According to the New York Times, the Human Rights Campaign — an lgbtq rights advocacy organization — and Logo — a cable tv network geared toward the lgbtq community — will host a one-hour Democratic presidential candidate debate focused on gay rights issues on August 9. What impressed me most of all about this is that Clinton, Obama, and Edwards have all agreed to attend already.

Here’s the official press release from the HRC, and here’s the NY Times article.

I’ve been thinking recently about the strange aspect of anonymity that makes this and other online communities distinct from print publications, face-to-face discussions, etc. In the past few years I’ve had on-and-off involvement in a few online Mennonite communities — some more anonymous than others (for instance, Yahoo group “MennoNet” was a frustrating waste of time). Ultimately, one of the aspects that frustrates me when taking part in these groups is the aspect of anonymity and lack of community — where I feel like writers aren’t willing to remain accountable to each other, take responsibility for what they write, and generally maintain a level of respect and decency. I certainly don’t think this is happening here (and I don’t mean to be targeting people with creative usernames here), but in other groups it often reaches a point where people seem to regress to name-calling and attacks, partially because they can hide behind their cryptic usernames. Again, I don’t see that happening here.

That being said, I’ve also found myself wanting to know more about my fellow writers here on YAR, beyond the regular posts on ethics/theology/ecclesiology. This happened briefly during the initial 6-person face-to-face YAR meetings in Goshen that sparked this group, and I assume also during the meeting in San Jose a few days ago. But as someone who wasn’t able to attend convention (mostly because of the outrageous prices — see PeterK’s post), I still feel a bit disconnected from most of the other writers on this blog (although I recognize that I do personally know many of you).

In a way, my initial reaction to folknotions’ post was that I feel left out (and rightly so), because I couldn’t attend the YAR meetup and get to know some of you better. It struck me that the report from that meetup remained entirely anonymous: “One YAR present said…” Who was at the YAR meetup? Who said what? Did anyone take pictures they could post? What was the age range of people there?

So what are the advantages of retaining this anonymity in our online community? Is it a safety concern, or a way to make some people more comfortable speaking up? What if all the writers were listed on a page, with pictures and short bios (perhaps the introductory post most people wrote)? Are these ridiculous ideas? Am I missing something obvious? Carl suggested that perhaps one advantage of anonymity is that posts can be judged more on their own merit, and not on our fixed stereotypes of the writer.

And maybe this is just an issue of personal curiosity and “sticking my nose in other people’s business,” but I crave less anonymity and more open information on who we are as real people, not online personas. I’m sure there are various opinions out there, and I’d love to hear some more thoughts on this.

Some BBCers followed around a recent CPT delegation, and posted photos with captions. Even some photos and quotes from our very own YAR member Rich. Looking good, Rich.

I’d be interested in hearing some thoughts on CPT’s work, or ways to work for peace and/or justice. Should the church be actively supporting this sort of work? I’d argue that CPT is doing great work, but recently I’ve heard some critiques accusing CPT of working for “justice” instead of “peace”. What is the role of forgiveness is situations of oppression?

Just trying to stimulate some discussion…

These are thoughts which arose during that trip, but were most recently inspired by Edward Christian’s post on Radical Anabaptism and Radical Biblical Exegesis, as well as Nate Myers’ comments on FolkNotion’s post Is it really a sin?, but I thought they deserved their own post. I’ve done my best to keep up with YAR, but I’m sure these things have been said earlier by others (and probably in better ways), so I apologize for that.

As I read the Schleitheim Confession, I realized — as many modern Mennonites have realized before me — that I didn’t (and don’t) like it. At all. This admission led to a basic question that probably arises from any study of the early Anabaptists: “What am I supposed to do with this? How should I respond to (bad) Anabaptist theology?” And as I say it, I realize that I’ve been taught to think of the latter question as a form of heresy.

Today, even though we historiographically reject the notion that all Anabaptists were like-minded pacifist Michael Sattlers, we (or maybe just “I” — prove me wrong) still don’t make a practice of questioning the theology of those few “true Anabaptists” (or “evangelical Anabaptists, as Harold Bender said) with whom we strongly identify. The Anabaptist movement and Mennonite church has based itself largely on a simple time line of turning from God and subsequent renewal: the early church had things right, the Catholics screwed things up, and then the Radical Reformation and the Anabaptist movement returned the church to an earlier, more pure form. As such, we (theoretically) look to the early Anabaptists and the early church as our models for what the Church should be today, and examples of a less “compromised” faith. This is one aspect of what the Concern Group was pushing for 50 years ago. I was brought up Mennonite, but I feel like I was always looking to the Amish as an example of a more faithful lifestyle, or a more biblical interpretation of Jesus’ teachings.

