Forest Hills Mennonite Church

Long before social media companies started fracking our attention, a French philosopher named Simone Weil was exploring attention as a spiritual practice—the substance of our love for God and neighbor. 

Worrying about the effects of new technologies on society is probably about as old as society itself. At the same time, it's entirely possible that the technological moment we're all in makes it much harder to give our attention to others and to the world. Thankfully, Jesus shows us a better way. 

What has your attention at the moment? How do you experience your own ability to attend to others and the world around you? Many people see our current culture as marked by a profound deficit of attention. If that's true, Christian tradition has deep wisdom for how we might begin to heal our ability to attend. 

After our journey through Lent, we arrive at our destination: the resurrection of Jesus. It's the dawn of new creation and the formation of a new community.

On the journey toward Jerusalem, the pilgrims sing of being the depths of despair, yet holding onto to hope that with the Lord there is full redemption. Throughout the events of Holy Week, we see how Jesus brings about this long-expected redemption.

Research suggests that even people who manage to stay active don't particularly enjoy exercising... but sometimes music helps. Psalm 129 offers an example how music designed to help us persevere.

Almost all of us would agree with Psalm 133: it's good and pleasant when people get along and live together harmoniously. Yet our experiences with each other are often marked by conflict and disagreement. What drives humans toward conflict?

Psalm 121 is both a cry for help and an assurance that God hears, sees, and responds. Interpreting Psalms like this, though, takes us into contested territory, as we try to reconcile the goodness of God's promises with the often painful realities of life. 

The Psalms share so much in common with the songs W.E.B. DuBois called "sorrow songs," also called spirituals. By exploring the sorrow songs and Psalms together, we can see how God is trustworthy even in times of trouble. 

The Psalms of Ascent (Ps. 120 - 134) functioned like a mixtape that accompanied the Israelites on their journey to the Temple. Lent is a journey toward Jesus, so what might it sound like if we made ourselves a playlist?

As followers of Jesus in the Anabaptist tradition, we share a story with people from all over the world.

The story of Noah confronts us with two crucial questions about the character of God and the nature of humans. As we reflect on the story, we see that God always remains faithful, even when our violence threatens to uncreate God's creation. 

Stories shape us in profound ways, making us who we are and showing us how we might live. How does the story of Esther—a tale of political intrigue, racially motivated violence, and tremendous courage—speak to us today? 

"We tell ourselves stories," Joan Didion said, "in order to live." Human beings are not only embodied creatures; we are enstoried ones, too. The stories we remember and retell shape who we are at the most foundational level.

One of the amazing things about light is its ability to encode information. If Jesus is the light of the world, what information does His incarnation carry for us?

Jesus brings light to the world—and teaches us to see anew. 

In John's Gospel, Jesus is the light of world, illuminating all things and bringing life. Throughout the season of Advent, we're reflecting on love's pure light. 

Most people would define the good life as a happy life, yet many of us struggle to experience happiness. Maybe we can learn from the ancient wisdom of Christian practices of gratitude. 

All of want things. But where do those desires come from? And what do we do with wants we don't want to have? 

In urban design and landscape engineering, planners have to contend with a well-known aspect of human nature: people tend to go where they want and how they want. This leads to a phenomenon known as a “desire path,” where people remake the landscape by walking over it. So what should designers do? Plan a careful route, or accommodate people’s desires? The same tension holds true in Christian faith: we tend to orient our lives around what we want. If the Psalmist is correct, God desires to give us what we want—but only as we learn to recognize the God-centered nature of all desire.

In order to provide care, people have to recognize and guard against the pathogens we might encounter. Right now, our body politic seems to be infected with contempt. We all need some personal protective equipment. 

We can know nearly anything at any time, and we often feel intense pressure—perhaps even an addiction?—to staying informed. Apostle Paul presents a startlingly different perspective, reminding the Christians in Corinth that when he was with them, he “decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and him crucified.” Is it possible for us to adopt of posture of care by knowing differently, or maybe even knowing a little bit less?  

What does this cultural moment call for from us? How do followers of Jesus best engage and respond to a society that seems poised to tear itself to pieces? One possible response may be to actively adopt a posture of care—individual attention to each and every person we encounter. 

Where does the Anabaptist stand within the great story of Christian orthodoxy? Perhaps the richest expressions of Anabaptism are the ones that cling most tightly to historic Christian faith. 

The concept of "empathy" has been at the center of quite a bit of cultural discourse recently, with some people describing it as the "greatest weakness of Western civilization" and others calling it a "sin." The forth poem in Lamentations describes a community utterly bereft of empathy—and challenges us to consider what went wrong. 

