as by the broader movements of Humanistic Spirituality. This is the perspective I’m bringing to this conversation. (SLIDE 13)  (SLIDE 14) (SLIDE 15)

So… that brings us to the heart of today’s message: I think there are four primary points of commonality between these two great faith traditions, which are: (1) an ethic that focuses more on the earth in the present, rather than focusing on the afterlife, (2)  a strong focus on social justice, (3) an experience of diaspora, and (4) a practice of reading and interpreting sacred texts in in the context community.

But before I go on, I should also say that I will be using a big-picture, 30,000 feet up approach to this. The movements of Judaism and Anabaptism are diverse and huge, and hence it is hard to make accurate generalizations that apply to all people within those movements. And so I would suggest that what I will be saying is more of a discussion of tendencies, rather than concrete judgments. — I also think it is important to say that I will be speaking of Judaism in the 21st century, a very important distinction — because Judaism today is a radically different tradition than what is depicted in the Bible. A lot of history has happened in the last 2000+ years on all branches of the Abrahamic religious family tree, and so we are speaking of the present.

(SLIDE 16) So… the first area of commonality is this: both traditions share a present-tense Earth-centered ethic.

So first, looking at Judaism … there are almost no references to the afterlife in the Hebrew scriptures (what Christians call the Old Testament), and those that are there are fuzzy and unclear. 

(SLIDE 17) Later generations of Jews did talk about ideas like heaven and hell (especially during the times of struggle with the Greeks in the 2nd century BCE), but there was never any kind of consensus on the subject, and that continues to the present because according to the folks at Pew Research, the majority of Jews in the US today do not believe in the concept of Heaven and Hell.

So, what about the Anabaptist tradition? Many Anabaptists have for the most part held to some traditional Christian views about heaven and hell, but it generally is not an aspect of the faith tradition that is emphasized. This means that most Anabaptists do not spend a great deal of time speaking about Heaven as being the goal for Christian living, but rather speak about the values of the Kingdom of God in the present. (SLIDE 18)

This is quite different than what is often taught in other Christian faith traditions.

This common focus on the present tense and the earthly, has powerful ethical implications and helps to avoid the pitfall that so many religious folks have, of deferring the work for justice because “God will fix everything in the end.”

(SLIDE 19) Speaking of the struggle for justice, we come to point Two, that both traditions share a deep focus on social justice.

(SLIDE 20) For Jews, this stems from a concept called Tikkun Olam, which mean “to repair the world.” So, to do tikkun Olam, is to work in the world today to repair it. This includes all of the ways that the world is broken, including care of the earth itself, but also mending broken and fractured human relationships. The value of Tikkun Olam goes back to the earliest parts of Jewish scripture, but was especially amplified through the writings of prophets who called the people of Israel to righteous ethical living. And since at least the 1960’s, the idea of Tikkun Olam has animated a new generation of Jewish social justice activists.

(SLIDE 21) For Anabaptists, the focus on social justice primarily comes from their reliance on Jesus’ teachings on the KIngdom of God, a coming reality that would be manifested not only in eternity, but especially in the present-world. Unlike Luther who saw the Sermon on the Mount as an impossible discouraging burden, Anabaptists read saw hope. They read Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount as a actionable manifesto of ethical living and as a sort of “canon within the canon,” a central text that was used to inform all interpretation of scripture.

Speaking of the passion of these two traditions as it relates to social justice, reminds me of two bits of good advice I’ve heard from those who’ve gone before. One is a Jewish voice, the other an Anabaptist.

(SLIDE 22) The first is from Rabbi Tarfon, a rabbi who lived sometime between 70-135 CE and who was quoted in the work Pirkei Avot: “It is not your responsibility to finish the work, but neither are you free to neglect it.” In other words, we are called to fight injustice and work for good, even if we do not know how and when the work wil ever be completed. We cannot neglect this work.

(SLIDE 23) And then, I have to quote Joy’s own Sadie Mast, who told me many times, “Do what you can… but not too much.”

What I take from both of these teachers is the reality that the struggle for justice is long and that we have to keep our work sustainable to go the distance in seeking a better world.

(SLIDE 24) Three, the experience of being in diaspora is important. In fact it is a big factor that led these two traditions to go through times of transformation and evolution.

Starting on the Jewish side — I think it is fair to say that what we call “Judaism” today is really at its heart a religion of diaspora— because it was in diaspora that Jews fully embraced the idea of God as a portable deity, one who is not tied to a specific geographic location. But it was, more importantly, in diaspora that Jews developed forms of worship (most notably liturgy and prayer) that replaced the cult of animal sacrifice, a total reinvention of this religion. In fact to give you an idea of how profound this change has been, our rabbi at Temple B’nai Israel recently said in her one of her messages, “if they bring back animal sacrifice, I’m out!” And I think 99% of Jews living today would agree with her. Two thousand years ago, Judaism was a religion of animal sacrifice. Today it is not. The reason for this reinvention is diaspora.

But… life isn’t easy in diaspora. Maintaining religious and cultural identity in a foreign land requires a great deal of thoughtful education and the maintenance of markers of cultural identity — as well as arguably the preservation of language skills. And yet, arguably doing these things has made Judaism what it is today.

Anabaptists also know diaspora very well. Anabaptists have been on the move since the earliest days of the movement, choosing to leave the homes of their birth, rather than to give up their core values, or having to use violence to defend themselves.