Which is cool. I can dig it…to a certain extent. This theology was largely shaped in reaction to a Catholic theology of culture that tended to reinforce the status quo and accepted what the Anabaptists saw as too many cultural compromises. But again, what happens when we come across bad Anabaptist theology? I don’t believe Menno’s strict enforcement of the ban and excommunication is anywhere close to God’s will for the Church, nor do I believe that Jesus entered the world through Mary “like water through a tube.” And I’m sick of talking about theological “compromise with culture” as if it’s an inherently negative thing, or as if we should feel secretive and guilty about believing that women should talk in church (and even be ordained) no matter what Paul (or his students) wrote.

So let me say loud and clear: our theology has progressed over time, and that’s a good thing. I don’t mean this to be a blanket “everything is God and God is everything” statement, which can lead to a free license to continually defend the status quo. But the Anabaptists wrote in a specific culture — I don’t need to contextualize their writings or do an in-depth cultural analysis to realize that some writings strike me as harmful and contrary to the will of God. Theology and biblical interpretation should be willing to change over time, as culture changes.

Obviously my argument has many holes. What is our framework for recognizing theological and ethical progression vs. regression? How do we maintain a distinctive witness against the negative powers of our world? Hopefully there can be a healthy balance between a theology of culture and the traditional Anabaptist/Mennonite suspicion of change. Perhaps we can use the tools of our tradition (Anabaptist values, theology and ethics) in a constant communal reinterpretation of our sacred texts (the Bible, Anabaptist writings, etc.) through the lens of both our tradition and our cultural values and beliefs. And maybe that’s what YAR is all about.

Or maybe I didn’t actually say much new. It’s a push to reject the Bible (or any fixed text) as our one and only source of the Divine authority, and it’s a defense of what I think is good about reading my own “perspective” and “ideological agenda” back into Scripture (see Nate’s comments, referred to earlier). We’ve improved on Menno Simmons, we’ve improved on Michael Sattler, and (dare I even say it?) we’ve improved on Paul.

How’s that for Mennonite humility?

Good thoughts, bro. Like you, I wonder about the drive to look back to the “original” Anabaptists as a model for our developing church identity. A few weeks ago, Brian McLaren came to Goshen College and hosted a meal for a select group of AMBS and GC students interested in the future of the Mennonite Church. The discussion quickly turned to the developing identity of the Mennonite Church, and the growing feeling among young people that there’s a lack of intentionality about the formation of that identity. Not surprisingly, pacifism was the first thing mentioned as the central point of Anabaptist/Mennonite identity, and Brian encouraged us to emphasize that aspect in the future. There was a clear sense that what the Mennonite Church really needs is to return to the perfect example of the 16th century Anabaptists.

Let’s not be nostalgiac about the early Anabaptists. They certainly had a lot of things going for them, but we’re a different Church today. Pacifism was not the central belief that held the Anabaptists together. In fact–despite the narcissistic attempts of H.S. Bender and John Horsch to convince people otherwise–not all of the early Anabaptists were even nonviolent. I’m not trying to dwell on the tiring debate over the Münster Rebellion and definitions of Anabaptism, but I think it’s time that Mennonites admit that we don’t actually want to immitate traditional Anabaptists. Don’t get me wrong–as a history major, I have to care about the past. I’m deeply attached to the Anabaptist tradition, and I highly value my Mennonite heritage. Part of valuing history, however, is being willing to recognize events and ideas that aren’t worthy of being repeated.

I agree that pacifism should be a central theme of the emerging Mennonite identity, and that our modern nonviolence owes much to the teachings of a specific group of the early Anabaptists. But let’s claim that pacifism for the future church without rewriting it into our history–let’s recognize it as something that the modern church needs to emphasize, but not something passed down to us from God through our saintly friends in Zürich. This gives us the theological freedom to grow beyond our origins and to develop theology that’s relevant today.

Enough ranting about the 16th century. On a similar note, I wonder what defines “Mennonite” today in the global community. What balance are we looking for between a common identity and diversity within the church? This past April I visited a church in South Africa that’s a member of Mennonite World Conference. It’s counted as a Mennonite church by MWC, but they know hardly anything about Mennonites, and they don’t call themselves Mennonite. Nothing about the church struck me as particularly Mennonite in any way. Is that okay? Does that betray my Western (racist?) ideas of who Mennonites are? Is the global Mennonite Church simply a place for intercultural conversation, or does it represent a common vision or common beliefs? I’m very committed to the North American Mennonite Church, but am I committed to the global Mennonite Church? I don’t see why I should push my Western white theology on them, but that’s what my Mennonite identity is based upon: European and North American white people.

More questions than answers, but that’s how I escape from the confines of daily academic writing, when I have to pretend to know stuff.

Oh, and since this is my first post: I’m a 3rd year History and Bible/Religion double-major at Goshen College. Eric is my big brother. I’m Jonny Meyer, but when I write about the Church I go by J. Alan Meyer because it’s more pretentious. Plus, who can argue with the tradition of J’s? J. Lawrence Burkholder, J. Denny Weaver, J.R. Burkholder, J. Daryl Byler, J. Howard Yoder (okay, maybe a stretch), etc. I care about the Mennonite Church–as defined by me–and I like watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer.