For long decades now I’ve dreamed of a setting in which we could learn how — offering each other the tenderness for which every human
Pink Menno, a group committed to being a visible and vocal presence at Mennonite gatherings, operated out of a room around the corner from the delegate hall.
It might have been the pain of exclusion due to sexual orientation. Or of feeling the church has agreed to tolerate sin. It might have been the pain of sexual abuse. Or of concern for the future of a church sharply divided on how to relate to sexual minorities.
