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Chapter One: Neither Protestant nor Catholic
From the mid-20th century, research into the roots of Anabaptism has increasingly focused on the Catholic nature of some of its major tenets1­—to the extent that C. Arnold Snyder writes in his normative, contemporary Anabaptist History and Theology:2 ‘Anabaptist reform (…) continued to resonate to the late medieval monastic ideal (…).’3 This, as we shall see, is evident both in their mission praxis and its underlying theological per­spective.

Establishing the True Church

At the core of the first, early 16th century phase of Mennonite mission praxis was their vision to restore the church to its original New Testament state, both internally and exter­nally. For them, such a restoration entailed three main tenets:

It called all people to true repentance and spiritual rebirth.
This internal change had to be authenticated through the visible fruit of a changed life. And
As a result, it redefined what constitutes the true church.

The true church could no longer be defined as Corpus Christianum, an ecclesiastic body where the wheat coexists with the tares. Instead, they believed that the true church was the purified Corpus Christi, a visible body of repented and regenerated believers, which inwardly and outwardly patterned itself on the original church of the New Testa­ment.

Those who through repentance and faith had entered the kingdom of God, became acutely aware of the distinction between the church and the unregenerated world—and, based on this dichotomous world-view, developed a strong missionary vision. Hans Kasdorf shows that the Great Commission shaped every early Anabaptist’s Christian calling.4 It contained not only the call to repentance and faith, but also the call to a sanctified life—as it does in Pietism.5 The center of their missionary drive was formed by the local faith communities.

As the ‘world’ began to respond to the newly formed, mission-minded Anabaptist movement with increasing hostility, and eventually open persecution,6 they dispersed, carrying the call to repentance and regenerated lives with them wherever they went. In addition, they soon began to designate roving missionaries from among their ranks,7 whose credentials were pneumatic rather than academic. The movement employed rudimentary mission strategies. A first serious unified attempt at formalizing their witness was made at the 1627 Augsburg meeting, which in retrospect became known as the Martyr’s Synod, because one year after it took place, nearly all of the participants had died martyrs' deaths.

Over time, the extensiveness and severity of the persecution to which they were subjected took its toll on the Anabaptist mission spirit. As a result, they suffered the first collective case of missionary burnout—an event that deeply traumatized the movement, and the consequences of which are even today being grappled with.8 Eventually, large parts of the movement entered agreements with their political and religious adversaries, stipulating that if the Anabaptists refrained from further open missionary activities, they would be permitted to practice their faith in specially designated areas in relative peace.

Die Stillen im Lande

The withdrawn and isolationist phase that followed the movement’s initial Sturm und Drang period lasted for almost three centuries. During this time, the movement increas­ingly lost two of its original defining features—as John H. Yoder, one of the 20th century’s most influential Mennonite leaders, points out in his article ‘Anabaptist Vision and Mennonite Reality.’9

From an internal perspective, the movement began to lose its truly voluntary nature. Where in the early days outsiders joined the group based on their convictions, over time a Mennonite became somebody who was ‘in-born.’ And

Inevitably, the movement lost, at least until the end of the 19th cent­ury, its missionary spirit.

As a result, its numbers remained more or less static.10 Based on these developments, the Anabaptist/Mennonite movement in its second phase began increasingly to resemble the Corpus Christianum which its ancestors had once fought so vigorously as a perversion of the true church. In the words of Yoder, the Anabaptist Corpus Christi had mutated into a Corpusculum Christianum.11

In an additional shift, their emphasis on the direct pneumatic empowerment, which had been an important feature of their first generation religious life, began to give way to a tendency to formalism, and many erstwhile dynamic spiritual experiences began to calcify into religo-cultural values. Aided by their exile existence, they began to develop a strong, distinctive introspective socio-religious culture that set rigorous criteria for the definition of a ‘good Mennonite.’

A Burden for Souls

The Anabaptist/Mennonite missionary spirit that had been dormant for centuries—apart from isolated revivals—was re-awakened in the 19th century when the great Protestant missionary revival swept the churches in the Western hemisphere. There was widespread optimism in the West, where emerging news about distant countries increasingly enticed those with an adventurous spirit to travel and explore. James C. Juhnke mentions that, during this time, the Mennonite church, too, experienced a period of ‘confidence and growth.’12

As the modern Protestant mission revival began to reach many of the with­drawn Mennonite communities, their long-lost missionary vision was rekindled. As a result, modern Anabaptist/Mennonite missions became ‘a twice-born movement.’13 Juhnke points out, however, that in its second manifestation, the 16th century Anabaptist distinct­ives were largely replaced by the prevailing revivalist characteristics of the mainstream Protestant mission movement,14 which were increasingly adopted by ‘acculturated’ Mennonite communities.

As had been the case with the early Anabaptist movement, the modern mission movement took the Great Commission as its point of departure. God called his servants to go and make disciples, and the servant was expected to respond in humble obedience. This understanding of the call instilled in the early modern missionaries a strong Sendungsbewusstsein. The early Anabaptists had called the existing church once again to become the true church; the missionaries’ Sendungsbewusstsein was rooted in their sense of responsibility for those in far-away lands, who had never heard the gospel. This is evident from the following 1861 mission statement of the General Conference, newly constituted in 1860:

If we as Mennonites are not to increase our guilt by longer neglecting the duty of missions commanded by the Lord (…) we must, not singly, but as a denomination, make missions the work of the Lord.15

The CIM/AIMM mission agency—through which GC Conference Mennonites, who form part of the case study, were sent to Africa—was born out of a similar concern. According to Jim Bertsche, author of the comprehensive history of CIM/AIMM,16 the missionary vision of its founding members was inspired by the biblical challenge ‘about being witnesses even ‘unto the uttermost part of the earth.’17 The organization was established by a group of spiritually awakened Amish, who in the early 20th century had been confronted with the emerging news about the spiritual and physical need of the African continent.18 The mission, as mentioned in the introduction, was originally con­sti­tuted in 1911 by members of the Central Conference of Mennonites (formerly known as Stucky Amish) and of the Defenseless Mennonite Church (formerly the Egly19 Amish), in Meadows, Illinois. It first called itself United Mennonite Board before being renamed Congo Inland Mission in 1912.

As was generally the case in the early mission revival, at the root of the Mennonite mission revival was the awareness that God’s call to go into all the world had to be obey­ed. This was combined with a sense of responsibility for those who would be lost without Christ. In retrospect, it is clearly evident that, in their Sendungsbewusstsein, particularly the early missionaries unselfconsciously mixed cultural elements into their spiritual message. This was as true for the Mennonites as it was for missionaries of other denomi­nations. Lesslie Newbigin observes that, at the World Missionary Conference of the World Council of Churches of 1910,

there was still an unshaken confidence in the future of Western civilization as the bearer of the gospel to the ‘backward peoples.’20

This cultural confidence was often mixed with a form of religious over-self-confi­dence that flowed from many missionaries’ certainty that they had been commissioned to their task by Christ himself, who was Christ the victor.

However, this sense of assurance was tempered, particularly for the earlier mission­aries, by the hardships and dangers that life in missions entailed—including the very real possibility that they might lose their lives in their service for the Lord. This is one of the reasons why, in those days, the missionary call was, according to Wilbert Shenk,21 viewed by many as the ‘highest degree of Christian surrender,’22 which ‘called for heroic sacrifice.’23 As a result, missionaries were often put on a pedestal in their home communities, which isolated them from their peers—especially in their times of weakness and vulnerability—by forcing them into the unrealistic position of ‘missionary sainthood.’

From Sendungsbewusstsein to Servanthood

The optimism of the early modern mission era was replaced by a more cautious mood that began to develop in the Western churches in the era between the two World Wars. In this the Mennonites were no exception. Juhnke wrote:

Somewhere in the twentieth century, the mood of progressive optimism and self-confidence began to disintegrate. The Progressive Era gave way to an Age of Anxiety under the assault of the two world wars, worldwide depres­sion, social upheaval, and intellectual relativism and nihilism in a variety of forms.24

Simultaneously, major rifts began to appear between the theologically conservative and liberal wings of large parts of the Mennonite community. These tensions also affect­ed their mission endeavor,25 and specifically the mission boards. Initially the GC mission board was dominated by its theologically conservative element. In order to consolidate conservatism, new Mennonite tertiary theological institutions were founded, such as the Grace Bible Institute in Omaha, Nebraska.26 As Juhnke mentions, Grace Bible Institute

was designed to be an alternative to the established liberal arts colleges (…) produc(ing) many missionaries for work under the General Conference as well as other mission boards from the 1950s onward.27

As a result of the theological dominance of the conservative element on the mission board, post World War I GC missionaries had to sign a creed that had been specifically designed to ensure their orthodoxy. Over time, however, a significant theological shift occurred, and the GC mission board eventually acquired the reputation for being ‘liberal.’28 Yet the board succeeded in more or less holding a center through their ‘com­mon commitment to overseas missions.’29

The theological position of the mission board was important insofar as it was largely responsible for evaluating the sense of call of the missionary candidates. Originally the board consisted of ‘farmer-preachers,’ who ‘operated on an informal non-professional basis.’30 The guiding principle they employed in evaluating candidates was ‘to send missionaries who would proclaim the gospel and do the things that missionaries do.’31 Only after World War ll, and again in the 1970's, did the board become more formally organized and ‘managed.’32

Over time, a different movement gained momentum in the GC and other Mennonite communities, and began to shape the thinking on the nature of the missionary call. This movement understood itself as a response to the socio-religious adaptation to conserva­tive Protestantism and to American culture as a whole, that had occurred in large parts of the Mennonite church. It was the goal of the movement to recover the original distinct­ives of Anabaptist theology. These included such concepts as discipleship, the Christo­logical concept of Christ the suffering servant, and so on. According to Wilbert A. Shenk,

the first Mennonite missionaries, who were directly influenced by the historic-theological movement of the “Recovery of the Anabaptist Vision,” were (…) sent out around 1950.33

Juhnke provides some indication of the degree to which the movement, over time, found its way into Mennonite society when he quotes a survey conducted in the mid-1970's by two Mennonite sociologists, who ‘discovered that a substantial majority of contemporary Mennonites do in fact agree to the distinguishing principles of Ana­baptism.’34

Partly as a result of this development, the missionary call increasingly changed from that of Sendungsbewusstsein to servanthood. The Mennonite-intern development, which in missionary terms inter alia generated a new appreciation of ‘the other,’ tied in with a general development in the churches of the West, and their changing view of the missionary call. While in the early phase of mission history ‘the younger churches were only marginally acknowledged,’ Lesslie Newbigin observes that already

(at) Jerusalem there was a fuller acknowledgement of the younger churches and a much more acute awareness of the ambiguities of Western power and of the worldwide impact of Western secularism.35

For the AIMM, this increasing acknowledgement of the mission churches culminated in what Juhnke calls ‘turning over the keys’36 to the leaders of the Congolese mission church in 1959, and eventually the country’s integration of the mission and the national church.

In 1979, at Miracle Camp in Michigan, AIMM devised its new mission statement. It included statements such as ‘Believers of every race, color and nationality are part of the universal church of Jesus Christ,’ and, ‘The new life in Christ leads to a new life in the world. As a member of God’s new community and empowered by the Holy Spirit, the believer earnestly seeks to live a life of servanthood in word and deed.’37 This servant-mentality found further expression in the missionary work with the African Independent Churches.38

The Recovery of the Anabaptist Vision

The Recovery of the Anabaptist Vision, which had its origins in the first half of the 20th century, is a significant North American theological-historical movement within the Mennonite community. Its original aim was to re-introduce into contemporary North American Mennonite society important distinctives of the early Anabaptist movement. The term Anabaptist Vision was first introduced into public debate in 1943 by Harold S. Bender—commonly considered to be the father of the movement—in his seminal presi­dential address to the American Society of Church History. The address was originally printed in ‘Church History’ and the ‘Mennonite Quarterly Review,’ and later reprinted in ‘The Recovery of the Anabaptist Vision.’39

Bender’s work, and that of other like-minded Mennonite scholars, was based on their perception that many contemporary North American communities of Anabaptist origins had lost important aspects of the original Anabaptist faith and practice. They attributed this loss of Anabaptist authenticity to two main developments:

The significant amalgamation that had, over time, occurred between Anabaptist/Mennonite theology and ‘foreign’ theological influences, and

The serious petrification that had, over time, turned the dynamic and outward-looking Anabaptist reform movement into a predominantly inward-looking Anabaptist/Mennonite religious culture.

At its core, the Recovery of the Anabaptist Vision is an inherently retrospective concept twice over. Firstly, the 16th century Anabaptists had viewed the New Testament church as the ‘true’ model, which they had endeavored to introduce into their 16th century movement—and secondly, the Recovery of the Anabaptist Vision Movement, in turn, attempted to import the 16th century Anabaptist model of the church into 20th century Mennonitism. There are certain dangers attached to employing such a retro­spective perspective in order to reform contemporary faith realities40—the biggest danger being that of losing the heart of a past faith model by recovering only its external form.

Next, we survey some of the key theological Anabaptist distinctives, which came into renewed focus through the attempt to recover the original Anabaptist Vision.

Hermeneutic Principles

The Anabaptists, as is the case with every faith tradition, employed certain distinctive hermeneutic principles. Seeing that their attempt to restore the church to its biblical form was at the heart of the movement, we begin with their approach to Scripture. Here they applied two main principles:

Their choice of their canon within the canon, and 

Their interpretation of the scriptural text.

The Anabaptists had a distinctive view of the relationship between the Old and the New Testament. John C. Wenger, in his investigation into the Biblicism of the Anabap­tists,41 wrote that, while they ‘regarded all the Scripture as the inspired and authoritative Word of God,’42 it is well documented that they attributed differing values to the Old and New Testaments. Their main focus was on the New Testament, which in their view superseded the Old. As Wenger puts it, they ‘felt that God’s final word was in the New Testament, not in the preparatory dispensation of the Old.’43

Not only did they focus on the fundamentals of the New Testament message, but they tried to order their church in such a way ‘that all doctrine and practice must have New Testament support.’44 Within the New Testament itself, they focused on the words and life of Jesus, particularly as recorded in the Sermon of the Mount. This passage, to them, represented their canon within the Canon. This view of Scripture as a progressive revelation, or as an ‘uneven’ or ‘non-flat’ Bible, was found among the mainline Ana­baptists, including the Swiss Anabaptists, and later also in the tradition of Menno Simons.45 In Menno Simons’ case, this is clearly evident from a set of statistics provided by William Keeney, as quoted by K.R. Davis, which shows that Menno Simons ‘cites the New Testament 3½ times more than the Old, and 40 percent of the New Testament citations originate in the Gospels.’46

The second distinctive hermeneutic approach to the Bible was the tools they used to interpret Scripture. In this regard it is important to point out that the concept of the priesthood of believers, which had been recovered by the Anabaptists and many other Sermon on the Mount reform movements, encouraged a thorough knowledge of the Word of God, in every member of the church. According to Wenger, the Anabaptists were ‘distinguished by a diligent study of the Scriptures from the moment of their conversion.’47 For all their knowledge, however, their approach to studying Scripture was, according to Cornelius Dyck,48 more practical than methodical:

While they may have engaged in studying entire books of the Bible, the evidence points to a more topical approach, with particular focus on issues critical to their life and death: baptism, the Lord’s Supper, the nature of the true and false church, how to endure suffering, and above all the work of Christ.49

One of the chief hermeneutic tools they applied to the task was their simple brand of faith, which, especially in the movement’s early stage, relied heavily on the dynamic inner witness of the Holy Spirit which for them ‘provided the essential underpinning for biblical interpretation.’50 Snyder stresses that, during that phase, ‘Anabaptism of all kinds was based on a lively pneumatology.’51 While ‘the rank and file of the Swiss Brethren, the Austrian Hutterian Brethren, and the Dutch ‘Menists’ identified the text of Scripture with ‘the Word of God,’52 pneumatic inspiration as a critical hermeneutic tool was generally accepted to varying degrees among all the early generations of Anabaptists—from the already mentioned more literal-minded Zürich Anabaptists and Dutch Menists, via the mystic South Germans, to the social revolutionaries.

This sensitivity to the inner witness provided an antidote against interpreting the outer word, the Scriptures, purely as a set of ethical-practical rules, even though this tendency was always latently present in the Anabaptist movement. It was partly rooted in their comparatively ‘unsophisticated’53 approach to the Bible, and a sceptical view of the human intellect, which characterized much of the movement.54 This suspicion of the human intellect was based on their serious misgivings about ‘the inadequacy and danger of ‘intellectualism without piety.’55 This desire for purity of faith potentially lends itself to a certain narrowness and fearfulness, especially when juxtaposed with Luther’s and other mainstream reformers’ notion of the ‘Freiheit des Christenmenschen.’

To illustrate this point, Blanke contrasts Grebel’s interpretation of Scripture with that of Zwingli, over their dispute regarding the time of day at which the Lord’s Supper should be celebrated. Grebel demanded that it should be in the evening—based on the precedent which Christ had set. Zwingli, on the other hand, saw no need to deduce a general law from one incident. Blanke concludes:

Grebel and Zwingli had the same objective: they wanted to carry the Lord’s Supper back to its Biblical form. But in doing so, Grebel was more bound to the literal wording of the Bible than was Zwingli. For Zwingli the time of the celebration of the Lord’s Supper was an external matter, for Grebel it was not.56

The two differed in their approach insofar as ‘Zwingli distinguished between essen­tials and incidentals in the Bible, a distinction which was alien to Grebel.’57 Blanke makes a telling pastoral observation regarding Grebel’s nature and spirituality:

Conrad Grebel corresponds to a psychological type of earnest, pious people with a scrupulous turn of mind, who put a high value on the Bible as book of law (…). Such an approach is marked by a certain anxiousness. This was evident to Zwingli too, who called Grebel’s attitude ‘engstiglich (anxious).’58

