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Spring 2026 · Vol. 55 No. 1 · pp. 89–111 

Force for Peace: A Case Against Nonresistance

J Janzen

Imagine you are on the school playground during the recess break. You notice that at the far end of the yard your younger brother, Tim, a grade three student, is getting shoved around by Ronnie Bergmann and Karl Oberik, the two biggest boys in your grade five class. What would you do?

Truncated and oversimplified conceptions of Christology and discipleship combined with underdeveloped frameworks and definitional ambiguity have amounted to a piecemeal theology that obliges Anabaptist-Mennonites to be passive.

I grew up in a Mennonite family in the Mennonite Brethren church in Steinbach, Manitoba, one of the most prominent Mennonite settlements in North America and home to the Mennonite Heritage Village Museum. Whether it was at church, at school, or at home, every significant voice in my life made it clear that an authentic Christian was a peacemaker. For p. 90 instance, church sermons and Sunday school lessons taught that we were supposed to love our enemies (Luke 6:27-29) and that peacemakers would be blessed and called children of God just as Jesus said (Matt 5:9). Instead of paying back evil with evil, we were to do everything possible on our part, as St. Paul instructed, to “live peaceably with all” (Rom 12:18 NRSVue).

Meanwhile, at home, the few stories my grandparents told of their experiences in World War II Poland and Germany made it clear that fighting was not glamorous or something to be romanticized. As Christians, we were expected to have as little to do with guns or the military as possible. At the same time, my grandparents’ high regard for Mennonite Central Committee taught me that a commitment to peace required that we help the needy. After all, it was a sack of flour delivered by MCC in the winter of 1920–1921 that saved my grandfather—who was a five-year-old at the time—and his family from starvation in Stalinist Russia. 1

Yet in addition, it was my mom—the daughter of a Mennonite pastor—who taught me that a peacemaker stands up for justice by defending others. She maintained that if a bully was picking on me or a smaller kid, I had her permission to hit back if necessary. So when I saw Ronnie and Karl roughing up my brother Tim, I took action.

I have thanked God many times that my lack of height, combined with the weight of my winter clothing and boots, meant that my flying drop kick merely grazed Ronnie’s shoulder. I am also thankful that my sneak attack seems to have startled them in such a way that they did not pounce on me as I lay sprawled on the snowy ground. Instead, Ronnie and Karl quickly and quietly skulked off. And I am thankful that they never tried to cross my brother or me again.

For a long time, however, I questioned whether I had done the right thing. On multiple church occasions I have heard the story of Dirk Willems, a sixteenth-century Anabaptist leader, used to support the notion that a posture of “passivism” characterizes Christian peacemakers. 2 This understanding was reinforced by the influential Anabaptist-Mennonite theologian John Howard Yoder, whose perspective I encountered at Concord College (formerly Mennonite Brethren Bible College, now part of Canadian Mennonite University). 3 In his most famous book, The Politics of Jesus, Yoder said, “Only at one point, only on one subject—but then consistently, universally—is Jesus our example: in his cross.” 4 Yoder repeatedly encouraged a posture of passivity, arguing that committed Christians are to forsake their own legitimate interests and choose “suffering servanthood rather than violent lordship, [and] love to the point of death rather than righteousness backed by power.” 5 p. 91

The notion that a true Christian peacemaker is passively submissive—that is, nonresistant—has played itself out in people’s lived experiences, with some going so far as to say that a Christian should never use any force at all. For example, I am aware of parents who would not reprimand their children because they believed it was violent to do so. 6 I know of a young student at Canadian Mennonite University who, after completing some courses, met with a professor to “repent” of the self-defense techniques she had learned back home. Based on her class lectures and readings of Yoder, she had concluded that it would be sinful for her to resist an attacker. Despite the professor’s best attempts to persuade the student to consider other legitimate alternatives, she remained convinced that force of any kind was violent and sinful. To suffer violence was far better than to betray Jesus by using force to defend herself or others against injustice. 7 I am also aware of men and women who submitted to abuse at the hands of others because they thought that was the Christian thing to do. 8

Perhaps it is because I did not want to disagree with my mom (she has been correct about a lot of things!), but the notion that “force = violence = sin” or the assertion that Christian peacemakers ought to be passive were views I struggled to embrace. If all force is violent, then how could I tell my friends that Jesus loved them and wanted to be their friend? That would be violent, would it not? And how might a teacher assign students work? Is that not forcing expectations on them? And why vote in an election or insist on having a fair wage at work? Would those not also be failures to love sacrificially?

To put the matter differently, who is right—my mom or John Howard Yoder? 9

Gaps in the Framework of Options

North American Anabaptist-Mennonites have a chronic habit of describing peacemaking in ways that are imprecise. 10 As a result of fuzzy definitions and muddied categories, Anabaptist-Mennonites are often left guessing when it comes to the appropriate use of force. Underdeveloped frameworks, confusion regarding force and violence, and oversimplified theology encourage people to mistakenly assume that using force is sinful, and that passivity is the virtuous choice.

Underdeveloped frameworks frequently leave people ill-equipped to deal with conflict. Consider, for instance, John Howard Yoder’s discussion of the proverbial question, “If a violent person threatened to harm a loved one, what would you do?” In What Would You Do? Yoder explains that the “kill or be killed” scenario—that most people jump to—is biased and p. 92 illogical. Yoder rightly lists at least ten possible responses in the proposed scenario: one might kill; one might die attempting to defend the potential victim; one might somehow disarm the attacker, perhaps through nonlethal force or a ruse; one might distract the attacker; one might call for help; God might intervene; one might simply allow the tragedy to take place, and so on. 11

The helpful point in Yoder’s argument is that there are many ways to respond to conflict that are not necessarily retaliatory, aggressive, or vengeful. The glaring problem, however, is that Yoder focuses too narrowly on the most extreme option and presents reasons for a Christian rejection of lethal force. Yoder states, for instance, that the Christian is to “rise above the level of simple retaliation” because God “is a God who loves his enemies at the cost of his suffering.” Furthermore, the Christian is to avoid killing in defense of one’s family because “Jesus called his disciples to forsake not only houses and land, but even father and mother, spouse and child.” 12

Having argued directly against the one extreme—lethal force—by comparing it to another radical act—Jesus’ self-sacrificial love—one anticipates that Yoder will fulfill his promise to examine each of the available options “in the light of Christian ethical responsibility.” 13 Instead, he skips over the intermediary choices. He offers little more than a gesture toward the possibilities of nonlethal force. He does not discuss how a Christian might justify “firm nonviolent restraint” on a personal level. 14 Rather, Yoder develops his case for what is best described as nonresistance:

The real temptation of “good” people like us is not the crude, the crass, and the carnal. The really refined temptation . . . is that of egocentric altruism. It is to claim oneself to be the incarnation of a good and righteous cause for which others may rightly be made to suffer. It is stating one’s self-justification in the form of a duty to others. 15

