I walked into my curling club for the first time in 11 months and saw my team preparing to go out on the ice. I immediately teared up, telling them, “I’m so happy to be here, I think I’m going to cry!” We shared a laugh and hugs, and revelled in the moment of our mutual love of a sport and the camaraderie associated with it.
Look way off in the distance behind the North American Mennonite and Brethren farm boys (looking rather dazed at their surroundings) and you will notice the ruins of ancient Athens. These young men volunteered to tend horses and other livestock on ships sent to Europe to replenish herds following the Second World War.
I am pondering yet again the “Mennonite” label, and what it means for us today in Canada. There are three things that recently provoked these questions.
Tomorrow I’m driving to a log cabin in remote northern Quebec to spend a month in the woods by myself. That said, I’m not exactly roughing it. The cabin has electricity, a kitchen, a bathroom and what looks like a comfortable bed.
No one would dispute that our world has become intercultural. Culture meets culture and languages are exchanged randomly on streets, in restaurants, in classrooms and even during Sunday church worship. “Intercultural” is being used at a massive rate. But this is being done without the faintest idea of what it means to be truly intercultural.
Women at Grace Lao Mennonite Church sing at a “ladies’ revival” in 1999. This was an important year for the congregation of about 90 people, as they also dedicated their own independent church building in Kitchener, Ont. Previously, they worshipped nearby at St. Jacobs Mennonite Church. The church grew from the efforts of refugee families sponsored by St.
Someone suggested I apply for a pastoral position in a church in a large Canadian city. My ego liked that quite a lot. Then I gave it some thought.
Learning happens because learners do something, not because teachers teach. Education is not about teaching—it is about learning.
Three years after graduating from Bible college on the prairies, I returned for a one-week complimentary alumni seminary course. I was excited to be back in the classroom again, but if I’m completely honest, I was just as, if not more, excited to return to a place that held so many good memories.
For 45 years, the More-with-Less Cookbook has been a beacon of the Mennonite legacy of simple living. The popular, and much more recent, cookbook, Mennonite Girls Can Cook, is rooted in a decidedly more First-World spirituality. The divergent books illustrate something of the tension faced by Mennonites living in a land of plenty.
When I was director of Person-to-Person, a prison visitation program started by Mennonite Church Saskatchewan in the early 1970s, the V&C Room (Visitors and Correspondence Room) was often a place of holy space. While the prison system has a strict policy of nothing in and nothing out, God seemed to have little interest in following those guidelines.
On the heels of the Second World War, the General Conference Mennonite Church and the Mennonite Church were concerned about scouting programs that promoted patriotism to boys and girls. In 1957, the Wayfarers girls club was begun and in 1958, Mennonite Publishing House published a Torchbearers guide book and manual for boys.
Long ago I studied both sociology and theology, and I remain intrigued by the relationships between culture and faith. We can’t have one without the other. Which influences the other more?
Being authentic has always been important to me. However, what authenticity means or looks like isn’t always as straightforward as I’d like. Especially as a pastor.
Going right back to Menno himself, Mennonites have valued simplicity. But to what extent has this ethos survived the age of gadget-saturation, relentless advertising and soul-numbing consumption?
How can Mennonite historical sites become sites of decolonization and reconciliation? This question has challenged and inspired my husband Joshua and me for the past four years, as we have served as hosts of Brubacher House Museum.
Winston Churchill, Great Britain’s Second-World-War-era prime minister, famously said, “Never let a good crisis go to waste.” Or maybe it was Rahm Emanuel, former White House chief of staff and mayor of Chicago. The internet is unsure.
David Hunsberger’s photos are normally more well-composed. But it appears he saw the expression of expectation and joy on the face of music teacher Doris Moyer and he couldn’t wait to capture it. She grew up in Pennsylvania and taught at Rockway Mennonite Collegiate in Kitchener, Ont., in 1954, when this photo was taken.
“Who says they have enough money? We’ve never heard such a thing!” blurted the students at a Christian college at which I used to teach. I had just told them that I was going on an international human-rights delegation. After asking about funding, they vocalized their surprise that I was paying my own expenses. “I have enough money,” I had said.
Occasionally, if my wife Rebecca doesn’t get home when I was expecting her, my mind will become morbidly creative.