In its historic development, the movement’s emphasis increasingly shifted towards focusing on the outer aspect, with significant consequences for the life of the believer and the call to discipleship. This is illustrated by Marjan Blok,59 who points out that, in Menno’s later hermeneutic in Dat Fundament, the Gospel, the euangelion which under­girds discipleship, has taken on the form of lex.60

This approach to scripture is more in line with medieval theology than with the Protestant tradition, where the Gospel is viewed as liberation from the Law. These medieval roots were already picked up at the time of the Reformation. Williams, in his classic work on Anabaptism, mentions that the ‘radical sectarians’ were accused by the magisterial Reformers (Luther, Zwingli, and Calvin) of being in danger of ‘escap(ing) the legalism of the Old Testament only to become more tightly bound by legalism based on the New.’61 They were ‘therefore commonly charged by the classical Protestant divines not only with prolonging medieval Catholicism in the form of married ‘monkery’ but also of being Judaizers.’62 This criticism will surface in various ways in that which follows, and, though often only implicit, it is fundamental to this work, as will become explicit especially in the Conclusion, where the sense of call as obligation is countered by the call as an act of grace—a gracious invitation rather than a command.

This shift from the inner towards the outer was due to two main causes. Firstly, in the case of Menno Simons especially, it represented a response to the early excesses of the spiritualist section of the North German and Dutch movements, who had positioned the Spirit above the written Word. Secondly, the sequence of the inner and the outer, the Spirit and the letter, tends to change in favor of the latter as a dynamic young move­ment moves into its second-generation phase. Dennis D. Martin illustrates this, based on the first-generation and second-generation stages of the Anabaptist movement and the Catholic Church.63 About the sequence of the outer and the inner in second-generation Catholic theology, as practised at the time of the Reformation, on he observes:

… Catholicism (and most premodern, traditional religions) gives a certain kind of functional (not ultimate) priority to the outer as the indispensable sacramental vehicle for the inner.64

About the early Anabaptist movement he says in contrast:

… first-generation Anabaptism gave priority to the inner, with the outer tag­ging along (Menno) or serving as co-witness (Marpeck).65

According to Martin, this particular inner-outer relationship, found in much of the early movement, prov­ided first-generation Anabaptist discipleship with its indispensable dynamism:

Anabaptists disconnected discipleship from worship and the sacraments and attached it instead to the direct empowerment of the Holy Spirit—Anabaptism and most post-Reformation spiritual movements being charismatic and spirit­ualistic rather than liturgical and institutional, at least in the first genera­tion.66

C. Arnold Snyder similarly describes the work of the Holy Spirit as the factor without which Anabaptism would have been ‘a far different movement—or most probably no “movement” at all.’67 By describing the Anabaptist church as a product of the work of the Holy Spirit, Snyder not only touches on the movement’s early relationship between the inner and the outer, but he also diverts the focus, from the predominantly anthro­po­centric discussion of the church and discipleship that we tend to encounter in Anabaptist/ Mennonite literature, to its divine dimension, which was clearly strong during the move­ment’s early phase. He goes so far as to locate the work of the Holy Spirit at the very center of the early movement:

It was the renovating power of the living God, the power of the Holy Spirit, that provided the fundamental groundwork for subsequent Anabaptist spirituality and discipleship.68

In the context of our overall investigation, this statement is relevant in two crucial aspects. Firstly, with regard to the 20th century attempt at recovering the Anabaptist Vision, it implies that the outer form of early Anabaptism cannot be transferred into the modern era without its inner dimension. Secondly, the missionaries would face a similar inner-outer tension in their mission situation, where the temptation exists to reduce missions to a merely human act. This temptation in turn can have serious pastoral impli­cations, as will become clear in the field-work section of this book.

Our discussion of key Anabaptist hermeneutic principles provides the framework for the following investigation into the nature of Anabaptist Christology and anthropology.

An Ontological Christology and an Optimistic Regenerative Anthropology

In the discussion of Anabaptist Christology and anthropology, it is important to state with C. Arnold Snyder that, on the whole,

(a)cceptance of the historical Christian doxa or teachings, as summarized in the ecumenical Creeds and symbols, was common to all Anabaptist move­ments.69

Their doctrine of Christ was based on the Christological statements of the Apostoli­cum,70 with most of the rank and file not attempting to go beyond the rudimentary creed. The one noteworthy exception to their orthodoxy is the ontological Christology held by some of their foremost leaders, most notably Menno Simons.