The Book of Lamentations emerges from nearly incomprehensible suffering, while challenging us to move beyond simplistic explanations for why suffering exists.

What do you do when your world falls apart? Is there space in the life of faith for the sad, sad songs? The Book of Lamentations offers a roadmap for responding to unspeakable tragedy.

Do you think the world is getting better or getting worse? Does your faith shape how you respond to that question? If the promise of Christian faith is neither the destruction of the world nor its natural improvement, what does our hope look like? 

Understanding God's nature and character is one of the most important aspect of our formation as followers of Jesus.

If all the paths of God's wisdom are peace, what happens when we stray off that path? Drawing from the wisdom of Cyprian (who served as Bishop of Carthage about two hundred years after Jesus' resurrection), we reflect on the wilderness of war. 

The Book of Proverbs personifies wisdom as a thoughtful, warm woman: "All her paths are peace." Angelina Atyam, a midwife in Northern Uganda, offers presents a powerful example of what a life looks like when we follow wisdom—and follow Jesus—in these paths of peace.

Christy and Peter reflect on their work in Central Africa and the ways that Jesus wants to use our small acts of faithfulness to accomplish incredible things.

In the aftermath of the resurrection, two disciples look Jesus right in his eyes—but fail to recognize him. If we're serious about faithfully following Jesus, maybe we need to confront the things that make it difficult for us to recognize him. 

Dietrich Bonhoeffer famously said that "When Christ calls someone, he bids them come and die." If Bonhoeffer is right, how can we claim that Christian faith is good news? Perhaps it's because Easter changes everything. 

As Jesus enters into Jerusalem, is he acting as an authoritative king or a humble servant? Maybe the paradox of Palm Sunday is that as we follow Jesus, we see that he's both—at exactly the same time. 

The call to follow Jesus involves embracing one of Jesus' central identities—servant. Jesus served. So should we. As profound as this simple truth is, there are complexities to service, too. 

God becomes incarnate in the midst of a world rife with all types of conflict, from interpersonal to religious to political. To follow Jesus means that we are invited to enter into conflicts the way that Jesus did. 

Near the end of his earthly ministry, Jesus calls his closest followers together to call them by a surprising title: friend. To follow Jesus, then, means to be a friend of Jesus—and to deepen our friendships with those around us. 

Who follows Jesus into the wilderness? As much as prioritize walking in Jesus' footsteps and following His example, the journey in the wilderness and the struggle before His execution remind us that Jesus accomplishes things on our behalf that we cannot accomplish for ourselves. 

If Jesus is who He claimed to be, how do we respond to Him? The invitation Jesus offers again and again is simple, yet profound: "Follow Me."

If the author of Ephesians is correct, and there is only one Lord, one faith, one baptism, and one Body, then everyone who gives allegiance to Christ shares in a fundamental unity—one that disrupts every barrier we humans create.

If the church is a body, how is it responding to the environment we find ourselves in? If we're individually members of this one body, how do we structure our relationships together?

What if an awareness of God's goodness and God's presence could empower us to experience the world with curiosity—rather than anxiety? 

Can the hard sayings of Jesus help us respond to our present challenges with greater faithfulness? 

What do we do when we disagree with each other? Can we find some external authority to resolve our disagreements? As we conclude our exploration of the origins of the Anabaptist movement 500 years ago, Pastor Jon considers how the various Reformers interpreted Scripture—and the central role Jesus' teachings came to play within Anabaptism. 

After Christianity becomes not only legally acceptable but required within the Roman Empire, the Church and the State settle into an often uneasy coexistence. At the core of their relationship is the question of violence. Who gets to rightfully wield the sword? In the turbulence of the early 1500s, the Anabaptists propose a radical solution: no Christian should ever engage in violence. It's a shocking claim that continues to challenge us today.

On January 21, 1525, a group of protestors baptized each other—the first known rebaptism to take place during the Protestant Reformation. Within two years, most of the participants would dead at the hands of the state. What was it about their obedience to Jesus' instructions about baptism that led to such violent reprisal?

On January 21, 1525, two people in Zürich baptized each other during a Bible study. This unexpected action catalyzed the Anabaptist (re-baptizing) movement within the Reformation. As we approach the 500th anniversary the start of a movement that reshaped the world, we're spending the month of January exploring how God was at work through the Radical Reformation, what it looks like to faithfully follow Jesus, and how we might be renewed today.

The birth of Christ is God's hope breaking into the world anew. As we reflect on this new and glorious morn, what's our expectation for the future? 

The Christian story complicates some understandings of hope, particularly when we think about human agency. Christmas is an opportunity to recognize that God's power—not just our own—is the focus of true hope.