Not only does Yoder suggest that the decision to defend others is egotism (masquerading as altruism), he blurs together concepts such as retaliation, aggression, and vengeance with nonviolent restraint and nonlethal defense. He thus implies that an act of restraint (e.g., pepper spraying an attacker) is as violent as an act of vengeance (e.g., killing). 16 Readers are given the strong impression that martyrdom is preferable to any use of force. 17

In sum, with the contrast between killing and Jesus’ love as the backdrop, and having glossed over alternatives, Yoder offers an underdeveloped framework that obfuscates matters. 18 Add to this his suggestion p. 93 that defending oneself or others is selfish in orientation and disobedient to Jesus, and Yoder’s rhetoric indicates that any use of force is sinful, and that passive submission is ideal. 19

Deliberately or otherwise, many Anabaptist-Mennonites have followed in a similar mode to that of Yoder and frame the discussion according to false dichotomies. Anabaptist-Mennonites routinely argue that one must choose between two extremes: pursue self-preservation “at all costs” or forgive; 20 choose between vengeance (or retaliation, or retribution) and peace; 21 decide to kill or to love. 22 Most Anabaptist-Mennonites, however, deal in situations much more variegated. For instance, the typical mother who disciplines her son does not have vengeance in mind. The elder team that encourages a church member to reconsider her choice to marry a non-Christian does not have killing in mind.

Frameworks that furnish the imagination with a wider array of responses to conflict and violence are helpful. It is extremely valuable to enable people to understand that resisting evil peacefully frequently demands extra effort to think creatively, and often requires some risk taking! Yet all too often the frameworks have been piecemeal, leaving grassroots Anabaptist-Mennonites guessing. 23 Ambiguity encourages them to remain passive out of fear that they might do the wrong thing. 24

Categorical Confusion: Force and Violence

Alongside fragmentary frameworks, categorical confusion has short-circuited Anabaptist-Mennonite peacemaking. In particular—and as the discussion of Yoder above already indicates—Anabaptist-Mennonites trade in vague and unhelpful definitions. Commentators often leave one guessing as to what they actually mean when discussing concepts such as “force,” 25 or “pacifism,” 26 or “peace ideals.” 27 For example, in tones that echo Yoder, Gerald Biesecker-Mast speaks about the church’s witness being “a weaponless, nonviolent, graceful embrace of enemies—and acceptance of subjection and weakness rather than authority and power as the place from which that grace is offered and in which the reign of God is first made visible.” One is left to wonder: is all power and all force violent? 28

Nebulous definitions have impaired clear thinking and confident action in everyday life, leaving many Anabaptist-Mennonites passive because of uncertainty and guilt. 29 For example, a number of Canadian Anabaptist-Mennonite women have stated that they are not as fearful of strangers (the “external world”) as they are of “the world right close to us,” that is, what churches and families are capable of doing. 30 This is hardly surprising, for if Anabaptist-Mennonites accept the idea that defending p. 94 a person is simply egotism masquerading as altruism, and if they equate force with violence (which is simply incompatible with Jesus’ sacrificial love), then why would women expect their fellow Anabaptist-Mennonites to come to their aid?

Moreover, if defending oneself is wrong, then women are essentially left in the horrible position of having to wait until the next moment of violence, thinking that when it does arrive, they simply must submit and forgive. 31 Furthermore, the same women who have responded to violence with force have been left feeling guilty. 32 As one Anabaptist-Mennonite woman who resisted an attacker explained, “she was [initially] more upset by her own violent reaction than she was by the fact that someone had attacked her.” Upon further reflection, the woman concluded that she wanted her daughter to be raised with an understanding of peace that would not leave her feeling guilty if she were to defend herself forcefully against an assault. 33

Persuasion, Coercion, and Compulsion

People have thus been distracted from the fact that there are different kinds of force that can be—and often are—used in ways that are nonviolent, and that force is different from violence. Force is commonly understood as the use of power to effect change of some kind. 34 As Duane Friesen helpfully points out, force is an umbrella term for an assortment of persuasive, coercive, and compulsive actions, be they physical, verbal, or otherwise. 35

At one end of the spectrum, persuasion describes actions that try to affect the behavior of another “without denying their freedom to accept or reject a point of view.” 36 For example, on numerous occasions Gandhi went on a hunger strike. People could have ignored him, kept on with what they were doing, and simply let him die. Instead, Gandhi’s actions convinced people to change their minds. One might also tell one’s story as boldly and creatively as possible, as Martin Luther King Jr. did in his “I Have a Dream” speech. 37 In the scenario presented above, I might have swayed Karl and Ronnie to stop bullying my brother by saying, “This isn’t really as much fun as you might have playing soccer with me and Tim.” 38 Whether it is via argument, through suffering or martyrdom at the hands of an oppressor, or through self-inflicted suffering, one attempts to catalyze change in another person by exercising persuasive force.

Coercion falls somewhere in the middle of the continuum. Coercion refers to pressure put on someone to act or think in a certain way because of likely sanctions. Forms of coercion include political action, such as voting or lobbying. For instance, a politician is aware that if she chooses to p. 95 flout the wishes of her constituency, she will lose votes. Similarly, coercive force is also applied through indirect action such as strikes and boycotts, as well as via disapproval or ostracism. In the scenario with Ronnie and Karl, I might have coerced them by yelling, “If you don’t stop, I’ll tell the teacher!” An even more effective way might have been to say, “If you stop hitting my brother, I’ll pay you each five dollars.” In any case, coercive force goes beyond persuasion because the costs to the person who is not reconciled—be they positive or negative—are clear. 39

To take things further, compulsion denotes actions that physically restrict people from continuing to do what they have been doing or compel them to do something that they would not otherwise do. Forms of compulsive force would include, for example, the physical prevention of suicide or criminal acts and the use of drugs that make it impossible for a person to behave any other way. A positive example is antidepressant medicine that induces a person’s body to generate chemicals that leave them feeling healthier. In the case of Ronnie and Karl, I might have compelled them to stop by hugging them or chasing them away with a barrage of well-aimed snowballs. Compulsion thus lies at the opposite end of the scale in relation to persuasion. Persuasion, coercion, and compulsion, understood in these ways, can be violent, but they may also be nonviolent. It is worth noting that as one moves along the spectrum from persuasion to compulsion, the risk of violence tends to increase.

It follows that force and violence are not the same thing. Violence describes the violation or destruction of the dignity or integrity of a person. Violence can be physical or bodily harm; it can include an attack on a person’s emotional, spiritual, or psychological well-being; it can also include the omission of acts necessary for life. 40 Violence can be direct or indirect, planned or inadvertent, and violence can be committed by individuals, institutions, and social structures. In any case, violence is damage done to a person and thus distinguishable from acts of disruption, destruction of property, and breaking of laws.

Furthermore, all violence is not “equally harmful.” One may heal from a broken arm, but one does not recover from death; one may recover from the stresses of negotiating the financial losses suffered as a result of a boycott, but one may never recover confidence from the verbal abuse of one’s employer. 41 At the same time, some forms of violence are deemed worthwhile. For instance, a patient will permit a doctor to slice open her chest, crack apart her ribs, stop her heart to then cut out a tumor, and then staple and suture things back together. That patient is willing to submit to violence for the sake of life. p. 96

With these definitions of force and violence in mind, it becomes clear that those who have a Yoderian-inspired outlook miss wide of the mark when force and violence are deemed to be one and the same and, therefore, that force should always be avoided. By the same token, categorical clarity opens up a range of possibilities in which Anabaptist-Mennonites might exercise power—to be persuasive, apply pressure, or compel certain behaviors in ways that have integrity and creatively contribute to peaceableness in the world.

Oversimplified Theology

In addition to the philosophical flaws outlined above, two interrelated theological emphases in the areas of Christology and discipleship have steered the Anabaptist-Mennonite peace witness in the direction of passive nonresistance. When it comes to Christology, Anabaptist-Mennonite theologians have tended to focus on Jesus’ life at the expense of other facets of his career, which has resulted in a “stylized Jesus.” 42 Yoder, for instance, tends to treat Christ’s self-sacrificial suffering as more important than the resurrection. The “way of the cross” is more than just a means to salvation; it is the good news itself. 43 Similarly, J. Denny Weaver’s The Nonviolent Atonement (a recommended resource in Mennonite Central Committee’s booklet on peacemaking) 44 takes the unorthodox step of declaring that Jesus’ mission “was not to die but to make visible the reign of God.” 45 Weaver thus argues that Jesus “could have achieved universal redemption without the cross. His ministry of healing the sick, delivering the oppressed, embracing the outsider, and loving the enemy was enough to establish God’s rule.” 46

Yet such views of Jesus overlook significant biblical motifs. For one, the New Testament is overwhelmingly in favor of the view that Jesus’ death is necessary for, among other things, the fulfillment of Scripture and the forgiveness of sins. 47 For another, the New Testament demonstrates that sinful and broken people are liberated and ultimately transformed and regenerated as a result of Christ’s death and resurrection. Furthermore, even though the death and resurrection of Jesus are central in the gospel story, a large portion of the New Testament focuses on what Jesus is doing now. The New Testament story goes on at length to say that Jesus governs both the church and the world, and that Jesus empowers the church through the Holy Spirit to further God’s kingdom on earth today. 48

When it comes to discipleship, contemporary Anabaptist-Mennonite theologians tend to assume that Jesus is “the sum total of God”—another theological mistake. 49 As a result, the actions of Jesus frequently receive p. 97 the most attention while the importance of the mystical and sacramental dimensions of God and the Holy Spirit are ignored. 50 Consequently, the importance of imitating Jesus is elevated to such an extent that the equally important “act” of trusting and allowing divine grace and the Spirit to bring about new life and inner renewal is eclipsed. 51

In fact, based on this line of thinking, contemporary Anabaptist-Mennonites are inclined to emphasize Jesus’ sacrificial suffering to the extent that suffering is deemed the ultimate expression of discipleship. For example, Yoder repeatedly insists that Jesus is “normative man”: Jesus thought and lived in concrete ways that Christian disciples are to mimic in “real life.” 52 In particular, Yoder claims that every member of the body of Christ is called to absolute nonresistance and the suffering that inevitably follows. 53 Furthermore, Yoder claims that suffering is “not a detour or a hurdle on the way to the kingdom, nor is it even the way to the kingdom; it is the kingdom come.” 54

Unfortunately, this mortifying view of discipleship ignores some key themes of the gospel. The biblical story claims that suffering is not the kingdom itself. In a fallen world that frequently resists the purposes of God, suffering is a consequence. When faithful obedience in the service of God’s kingdom comes into conflict with the “powers of this present age,” suffering ensues. 55 As George Pixley writes, “A Christian does not desire suffering, but will accept it as part of his or her mission should it prove impossible to escape it after all strategies of defense fail.” 56 Furthermore, the New Testament ends with the vision of God’s kingdom doing away with suffering for eternity. 57

In addition, the assumption that everything Jesus did is to be replicated by Christians in their own lives reveals a fundamental misunderstanding of Christian mission. 58 Indeed, the focus on the suffering of Christ demonstrates a limited short-term view of God’s action in the world. 59 The biblical story demonstrates that Jesus’ task was unique in important ways. For example, Jesus fulfilled the promises to Israel, inaugurated the kingdom of God, and was called to be the Savior of the world and the Lord of resurrection-life—tasks that Christians are not called to imitate. As Harriet Sider Bicksler notes, “Jesus suffered on the cross to atone for us, so that we don’t have to atone for ourselves.” 60

What is more, Scripture calls the church not simply to do Jesus’ work, but to extend his work. 61 Christians are to improvise, so to speak; they are to act in new ways that are consistent with the story so far and remain true to the author’s intentions. So while the death and resurrection of Jesus are central, the New Testament writers focus on what Jesus is doing now. And p. 98 what is happening now is that Jesus is empowering Christians through the Holy Spirit to go beyond what Jesus did. Christians are to live and act in ways that bear witness to Jesus in places Jesus never went (such as Rome and Steinbach) and to make disciples of people Jesus never met (such as Ethiopian eunuchs and Ronnie and Karl). 62

Conclusion

In sum, John Howard Yoder and others are off track in focusing too narrowly on Jesus’ suffering death as the benchmark for one’s lived faith, and they mislead Anabaptist-Mennonites in their insistence that submission to suffering is the only posture Christians are to adopt. 63 These truncated and oversimplified conceptions of Christology and discipleship, combined with underdeveloped frameworks and definitional ambiguity, have amounted to a piecemeal theology that obliges Anabaptist-Mennonites to be passive.

So where does this leave us today?

On a lighter note, it required a master’s degree to confirm that my mom could have perhaps done more to coach me so that I had more options available to me than to hit back (if necessary). Yet she was correct to suggest that force could be used in nonviolent ways. 64 In that sense, my mom stands squarely within the biblical story and the Christian tradition, both of which invite us to join the company of Jesus followers that exercise what power we have to be peacemakers—people who work to see the world experience God’s flourishing wholeness.

On a more substantive note, when it comes to peacemaking, biblical resources permit and bless the use of force. For example, when Jesus instructs his followers to not resist an evildoer but to turn the other cheek or go the extra mile (Matt 5:38-42; Luke 6:27-31), he is encouraging the nonviolent use of persuasive and coercive force to resist injustice. 65 Or consider Matthew 18:15-20 where Jesus commands his followers to exercise persuasive and coercive force in caring for a member of one’s community. And in Luke 9:1-6 and 10:17-20 Jesus gives his disciples power and authority to use compulsive force to drive out demons and cure diseases.

Note that force is not to be used haphazardly. 66 In particular, Christians are called to exercise force in ways that contribute to flourishing wholeness—shalom—in the world. Given that aim, violence is to be avoided as much as possible. Accomplishing that objective involves, for one, situational awareness. For example, drawing on Romans 13:1-4, early Anabaptists allowed that state force was justified provided that it was restricted to “earthly matters” like crime prevention and policing, but they insisted that government power had no jurisdiction whatsoever p. 99 in the affairs of the church. 67 In other words, certain types of force that are suitable in one sphere are inappropriate in other circumstances. 68

With the preservation and flourishing of goodness as the goal, with an awareness that each scenario is unique and calls forth discerned wisdom, and with an understanding that a spectrum of options exist, a Christian might be more likely to deploy force in appropriately creative ways. 69 For example, if the chairperson of the school Parent Advisory Committee routinely belittles fellow members, a parent—aware that coercive and compulsive force are likely to escalate matters—can forgo a combative posture in which hands are clenched as fists and instead adopt a preventive posture in which hands are held up with palms facing outward to say “stop” to injustice as gently, persistently, and nonviolently as they are able. The parent may exercise persuasive force through humor or through asking questions that redirect the focus of conversation, and so on.

The basic rubric sketched above is helpful when applied to questions of policing and military involvement as well. To begin, it is helpful to keep in mind that police forces are different from military units. In policing, for example, there is more freedom of choice than there is in the military when it comes to the kind of work one does. It is also helpful to remember that policing differs from one context to another. For instance, American police forces are—for various reasons—more militarized than the Canadian RCMP. British police officers are even more different because most do not carry firearms. All of this is to say that a Christian might work in a police department where there is never the possibility of needing to use compulsive force that risks lethal violence. 70 Given the general structure and purpose of the military, it is safe to assume that a Christian’s options are more limited. Even so, Christians who are compelled to join the military may find themselves in circumstances—say, for example, a UN Peacekeeping mission—where the persuasion-coercion-compulsion spectrum may simply help a person on patrol to opt for a coercive rather than a compulsive response and thereby avoid making matters worse.

To bring matters closer to home, seeking peace requires more than prevention, more than a defensive position in relation to one’s enemies. Peacemaking requires that Christians go on the offensive, so to speak, but the force used is that of extending one’s hands in an offer of forgiveness, love, generosity, and the story of Christ’s resurrection. Christians take the initiative by generously offering new beginnings, by courageously working at the difficult task of creating new ways of relating. They go the extra mile of thinking through how they can more effectively parent their children in peaceable ways. For example, if a one-year-old child throws food p. 100 from the high chair, a parent, instead of taking the extreme—and likely violent—step of spanking (compulsive force), can opt for a stern—yet nonviolent—rebuke (persuasive force). If that same child is still throwing food around the room at age five, a parent can lay out nonviolent consequences (coercive force) in an effort to help the child grow into flourishing.

Similarly, Christians with a more nuanced understanding of force can take the risk of writing policy that curbs some behaviors (coercive force) in order to preserve fairness. They can choose to bite their tongue and listen to their annoying neighbor with whom they disagree, knowing that sympathy and patience can build bridges (persuasive force). They can give an employee an honest performance review (persuasive, coercive—and even compulsive?—force) with the goal of seeing them flourish.

Anabaptist-Mennonites’ efforts at making peace are risky because outcomes cannot be controlled. Indeed, efforts at using force in peaceable ways may not lead to the change God desires. For instance, while it frequently takes considerable time and effort to promote peace, very little is required to wreck peace. Furthermore, it is extremely difficult to measure the effectiveness of peacemaking when done well. For example, it will never be fully known this side of eternity how many wars have been avoided because Mennonite Central Committee or Mennonite Economic Development Associates did the quiet work of providing jobs for people by investing in small businesses, developing infrastructure that was necessary to deliver products to customers, and fostering markets that pay a fair price.

And sometimes our best efforts to act in nonviolent ways still result in harm. 71 A more robust framework with greater clarity, especially regarding force and violence, at least opens up the possibility that Christians can limit—if not avoid—doing violence, and at the same time act in a way that fosters a deeper and wider peace.

Despite those unknowns, Christians are called to be a force for peace. In fact, not only do they promote peace, they go beyond in proactively blessing their enemies. Hands held out to say “stop” become hands outstretched as if to embrace. The danger, of course, is that the blessing will be misunderstood, or ridiculed, or ignored. But Anabaptist-Mennonites risk the pain of having the offering rejected because the promise is that ultimately God’s resurrection blessing will set the world right once and for all and forever. One day, the Prince of Peace will bring wholeness in all its fullness on earth as it is in heaven. That is something worth contending for with all the creative and nonviolent force to which one can give oneself. p. 101

Notes

  1. Peacemaking is very much central to Anabaptist-Mennonite faith and self-understanding. See Confession of Faith in a Mennonite Perspective (Scottdale, PA: Herald, 1995), 81–84; Confession of Faith of the General Conference of Mennonite Brethren Churches, 1999 Edition: Commentary and Pastoral Application (Winnipeg, MB: Kindred, 1999), 147–52.
  2. Willems, arrested for his Anabaptist convictions, escaped from prison early in the winter of 1569. One of the deputies in pursuit of Willems fell through ice into a river. Rather than escape to freedom, Willems turned back and pulled his pursuer to safety. As a reward, Willems was arrested and later burned at the stake. In contrast, I have never heard a story told in church settings about the Bavarian Anabaptist Balthasar Hubmaier. Between 1524 and 1527 Hubmaier worked with city officials in both Waldshut and Nikolsburg to establish Anabaptism as the official religion. Hubmaier rejected pacifism, believing that Christians were “especially equipped . . . to use the material sword” because Christian government possessed the “true ethical prerequisites for the functioning of human community.” He also sanctioned Christian participation in a defensive war in order to protect one’s neighbor. See Christof Windhorst, “Balthasar Hubmaier: Professor, Preacher, Politician,” in Profiles of Radical Reformers: Biographical Sketches from Thomas Müntzer to Paracelsus, ed. Hans-Jürgen Goertz (Scottdale, PA: Herald, 1982), 151–52 (quotes, 151); see also Balthasar Hubmaier, “On the Sword,” in Balthasar Hubmaier: Theologian of Anabaptism, ed. and trans. H. Wayne Pipkin and John H. Yoder (Scottdale, PA: Herald, 1989), 520–21, and C. Arnold Snyder, Anabaptist History and Theology: An Introduction (Kitchener, ON: Pandora, 1995), 151, 181, 183, 192–93, 216–20.
  3. John Howard Yoder (1927–1997) is the most significant Anabaptist-Mennonite theologian of the twentieth century. James McClendon, Stanley Hauerwas, Richard Mouw, Jim Wallis, and Mark Hatfield laud Yoder for his impact on Christian thinking about the church and social ethics. See, e.g., Craig A. Carter, The Politics of the Cross: The Theology and Social Ethics of John Howard Yoder (Grand Rapids, MI: Brazos, 2001), 15–16, 23; Earl Zimmerman, Practicing the Politics of Jesus: The Origin and Significance of John Howard Yoder’s Social Ethics (Telford, PA: Cascadia, 2007), 12–13, 23. Yoder shaped Canadian Anabaptist-Mennonites through his teaching, prolific writing, and leadership with Mennonite Central Committee so that for many years, many Anabaptist-Mennonites considered Yoder to be “the definitive interpreter of what it means to be Anabaptist in the contemporary situation” (A. James Reimer, Mennonites and Classical Theology: Dogmatic Foundations for Christian Ethics [Kitchener, p. 102 ON: Pandora, 2001], 603n4, 249, 292). Since the 1990s, revelations of Yoder’s sexual abuse of women have forced a reconsideration of his legacy. He is no longer regarded with the same esteem—and rightly so. See Rachel Waltner Goossen, “ ‘Defanging the Beast’: Mennonite Reponses to John Howard Yoder’s Sexual Abuse,” Mennonite Quarterly Review 89, no. 1 (2015): 7–80, and Jamie Pitts, “Anabaptist Re-vision: On John Howard Yoder’s Misrecognized Sexual Politics,” Mennonite Quarterly Review 89, no. 1 (2015): 153–70.
  4. J. H. Yoder, The Politics of Jesus: Vicit Agnus Noster, 2nd ed. (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1994), 95; see also 98, 129, 131.
  5. See J. H. Yoder, Politics of Jesus, 232–33; idem, Body Politics: Five Practices of the Christian Community Before the Watching World (Waterloo, ON: Herald, 1992), 41–42; idem, The Christian Witness to the State (Scottdale, PA: Herald, 2002), 41–42, 71–72; idem, Discipleship as Political Responsibility, trans. Timothy J. Geddert (Scottdale, PA: Herald, 2003), 58–59; idem, For the Nations: Essays Public and Evangelical (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1997), 174–79; idem, He Came Preaching Peace (Scottdale, PA: Herald, 1985), 18–20, 26, 33, 43, 66–68; and idem, The Original Revolution: Essays on Christian Pacifism (Scottdale, PA: Herald, 2003), 41–42, 51, 56–57, 63, 72, 134–39.
  6. This story was related to me by Bruce Guenther, Associate Professor of Church History and Mennonite Studies, Mennonite Brethren Biblical Seminary (interview by author, Abbotsford, BC, Nov 2007).
  7. Personal conversation with Pierre Gilbert, Associate Professor of Biblical Studies and Theology, Canadian Mennonite University, March 2005.
  8. Brett Clarkson, “Sex Assault Victim Claims ‘Mennonite Coverup,’ ” The Standard, December 17, 2008, https://www.bishop-accountability.org/news2008/11_12/2008_12_17_Clarkson_SexAssault.htm.
  9. To be clear, Yoder does not appear to have said that force, violence, and sin are one and the same. However, as I intend to demonstrate in what follows, Yoder advocated for a passive posture in such a way that one might easily follow Yoder’s logic to that conclusion.
  10. As noted by LeRoy Friesen, “Implications for Peace and Justice Witness,” in Freedom and Discipleship: Liberation Theology in Anabaptist Perspective, ed. Daniel S. Schipani (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1989), 176. It is not entirely clear why Anabaptist-Mennonites are frequently imprecise when it comes to terms such as violence or pacifism or nonresistance. Nor is it entirely clear why Anabaptist-Mennonites have been overly focused on realities external to the church—such as war, politics, and labor relations—and have tended to ignore the daily challenges of life in the congregation and the home. Perhaps Anabaptist-Mennonite definitions have been unclear because their focus has been too narrow. Or perhaps the focus has been too narrow because the p. 103 understanding of pacifism or peacemaking was too shallow or vague to begin with. Of course, both habits seem to have reinforced each other. I sketch out numerous factors for this definitional ambiguity in “A Complicated Peace: The Problem of Passivism in Canadian Anabaptist-Mennonite Peacemaking” (MCS Thesis, Regent College, 2011). See also Jonathan Janzen, “Passing on Peace? Canadian Mennonite Brethren and Peacemaking,” in Renewing Identity and Mission: Mennonite Brethren Reflections After 150 Years, ed. Abe J. Dueck, Bruce L. Guenther, and Doug Heidebrecht (Winnipeg, MB: Kindred, 2011), 118–23.
  11. J. H. Yoder, What Would You Do? A Serious Answer to a Standard Question, expanded ed. (Scottdale, PA: Herald, 1992), 24–36.
  12. Yoder, What Would You Do?, 38–40.
  13. Yoder, What Would You Do?, 12.
  14. Yoder, What Would You Do?, 40.
  15. Yoder, What Would You Do?, 42. Ironically, Yoder’s phrasing could be applied to his own position.
  16. Yoder, What Would You Do?, 37, 40. Yoder does this elsewhere as well. See Yoder, He Came Preaching Peace, 60–61; idem, Original Revolution, 45–49, 130–31; and idem, Politics of Jesus, 98, 109.
  17. Yoder, What Would You Do?, 41.
  18. The irony is that Yoder repeatedly chided others for their definitional obscurity. See Yoder, Christian Witness, 90; idem, For the Nations, 17; idem, Politics of Jesus, 137.
  19. Yoder, What Would You Do?, 13, 20–21. This ambiguity is particularly troubling considering the fact that Yoder’s ministerial credentials were suspended in 1992 because he had sexually abused women, including students (Tom Price, “John Howard Yoder Disciplined for Sexual Misconduct,” The Mennonite, 28 July 1992, 325–26). Were Yoder’s students vulnerable to his misconduct because they believed it was wrong to defend themselves, that it was more Christ-like to be nonresistant? While Yoder submitted to a lengthy disciplinary reconciliation process, it left “some unfinished agenda” (Erland Waltner, “Memorial Tribute to John Howard Yoder,” Conrad Grebel Review 16, no. 2 [1998]: 107; “Disciplinary Process with Yoder Concludes,” Gospel Herald, 18 June 1996, 11). For example, Yoder still did not fathom the extent of the damage caused by his actions (see the comments on “John Howard Yoder,” The Last Good Name Blog, https://lastgoodname.blogspot.com/2006/06/john-howard-yoder.html). See also the articles in Mennonite Quarterly Review, 89, no. 1 (2015).
  20. Jim S. Amstutz, Threatened with Resurrection: Self-preservation and Christ’s Way of Peace (Scottdale, PA: Herald, 2002). p. 104
  21. Donald B. Kraybill, The Upside-Down Kingdom, rev. ed. (Scottdale, PA: Herald, 1990), 196.
  22. David Augsburger, Dissident Discipleship: A Spirituality of Self-Surrender, Love of God, and Love of Neighbor (Grand Rapids, MI: Brazos, 2006), 141.
  23. As one Canadian Anabaptist-Mennonite woman has noted, discussions about peacemaking have focused on theories and “hypothetical situations which we [have] a very slim chance of ever encountering, or militaristic kinds of things that are very real but aren’t half as immediate as living your life every day.” The dearth of sensible scenarios thus discourages appropriate thinking and confident action in response to wrongdoing, and encourages passivism instead. See Rosalee Bender, Eileen Klassen Hamm, Wendy Kroeker, Carol Penner, Valerie Regehr, Gloria Neufeld Redekop, and Kathy Shantz, Piecework: A Women’s Peace Theology (Mennonite Central Committee Canada, 1997), 47–48, as well as Carol Penner, “Forging a New Language,” MCC Women’s Concerns Report, no. 164 (Nov–Dec 2002): 6–8.
  24. Ted Koontz observes that a “nonresistant piety” has developed that can lead people to accept a “doormat” view of the self and to accept being devalued or abused (Ted Koontz, “Grace to You and Peace: Nonresistance as Piety,” Mennonite Quarterly Review 69, no. 3 [1995]: 356–57). See also Harriet Sider Bicksler, “Response,” in Peace Theology and Violence Against Women, ed. Elizabeth G. Yoder (Elkhart, IN: Institute of Mennonite Studies, 1992), 117.
  25. David Esau, “Lamb Power,” Mennonite Brethren Herald, 27 September 1996, 8–9. Esau contrasts “lamb power” (suffering) with “tiger power” (politics and force) and, without actually saying it, gives the strong impression that any use of force is counter to the way of Jesus.
  26. In “Caring for the Least of These,” Canadian Mennonite, 14 April 2008, 4–12, Ross W. Muir presents four responses to the UN’s Responsibility to Protect doctrine. It is interesting to compare the comments of Ernie Regehr and Ted Koontz. Regehr is consistent in distinguishing between force and violence or force and war. In his view, one can use force nonviolently. Koontz, by way of contrast, is less precise, appearing to suggest that force and violence are one and the same. Koontz writes that “the recent argument for [right to protect] is really just the newest shape of the argument against pacifism” (12). The veiled assumption that seems to be at play is the belief that pacifism rejects all force because force is bad. Is that what Koontz really means? He does not say.
  27. Some writers, of course, are crystal clear as to what they mean by violence or nonresistance and ought to be commended, whether one agrees with their definitions or not. For example, Duane Ruth-Heffelbower equates coercion and force with violence (“Solving the Problem of Violence,” Direction 32 [Spring 2003]: 62). I do not think that force or coercion are necessarily p. 105 violent. Likewise, I disagree with Mervin Dick, who states that “the way of peace” is nonresistance—not defending oneself in any circumstance (“The Way of Peace,” in The Power of the Lamb, ed. John E. Toews and Gordon Nickel [Winnipeg, MB: Kindred, 1986], 77–78).
  28. Gerald Biesecker-Mast, “Seeking a Better Country and the Peace of the City,” The Mennonite, 7 Oct 2003, 8–10, although to be fair, Biesecker-Mast is much clearer as to what he means in “Towards a Radical Postmodern Anabaptist Vision,” Conrad Grebel Review 13, no. 1 (1995): 55–68.
  29. Contemporary Anabaptist-Mennonites muddy the waters further by making exaggerated claims. For example, William Klassen claims that every time it has “truly been tried” to love one’s enemy, it has “worked” (Love of Enemies: The Way to Peace [Philadelphia, PA: Fortress 1984], 135). Really? Who cannot think of at least one instance in which someone genuinely attempted to love an enemy and it did not “work”? Or consider David Augsburger’s claim that “any increase in coercion causes a corresponding decrease in humanity” (David Augsburger, 134). How does one measure that? Similarly, Paul Redekop declares, “many promises of punishment—to deter crime, to teach lessons, to put an end to unacceptable behavior, to teach discipline, and many others—[are] universally unfulfilled” (Changing Paradigms: Punishment and Restorative Discipline [Scottdale, PA: Herald, 2008], 261. Yet as John H. Redekop indicates, promises of punishment do teach lessons and do deter unacceptable behavior (“Is Punishment All Bad?” Mennonite Brethren Herald, 1 October 2008, 37). In addition to these tendentious claims, Anabaptist-Mennonites tend to tell only those stories in which nonviolence or pacifism is successful. For example, see Myron S. Augsburger, The Robe of God: Reconciliation, the Believers Church Essential (Scottdale, PA: Herald, 2000), 211–12, 224 and N. Gerald Shenk, Hope Indeed! Remarkable Stories of Peacemakers (Intercourse, PA: Good, 2008). To be fair, Anabaptist-Mennonites are attempting to provide alternatives to the much larger collection of stories that declare “might is right.” Yet Anabaptist-Mennonites do themselves and others a disservice when they avoid wrestling with stories in which individuals refuse to repent or become accountable. Two refreshingly noteworthy exceptions are Ronald C. Arnett, Dwell in Peace: Applying Nonviolence to Everyday Relationships (Elgin, IL: Brethren, 1980) and Caleb Miller, “How Can We Just Sit There and Let the Innocent Suffer?” Brethren in Christ History and Life 26 (August 2003): 62–80.
  30. Bender, et al., 50.
  31. “Raised on Forgiveness,” MCC Women’s Concerns Report, no. 74 (Sept-Oct 1987): 7–8; “Just Pray,” MCC Women’s Concerns Report, no. 164 (Nov-Dec, 2002): 14; Beth Graybill, “Pacifism and Women’s Resistance: Toward a New Theology,” MCC Women’s Concerns Report, no. 164 (Nov-Dec, 2002): 3–5. p. 106
  32. Bender, et al., 53–54.
  33. Bender, et al., 47. See also Tammy Sutherland, “Self-defense: A Journey Toward Nonviolence,” MCC Women’s Concerns Report, no. 137 (Mar-Apr 1998): 12–13.