Their unorthodox Christology consisted of a monophysite view of Christ, a doctrine otherwise found in the ancient Church of Alexandria, as well as in late medieval mysti­cism. Monophysitism was originally introduced to the Anabaptists of the Low Countries through Melchior Hoffman,71 who had probably adopted it from the spiritualist Caspar Schwenckfeld, and passed it on inter alia to Menno Simons. Ernst Saxer points out72 that Menno initially felt compelled to focus on the issue through the insistence of his adver­saries rather than his own inclination. This is evident, for example, from the fact that it was against his will that his written report on his first disputation on the nature of Christ with Johannes a Lasco, a ‘Brief Confession on the Incarnation’73 was publicly distributed.

Saxer states that Menno’s monophysite Christology was motivated by a soteriological concern,74 as was commonly the case with the proponents of this teaching. Menno reas­oned that only if Christ’s human nature was fully imbued with his divine nature would he be able effectively to redeem sinful humankind. Menno dealt with this soteriological aspect of his Christology more prominently in his second treatise on the subject, entitled ‘The Incarnation of Our Lord’ (1554?),75 where he argues monophysitism with increased conviction, as Saxer notes.76

While, officially, this monophysite Christology did not survive beyond the 17th cent­ury, its influence lingered on in the Anabaptist/Mennonite movement, and remains symp­tomatic for what is generally acknowledged as the ‘high’ Christology of the Anabaptist/ Mennonite movement. As such it had significant implications both for the movement’s anthropology and soteriology.

The ontological Christology of the Anabaptist movement has as its corollary what Snyder describes as an ‘optimistic regenerative anthropology.’77 It is optimistic insofar as it assumes

… that human beings could, by the power and grace of God and the Holy Spirit, be remade in their human natures so that they would at least be on the path to sanctification in this life.78

Menno reasoned along these lines when he stated that the pre-eminence of Christ’s divine nature had to be reflected in the nature of the individual believer, and by implica­tion in the community of the saints, who are able to overcome the world. As the term ‘overcoming the world’ suggests, we find here a theological explanation not only for Anabaptist perfectionism,79 but for their stark two-world paradigm.

Helmut Isaak80 provides the following additional insight into Menno’s concept of human regeneration, both individual and corporate, as found in his early writings:

As the seed of life, it is implanted into the heart of the sinner and gives birth to a new spiritual being which is being recreated into the image of God. As sons of God and brothers of Christ, the regenerated sinners are able to do what is right and powerful to conquer sin and death. Although still subject to temptation, they sin no more. This regeneration which for Menno is like an ontological change of the human nature from earthly into heavenly, from fleshly into spiritual, is irreversible as long as the believers remain in God. They also have moved over from the kingdom of this world into the kingdom of God. As the spiritual bride of Christ, they are his holy congregation, bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh.81

This quote further illustrates that, at the base of this Christological / soteriological model lies a strong dichotomy between ‘earthly’ and ‘heavenly,’ ‘fleshly’ and ‘spiritual,’ the ‘world’ and the ‘kingdom of God.’

The movement’s ‘optimistic’ regenerative anthropology is diametrically opposed to that of the mainline reformers, all of whom held that believers, while being justus in a forensic sense, empirically retained their lifelong peccator status, awaiting eschatological redemption. Although the reformers emphasize sanctification as an integral part of the Christian life, it never takes on the salvific dimension it does in traditional Anabaptist theology, where it is used as an authenticating tool for true repentance.

An important principle of the movement’s optimistic regenerative anthropology is their assumption that humans possess a degree of free will. This vests the individual with an ability to make salvific choices, although only through the enabling power of divine grace. This view is similarly found in the medieval ascetic tradition, as well as in Eras­mian Christian humanism.

A Functional Christology and Anthropology

The Anabaptists’ ontological Christology and optimistic regenerative anthropology was complemented by their functional Christology and a functional anthropology.

According to Bender, the question ‘What think ye of Christ?’ is one of the deter­min­ing factors for a true understanding of the Anabaptist call to discipleship.82 He himself provided an initial answer to this question by contrasting Anabaptist Christology with that of major non-Mennonite traditions of his time. He felt that all of them were in danger, for one reason or another, of isolating Christ from real everyday life.

One the one hand, for Bender, ‘historic Lutheranism,’ ‘modern Fundamentalism,’ and Dispensationalism tended to limit Christ’s role to that of Savior, and the believer’s res­ponse to Christ to an overwhelming experience of forgiveness and grace. On the other hand, ‘Classic Protestant theology,’ and in particular Calvinism, were in danger of purely ‘intellectualizing’ or ‘rationalizing’ Christ, while Catholicism had a tendency to view Christ primarily as an object of worship.83 In comparison, he stresses that Anabaptism not only views Christ as Prophet and Savior, but also—and particularly—as Lord. The danger here is that this might result in too strong an emphasis on following (the call to discipleship) as obligation—demanding obedience as work, rather than as an invitation of grace elicit­ing a response of obedience as gratitude and trust.

