Mark Wild complicates the conventional account of postwar white flight.
What does it look like to embody the peace of the city of God?
First church members reclaimed the corner as a peaceful space. Then, as it got colder, they began talking about expanding their ministry.
When I, along with a friend and colleague, started planting a new church in Chicago about five years ago, we had lots of ideas about how to do church, but one thing was certain: we wanted to do church differently. Lots of church planters have the same mission. We told other existing churches that we weren’t in competition with them—we wanted to attract people who, for whatever reason, would never set foot in a narthex. In other words, we didn’t want our church to be too. . . . churchy.
After the funeral, I was ready to help the boy's family find a church home closer to where they lived. Instead, they stayed with us.
Vox Veniae began as a church plant growing out of the Austin Chinese Church's ministry to Asian students. But its members felt isolated.
I once nailed the doors of my church shut. I needed to keep a burglar out who'd been looking for something to huff. Still, it seemed so antigospel.
I feared that Rev. would reprise the saccharine sweetness of The Vicar of Dibley. Episode one set me straight.