Forest Hills Mennonite Church

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?