  34. Power is, to quote Andy Crouch, the ability to “make something of the world.” While power includes the ability to shape material reality, it also includes the ability to “interpret the world” and to shape the “horizons of possibility”—that is, to “make sense” of reality (Playing God: Redeeming the Gift of Power [Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity, 2013), 17–18; cf. James Davison Hunter, To Change the World: The Irony, Tragedy, and Possibility of Christianity in the Late Modern World [Oxford University Press, 2010], 177–79). With that in mind, power is distinct from force; the latter is a subset of power, for power can be exercised in a number of ways. For example, as James Davison Hunter observes, love has power “for it draws and compels people in ways that they may not desire in themselves” (182). Or consider David Fitch’s observation that there is a strength—a power—in submission (Reckoning with Power: Why the Church Fails When It’s on the Wrong Side of Power [Grand Rapids, MI: Brazos, 2024], 140–41). Love, submission, and force are three distinct ways by which humans can “make something of the world” (Crouch).
  35. I base this continuum on Duane K. Friesen’s work in Christian Peacemaking and International Conflict: A Realist Pacifist Perspective (Scottdale, PA: Herald, 1986), 60–61, 152–53.
  36. Friesen, 152.
  37. The “peace prayers” led by Christian Fuhrer serve as another example of persuasive force. The pastor of a church in Leipzig, East Germany, Fuhrer led prayer meetings that grew to include 70,000 people. The fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989 is attributed—at least in part—to the “peace prayers.”
  38. I might have also influenced them to behave otherwise by saying, “Hit me instead!” Or I may have convinced them by asking, “Guys, what’s the problem? Can you stop hitting my brother and tell me what’s wrong?”
  39. Duane Friesen explains: “Coercion that ‘orders’ human social behavior into patterns of cooperation that is not exploitive is essential to human social life” (60). For example, ostracism (threatened or actual) can be a nonviolent pressure that prevents one from abusing a child.
  40. For example, choosing not to feed one’s children will damage them.
  41. Ronald C. Arnett, “Conflict Viewed from the Peace Tradition,” Brethren Life and Thought 23, no. 2 (1978): 95; Duane Friesen, 143–44, 147–53; Glen H. Stassen and Michael L. Westmoreland-White, “Defining Violence and Nonviolence,” in Teaching Peace, ed. J. Denny Weaver and Gerald Biesecker-Mast (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2003), 18–20, 24–25. p. 107
  42. A number of authors have noted this tendency. See J. Lawrence Burkholder, “Nonresistance, Nonviolent Resistance, and Power,” in Kingdom, Cross, and Community: Essays on Mennonite Themes in Honor of Guy F. Hershberger, ed. John Richard Burkholder and Calvin Redekop (Scottdale, PA: Herald, 1976), 134; Lydia Harder, “Power and Authority in Mennonite Theological Development,” in Power, Authority, and the Anabaptist Tradition, ed. Benjamin W. Redekop and Calvin W. Redekop (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2001), 93; John W. Miller, “Schleitheim Pacifism and Modernity: Notes Toward the Construction of a Contemporary Mennonite Pacifist Apologetic,” Conrad Grebel Review 3, no. 2 (1985): 160–61.
  43. Reimer, 293. Like Reimer, Carol Penner observes that there is very little about the message of liberation from suffering in Yoder’s work (“Mennonite Silences and Feminist Voices: Peace Theology and Violence Against Women,” [MA thesis, University of St. Michael’s College, 1999], 40–41). See also Carter, 236.
  44. Esther Epp-Tiessen, Pursuing Peace: The Essence of Mennonite Central Committee, rev. ed. (Winnipeg, MB: Mennonite Central Committee Canada, 2009), 21–22, 42.
  45. J. Denny Weaver, The Nonviolent Atonement (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2001), 72. Elsewhere, Weaver declares that Jesus made God’s reign visible and freed Christians from the powers of sin and evil (45, 58).
  46. Christopher D. Marshall, “Atonement, Violence and the Will of God: A Sympathetic Response to J. Denny Weaver’s The Nonviolent Atonement,” Mennonite Quarterly Review 77, no. 1 (2003): 81.
  47. Marshall, 82–90. See also N. T. Wright, The Last Word: Beyond the Bible Wars to a New Understanding of the Authority of Scripture (HarperSanFrancisco, 2005), 42–43. This is only one of many flaws in Weaver’s project.
  48. Indeed, the New Testament account describes seven important states in the career of Jesus: incarnation, inauguration, crucifixion, resurrection, ascension, governance and intercession, and return (John G. Stackhouse Jr., “Christ,” Systematic Theology B: Creation, Christology, Soteriology and Anthropology lectures, Regent College, Vancouver, BC, Spring 2007).
  49. Reimer, 296.
  50. Reimer calls this “Jesusology” (272). Reimer adds that Anabaptist-Mennonites tend to think that because Jesus is nonviolent, God is too. Yet as he explains, that is a dangerous reduction of “the God beyond all human ethical systems, beyond our rules of good and bad” (492). By this, Reimer means that because God is Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, the nature and workings of God continue to have a hidden, mysterious quality to them. As a result, God is love but not necessarily pacifist, as God’s dealings with humanity in the flood and with the Egyptians during Israel’s exodus clearly demonstrate (486–92). p. 108
  51. Reimer, 183, 248, 293; Paul Martens, “Discipleship Ain’t Just About Jesus: or On the Importance of the Holy Spirit for Pacifists,” Conrad Grebel Review 21, no. 2 (2003): 32–40.
  52. Carter, 59, 93, 94n3; Mark Thiessen Nation, John Howard Yoder: Mennonite Patience, Evangelical Witness, Catholic Convictions (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2006), 59–60, 67, 123–24; Yoder, Discipleship, 32–43, 51, 53–54, 61; idem, For the Nations, 21–35, 109; idem, He Came Preaching Peace, 17–19, 21; idem, The Priestly Kingdom: Social Ethics as Gospel (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1985), 11; idem, The Royal Priesthood: Essays Ecclesiological and Ecumenical, ed. Michael G. Cartwright (Scottdale, PA: Herald, 1998), 228–29.
  53. Yoder, Original Revolution, 72; compare with 41–42, 51, 56–57, 63, 134–39. See also Yoder, Politics of Jesus, 95, 98, 115–27, 129, 131, 236; idem, Christian Witness, 41–42, 71–72.
  54. Yoder, Politics of Jesus, 51. See also idem, Discipleship, 58–59; idem, For the Nations, 174–79.
  55. J. L. Burkholder, 135–36. The tendency among contemporary Anabaptist-Mennonites to emphasize sacrificial suffering gives the impression that all suffering is to be embraced. The biblical story, in contrast, suggests that there are different types of suffering, some of which are worthy of enduring and others that are not (Carol Penner, “Content to Suffer: An Exploration of Mennonite Theology from the Context of Violence Against Women,” in Peace Theology and Violence Against Women, 99).
  56. George V. Pixley, “Response from a Baptist Biblical Scholar,” in Schipani, ed., Freedom, 142. John 18:22-23 exemplifies this approach. Having been slapped by a temple guard, Jesus could have conceivably called down a legion of angels in his defense (Matt 26:53). Instead, Jesus rebukes him, yet submits to the suffering so that God’s kingdom might come on earth as it is in heaven. Similarly, in Acts 24–26, the apostle Paul is willing to suffer through two Roman trials and two years of imprisonment, and all the while he exercises his persuasive force. But when faced with the prospect of being sent back to Jerusalem to suffer a Jewish trial, he exercises coercive force and plays his political trump card (something he conceivably could have done earlier) that forces him to be sent to Rome for a trial before Caesar. Paul willingly gives up his freedom for an opportunity to confront the most powerful ruler in the world with the message of the King of the universe. Thus Paul is willing to endure suffering that results from resisting evil and extending peace. He takes opportunity to avoid suffering that does not advance the gospel of Christ.