However, in Anabaptist Christology, Christ’s lordship represents only one aspect of a typical dual functional Christology. Based on their distinctive hermeneutic principles, their Christology makes the Sermon on the Mount its scriptural core. This focuses at least as much on Christ's second aspect, namely his role as the lamb—the humble suffering servant, who was obedient to the cross. Marjan Blok identified and discussed this dual­istic concept of Christ in Menno’s Dat Fundamentum. It consists firstly of the sovereign Christ, whose rule as judge and king extends over the entire creation, and over the whole of humankind. It also applies to the believers over whom he rules through his Word and his Spirit, desiring to do it ‘without force.’ The second part of Blok's dual Christology portrays Christ as the lamb, that willingly suffered the cross.84

This dual functional Christology is found generally in early mainstream Anabaptism. It, too, is reminiscent of medieval theology—and particularly of the monas­tic/brotherhood tradition, where Christ is typically seen as king and lamb. This again points to a sig­ni­fi­cant link between the early Anabaptists and medieval theology—and particularly the monastic/mendicant tradition, which by now is well documented. John H. Yoder85 also discovered a strong similarity between their respective Christologies. The author of the ‘Schleitheim Confession,’ the former Benedictine monk, Michael Sattler,

… understood the incarnate Christ to have been, above all, meek and lowly, the rejected, persecuted, suffering Christ who yielded up his will and, trusting wholly in God, walked the way of earthly trial through the cross on to death.86

It is this lowly Christ who determines the movement’s functional anthropology, insofar as disciples are called to follow Christ through their ‘obedience to the king by following the lamb.’87

Both the movement’s ontological Christology and its optimistic regenerative anthro­pology had important consequences for the Anabaptist concept of salvation.

A Two-Step Soteriology

As we discussed in connection with their optimistic regenerative anthropology, the Ana­baptists viewed salvation as both an internal and external reality. In other words, they made an imperative link between the inner reality of repentance, spiritual rebirth, and regeneration, and the corresponding external visible fruit of the believer’s ‘works of love.’ In this regard, C. Arnold Snyder quotes a telling dialogue between ‘Leonhart’ and ‘Hans,’ from Hubmaier’s catechism:

Leonhart:88 How many kinds of faith are there?
Hans: Two kinds, namely a dead one and a living one.
Leonhart: What is a dead faith?
Hans: One that is unfruitful and without the works of love, Jas 2:17.
Leonhart: What is a living faith?
Hans: One that produces the fruits of the Spirit and works through love, Gal 5.89

This imperative inner-outer link, inherent in their doctrine of salvation, causes Snyder to speak of a two-phased soteriology. The first step consists of repentance, spiritual rebirth, and regeneration—which are solely based on divine grace and the work of the Holy Spirit. In a second step, this new internal spiritual reality then has to manifest itself increasingly in the external fruit of obedience and love, without which salvation is not complete. This external aspect represents the positive human response to divine grace. However it, too, is only possible through the divine enabling grace and the work of the Holy Spirit.


As Snyder further points out, it was therefore not with regard to the sola gratia or the sola fide that the Anabaptists/Mennonites deviated from mainline Protestant theology. Rather it was their insistence on the external fruit of repentance and obedience—produced by the Holy Spirit as a necessary authentication of their inner new birth and regeneration—that set them apart from mainline Protestantism.


This has far-reaching implications for the believer. While in the case of Luther, for example, grace represents the point where the believer ceases to strive, this is not the case with the Anabaptists. Alvin J. Beachy, in his book The Concept of Grace in the Radical Reformation,90 points out that, in Anabaptist theology, grace becomes a means through which believers may strive more successfully to overcome their sinful nature:

Because the believer must also carry throughout this life the burden of the sinful nature, which he has received from the first Adam, participation in the divine nature does not mean the possibility of a sinless life in the present world. Yet, the presence of grace in the believer’s life, as it actualizes his participation in the divine nature, means that the believer now has the possibility of striving against sin and, in a measure, of overcoming it.91

Beachy goes so far as to describe the high degree of perfection which the Anabaptist believer is expected to achieve as a form of divinization—stating that the ‘process of divin­ization is not completed until the believer reaches his eternal destiny as a thean­tropic individual.’92


This soteriology is also reflected in the Anabaptist understanding of the sacraments.