(SLIDE 25) And like Jews, Anabaptists have also had to work hard to maintain their religious and cultural identity in foreign lands. Some have taken a much stricter approach by using cultural lifestyle markers like clothing, language, food, etc as dividing lines, but many more have found positive ways to live out their Anabaptist values and to enjoy the unique aspects of their culture, while also still being part of a broader modern world. This dynamic of different approaches makes me think of the Oklahoma Mennonite Relief Sale. Folks gather to eat food with cultural history, enjoy quilts, hear some music, and give to MCC. — while at the same time maintaining their own specific community practices.

(SLIDE 26) Four, the practice of reading and interpreting sacred texts in community is a shared value of these two traditions. 

(SLIDE 27) The Anabaptist tradition has long embraced a community-hermeneutic (that is the method in which one reads a text)… in which all voices (from the most learned to the least learned) are valued. This is why the “Anabaptism at 500” project is so powerful because it is a celebration of this democratic tradition.

(SLIDE 28) The Jewish tradition also values reading and interpreting texts in the context of community, but adds another element to the equation – time. In other words, Jews generally do not read the text in isolation but rather read it alongside commentaries that provide insights into the lessons learned from past generations. But at the same time, as the old saying goes, “the past has a voice, not a veto,” which means that the voices of modern interpreters is also important.

These four points of commonality are significant, but they are also not the whole story —  which is why I also want to take a moment to talk about two points of difference as well.

(SLIDE 29) By the way, these two points are not the only one ones, but I chose them because I think these two points of distinction are ones that might lead to helpful insights, by both Anabaptist and Jews. — In other words, we often learn to understand ourselves better, when we hear how others see us.

So, first there is the issue of nationalism.

Judaism is rooted in a national identity, one that has at times in human history been represented by actual governments: (1) including the early tribes of the Israelites, (2) the United Kingdom of Saul and David, (3) the later twin kingdoms of Israel and Judah, (4) the brief period of autonomy after the Maccabean revolt, and (5) most recently the founding of the modern state of Israel in 1948.

Today, about half of the world’s Jews live in Israel/Palestine, and about half live in disapora. While many of us in diaspora have complicated (and sometimes even antagonistic) relationships with the state of Israel, it is still always a part of the equation — if for no other reason than that about half of the world’s Jews live there. For me, the complicated issue of nationalism is the hardest aspect for me of being Jewish.

The Anabaptist approach has long held out the ideal of anti-nationalism and of calling its people to a higher loyalty than state power – a sentiment that I find pretty compelling. These ideals are not easy to live out by the way, and often there are very different approaches taken by different Anabaptists in various contexts. Nevertheless, I appreciate the fact that Anabaptist keep bringing this issue to the table.

Second, we have profound differences in how we engage in dialogue

Both Jews and Anabaptists place a high value on community, and hence traditions both seek to practice conversation and dialogue. But, they differ on how they do this. 

Anabaptists tend (and I emphasize the word “tend”) to focus on gentleness and in finding consensus as being the most important value in these conversations. Jews, on the other hand,  tend to focus more on disagreement and even purposeful argument. — The best example of this might be found in the Talmud (the central text of Rabbinic Judaism, written from around 200-500 CE), which provides detailed accounts of the arguments of the rabbis on various topics, with there normally not being an editorial voice to say which rabbi was right and which one was wrong. This is because all of the voices, even those in disagreement, count.

This different conversational style takes some getting used to, but I think I prefer it today, because in a Jewish context, if someone disagrees with you, they likely will tell you, right away. People are much more blunt.

(SLIDE 30?) I hope that today’s message helps to explain why I am so drawn to these traditions. I see so many, many points of commonality and connection, but I also see deep value in the different perspectives the two traditions have. And I personally think both traditions would be richer if there were more opportunities to connect past the typical religious boundaries.

Tags: #Mennonite #Judaism #Mazeldon #Anabaptist #Ecunemical #Interfaith #Peace #Oklahoma #OKC

#anabaptist #ecunemical #interfaith #judaism #mazeldon #mennonite #okc #oklahoma #peace

https://jmb.mx/blog/2023/05/08/a-presentation-comparing-the-anabaptist-and-jewish-traditions/

Something I love about being an Anabaptist is the focus on living out the ethics of Christianity. 
One scholar writing about Anabaptists said we have “a hermeneutic of obedience…” I think that is right. 
If you are a person of faith or you practice a certain religion, what do you find most beautiful about it?

#theology
#religion #anabaptist

I am also fiercely interested in #ecumenism and inter-religious dialogue: within #Christianity between #Orthodox, Roman #Catholic, #Anglican/#Episcopalian, #Methodist, #Pentecostal, #Anabaptist churches and confessions especially; but also between Christian churches and #Judaism and #Islam.

#Introduction

I'm Ryan. #Tech person, mostly #Drupal #webdev with an occasional side of #Microsoft365.

Christian, of the #Anabaptist with #LiberationTheology variety, and involved with a local #Mennonite church.

I talk politics/social issues, local/Ontario/Canadian and to some degree US.

Home is in Kitchener, Ontario, Canada, part of the Haldimand Tract. #kwawesome #WatReg

First choice for transportation is my bike, followed by walking or taking the bus.

My cat is extremely cute and I post photos of her mostly on @[email protected].

I watch lots of movies and TV and share mini reviews mostly as ryanlr on Letterboxd.