  57. Rev 21:1-5.
  58. Miroslav Volf notes that Christians are at risk of idolatry when they begin to think that whatever God does, they must do too. After all, humans are p. 109 not God. Volf cautions Christians to remember that they are not called to do God’s work; they are to let God be God and let humans be humans (Exclusion and Embrace: A Theological Exploration of Identity, Otherness, and Reconciliation [Nashville, TN: Abingdon, 1996], 301).
  59. John Stackhouse criticizes the Yoderian emphasis on the imitation of Jesus—particularly Christ’s suffering on the cross—as ignoring the fact that Christians are called to extend Christ’s work as the church. Furthermore, Yoder’s “privileging of the gospels in the name of privileging Jesus” ignores the fact that Jesus is Lord over all history, and that the storyline of the entire Bible has much to offer. Ignoring the larger historical narrative for the sake of the Jesus story is therefore a short-term view (John G. Stackhouse Jr., Making the Best of It: Following Christ in the Real World [New York: Oxford University Press, 2008], 188–92). Interestingly, Yoder chided just war advocates for having a short-term view of history (Priestly, 38). As Yoder saw it, just war advocates lacked patience and faith in God who would set the world right in the long run. Yoder insisted that a short-term view of history led Christians to try to take control wrongfully and make history “come out right.”
  60. Bicksler, 116.
  61. Stackhouse, Making the Best of It, 188–92.
  62. Craig G. Bartholomew and Michael W. Goheen, The Drama of Scripture: Finding Our Place in the Biblical Story (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2004); Kevin J. Vanhoozer, “The Voice and the Actor: A Dramatic Proposal About the Ministry and Minstrelsy of Theology,” in Evangelical Futures: A Conversation on Theological Method, ed. John G. Stackhouse Jr., 61–106 (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker, 2000); Wright, 115–27.
  63. Dale Aukerman, “Anabaptist Peacemaking for a New Century,” Brethren Life and Thought 39, no. 3 (1994): 207. Indeed, those who would defend themselves in even the most gentle ways are open to the charge of apostasy. For example, J. Denny Weaver wrongfully accuses C. Arnold Snyder of deliberately “peripheralizing pacifism” and “accommodating violence” because Snyder tells a history of early Anabaptism in which nonviolence was not at the core right from the beginning (J. Denny Weaver, “Reading Sixteenth-Century Anabaptism Theologically: Implications for Modern Mennonites as a Peace Church,” Conrad Grebel Review 16, no. 1 [1998]: 37–51). In his rebuttal, Snyder correctly points out that Weaver’s charges of “nefarious intent are groundless.” Indeed, reexamining Anabaptist commitments to pacifism and nonviolence should not lead to the uncharitable charge of betraying an Anabaptist-Mennonite peace witness (C. Arnold Snyder, “Anabaptist History and Theology: History or Heresy?” Conrad Grebel Review 16, no. 1 [1998]: 53–59). p. 110
  64. As far as I know, my actions toward Ronnie and Karl did not do violence to them. I am fortunate because my use of compulsive force could have resulted in violence.
  65. Walter Wink, Engaging the Powers, 25th anniv. ed. (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 2017), 185–97.
  66. David Fitch argues that for power to be exercised appropriately, Christians need to (a) recognize that there are two powers at play in the world: worldly power and God, and (b) embrace “under power”—power that is submitted to the lordship of Jesus (41–67).
  67. As Scott Holland puts it, Anabaptists insisted that “religious faith and the sword of the state must not be united to promote the emperor’s, prince’s, or president’s religious agenda nor any pope’s or preacher’s political ideology” (“Three Hundred Years of Pietism, Anabaptism, and Pluralism,” Conrad Grebel Review 27, no. 3 (2009): 51–52). See also Walter Klaassen, Anabaptism: Neither Catholic nor Protestant, 3rd ed. (Kitchener, ON: Pandora, 2001), 52–53; Snyder, Anabaptist History, 189–90; and James Urry, Mennonites, Politics, and Peoplehood: Europe, Russia, Canada, 1525–1980 (Winnipeg, MB: University of Manitoba Press, 2006), 19–20. One wonders how different the twenty-first-century Anabaptist-Mennonite peace ethic might look if perspectives such as Hubmaier’s, for example, had been given more consideration.
  68. Sixteenth-century Anabaptists—including the most sectarian—accepted the need for governments to use force. The commonly held view was that government had a divinely ordained responsibility to reward the good and punish the wicked; it preserved social order by using force to restrain violent people from evil. Anabaptists were divided, however, on whether or not Christians could serve in government or the military. Conrad Grebel, Michael Sattler, and Felix Manz, for example, argued that Christians should have nothing to do with the state. Others, such as Junghans Waldshuter, Hans Brubach, Valentin Gredig, Jacob Gross, Hans Denk, Pilgram Marpeck, and Menno Simons suggested that Christians could be government officials, with some going further to call Christian rulers to use military force for good. See James M. Stayer, Anabaptists and the Sword (Lawrence, KS: Coronado, 1972), 112–13, 129–31, 314–19; idem, “Earliest Anabaptists and the Separatist-Pacifist Dilemma: Christian Pacifism and the Contemporary Anabaptist Vogue,” Brethren Life and Thought 10, no. 1 (1965): 21–24; Snyder, Anabaptist History, 187–89, 214–15.
  69. To be clear, this is not a comprehensive framework. Age, experience, character formation, and personality—especially as it relates to comfort with tension and uncertainty—are additional elements that factor into the use of force in peaceable ways. The use of technology is particularly important because p. 111 technology tends to expand one’s power, thus increasing the potential for greater degrees of violence. For example, using one’s fists in a fight can cause injury; using a baseball bat raises the severity of damage that can be done; using a gun amplifies things further.
  70. One might be an officer who investigates traffic accidents.
  71. Sometimes we “misread the room” and act in a way that is more forceful than necessary, thus causing harm. Sometimes we are caught off guard and freeze—we act in a way that is less forceful than necessary—and someone gets hurt. Sometimes a situation is fluid, changing in multiple ways in a matter of swiftly moving moments, so that the range of options disappears, and we are left to choose the “least worst” response.
J Janzen (MCS) is Pastoral Elder of Highland Community Church, Abbotsford, British Columbia. J has spent over twenty-five years working with Mennonite Brethren congregations as a radio producer, writer, editor, denominational leader, and pastor. Encouraging and pursuing peacemaking has been central to his work. Significant portions of this article draw from Janzen’s master’s thesis, “A Complicated Peace: The Problem of Passivism in Canadian Anabaptist-Mennonite Peacemaking,” completed at Regent College (Vancouver, BC) in 2011.

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