By Ric Hudgens
I return
to an unreal world.
Nothing seems true here.
At Oceti Sakowin
we lived outside
in the cold air
under the warm sun
as humus beings
waking from a dream. Continue reading “OCETI SAKOWIN”
By Ric Hudgens
I return
to an unreal world.
Nothing seems true here.
At Oceti Sakowin
we lived outside
in the cold air
under the warm sun
as humus beings
waking from a dream. Continue reading “OCETI SAKOWIN”
By Tommy Airey
I’m about to tear this place up over
here—tear rhymes with dear, not
bear, got it? I’m ready for a
release, a timeout from counterfeit
masculinities, stripping my soul
away with a singular option for outlet:
anger. That’s a dangerous menu for white
male men going postal over years of
pent up pain and pressure to be part
lone ranger part method actor,
redacting our true selves, abusing the very
ones nurturing us back into humanity.
A spiritual discipline to unlearn
patriarchy: let it rain.
By Ric Hudgens
Chicago thirty years ago
Hot August night
Apartments stacked close
No air conditioning
Everyone’s windows up
Taverns close at 3 am
Patrons weave their way home
Sound slides through night air
“O happy day, O happy day”
One voice ascends in a boozy baritone
“When Jesus washed . . . “
A one man marching choir
“ . . . My sins away.”
Heat, sweat, volume keep everyone awake
“O happy day, O happy day.” Continue reading “Happy Day”
By Sarah Matsui
It’s like losing your keys
backtracking
to when
where
you might have
seen them
last,
not being able to go
until you find them.
Only instead of the keys
it’s you.
By Tommy Airey (all photos from Tim Nafziger)
Everything being a constant carnival, there is no carnival left.
Victor Hugo
Minneapolis, Minnesota
The past two weekends, Redeemer Lutheran Church in North Minneapolis showcased the Carnival de Resistance, a traveling arts carnival and ceremonial theater company performing at the intersection of ecological justice and radical theology. These performers converged upon the Twin Cities during the month of September, migrating from the four corners of North America to reclaim and reframe the biblical prophetic tradition. They combined their standard four productions into two: “Rooted Wind” and “Burning River” (playing on Friday and Saturday on consecutive weekends). But the bulk of their month-long residency was devoted to uplifting projects and voices that are indigenous to this watershed, the mostly white crew consistently passing the baton to Native American leaders, people of color and women, those well-acquainted with the kind of grief and passionate resistance that it will take to create and construct Something sustainable in a culture well-adept at fooling itself into thinking America ever was great. Continue reading “When The Carnival Came to the Twin Cities”
From artist, writer and activist Gord Hill, a member of the Kwakwaka’wakw nation and author and illustrator of The 500 Years of Indigenous Resistance Comic Book (2010):

From Rev. Dan Erlander, author of Manna & Mercy and a new book called Come & See, a collection of more than 170 of his Gospel graphics, cartoons and illustrations:

An update from Mark Van Steenwyk, the co-founder of the Minneapolis Mennonite Worker:
I’ve gotten a few comments and messages expressing the assumption that The Mennonite Worker is closing, or has closed. That isn’t true (in one way), but it is true (in another way). Let me explain.
We launched the Mennonite Worker (originally called Missio Dei) in 2004. We started as an urban church with a strong commitment to living out the way of Jesus in a particular area of Minneapolis (mostly around the Cedar Riverside neighborhood). Within the first couple of years, we began a strong radical shift towards becoming an intentional community that lived more deeply into the sorts of radical practices Jesus calls us to embrace: hospitality, peacemaking, prayer, and simplicity. Continue reading “A Shift Towards Sustainable Community”
From Swoon Studio: Portrait of Nyurapayia Nampitjinpa, also known as Mrs Bennett, who helped shape the Aboriginal women’s painting movement. This shot is from 2011, when I was working inside the church in Braddock, using it as a studio for the summer because it was an interior space big enough to carve a piece on this scale. I had just been to Australia and met Mrs. Bennet, spent the day sketching her, watching her paint, listening to her stories and songs and enjoying the wildly mischievous grin she would give me. Such a tremendous spirit. She passed away a couple of years later, and I am still honored to have gotten to spend some time with her while she was alive.
