Under cover of darkness, a dozen or so men quietly walked through the falling snow in Zurich, Switzerland, on Jan. 21, 1525. The winter wind seemed to match the chill in their hearts as they made their way through the narrow streets to the home of Anna Manz, mother of Felix.
Nearly 25 years ago, in the Ministry Inquiry Program at Goshen College, I met with a pastor as a potential intern. The first thing he said was: “The way we do church in North America doesn’t work.”
I’ve always been a small-church person. A church, for me, is a place where you know almost everyone by name. This was true for me growing up, except that all the little old ladies looked the same. (Was that Mrs. Peter Toews or Mrs. Henry Janzen?)