Anabaptists once risked their lives for the freedom to rethink what Christianity could be. Might we do so again?
Christmas is a time of celebrating a great mystery and wonderful sacrament of God choosing incarnation. Jesus was embodied. So are we.
The Prophet Isaiah had strong views about political issues of his day, and his words, which Catholics and others who use the Common Lectionary read over the four Sundays of Advent, are impossible to hear without applying them to politics today.
Robb Ryerse, who leads a progressive evangelical church in Arkansas, said he feels he has a moral obligation to run for office — and convince voters that being a Christian and a Democrat “isn’t an oxymoron.”
Growing up Southern Baptist in West Virginia in the 1990s and early 2000s, Anna Rollins heard one message clearly: Your body is a liability. Like many evangelical Christian women raised at a time when secular America became consumed with diet culture and evangelicalism sought to control young women through purity culture, Rollins tried to transcend her body altogether, restricting her eating and exercising obsessively.
In the past few weeks, many people across the global Anabaptist family have followed the news that the Meserete Kristos Church (MKC) will no longer host the 2028 global assembly of Mennonite World Conference (MWC), and the Meserete Kristos Seminary (MKS) has ended its formal partnership with Anabaptist Mennonite Biblical Seminary (AMBS). The decision has stirred deep emotions, sparked debate and raised questions about partnership, doctrine, and the nature of unity in the global church.
I reflected earlier this month on stillness during this Advent season, which often is a season full of parties, events, concerts and consumerism that induces frenzied activity. In this final week of Advent, I return to the question: What does it mean to stop and rest and truly be in Christ’s presence?
At first glance, the Nativity scene outside Lake Street Church in Evanston, Illinois, has all the traditional hallmarks: Figures resembling Mary and Joseph stand near a baby Jesus, who rests in a manger.
But this year, the details are decidedly different. For starters, Mary and Joseph are wearing gas masks. Jesus, who typically is depicted lying in hay, is instead nestled in a reflective blanket often used by immigrants in detention, with his hands bound with zip ties. And behind the family stands three Roman centurions wearing vests with a very modern label: ICE, or U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement.