Symbolic Sacraments Rather than Means of Grace


The Anabaptists understood the sacraments as symbols—similarly to Zwingli and Calvin, and in contrast with Luther and the Catholics. The sacraments purely represented an outward sign of an inner reality. Blanke writes about the Zürich brethren:

In the matter of the sacraments the Anabaptists of Zollikon were the pupils of Zwingli, in so far as they understood baptism and the Lord’s supper symbolic­ally and not sacramentally.93

In this section, we shall demonstrate some of the consequences of this symbolic view of the sacraments, both for the Lord’s Supper and for baptism.


The Lord’s Supper


Contemporary commentators vary in their interpretation of the exact meaning that the Anabaptists attributed to the Lord’s Supper. In this, we again encounter the movement’s early theological diversity. However, there are core commonalities, which we shall now identify and discuss.


Firstly, the symbolic approach to the Lord’s Supper made a more thorough break with the Catholic tradition than Luther had done. Fritz Blank states about the Zürich Brethren that ‘they observed the Lord’s Supper as a fellowship meal,’94 which simultaneously represented their anti-clerical and anti-catholic attitude:

(For Grebel) every reminder of the Roman must be eliminated. In its place a simple Supper was to come, in which only the installation words would be read, and which would not be taken in the church but in the homes of believ­ers, without clerical dress, with ordinary bread and ordinary drinking cups, as a symbolic meal demonstrating the fellowship of Christians with each other and with Christ.95

Secondly, the Lord’s Supper becomes a predominantly anthropocentric event, which focuses primarily on the spiritual condition of the believer. Blanke commented on the Zürich movement’s understanding:

For them the Lord’s Supper is a symbol of the brotherhood of Christians and not an offering of the body of Christ. Baptism does not mediate the forgive­ness of sins, but is a sign indicating that God has forgiven the believer.96

Marjan Blok found similar tendencies in Menno Simons’ concept of discipleship in Dat Fundament, where he attributes two principal meanings to the Lord’s Supper. Firstly, it is a reminder of Christ’s salvific work, and secondly, it has an ecclesiological focus by demonstrating the unity of the church.97


Blok, too, found that the Lord’s Supper has an anthropocentric rather than a salvific emphasis. Although Christ’s work forms the basis, its efficacy is ultimately determined by the spiritual condition of the human partaker, insofar as it ‘is the state of the believer’s life that determines whether the elements truly constitute the Lord’s Supper.’98


Thirdly, the Lord’s Supper is not only dependent on the individual’s spiritual con­dition. According to Blok, for Menno Simons it has an important ecclesiological function. Helmut Isaak, similarly, states that, for Menno Simons, the purpose of the Lord’s Supper is to strengthen the unity of the saints. This automatically implies a setting of boundaries vis-a-vis the world:

Admission to this celebration of the supper has to be subject to certain pre­conditions. Whoever has not committed his life to the service of Christ and is not willing to serve his fellow-members with all his material and spiritual gifts, should not participate in the celebration of the supper because he is not a member of the body of Christ and does not belong in his church. Separation from the unbelievers and their evil deeds is the ultimate consequence of this ecclesiology. Only so the ‘...holy city of Jerusalem and the temple of the Lord, the city of peace and the house of prayer, which is the congregation of God ...’ (Fundamentenboek, p. 105) can be built, and kept clean and alive. If sepa­ra­tion of the believers from the unbelievers is the sign of a sectarian movement, then Menno becomes a sectarian at the moment of the celebration of the Lord’s Supper.99

Our brief discussion of the Anabaptist understanding of the Lord’s Supper indicates that it symbolizes the unity of the community, and their status as saints—and it contains the main components of the divine call to be in the world but not of the world.


Baptism


According to Snyder and others, the meaning which the Anabaptists attached to the public act of water baptism was that of ‘an outward and visible response from those who had been inwardly called and who had freely accepted the call.’100


This means that, firstly—as was the case with the Lord’s Supper—the focus of baptism, too, was primarily anthropocentric. That is, although it was rooted in the divine work of redemption, the main emphasis was on the disciple’s act of obedience. This obedience consisted of the fact that

… one confessed one’s sins before the congregation of God’s people, testified to one’s faith in the forgiveness of sins through Christ, and was incorporated into the fellowship of the church, accepting the fraternal responsibilities that went along with membership in the church. (349)’101

Secondly, at the act of baptism, similarly to the Lord’s Supper, the alien status of the believer in the world is visibly established. This was generally the case in the Anabaptist movement, but particularly evident in the case of the Zürich separatist brethren, where

… those who accepted rebaptism in the Schleitheim mold also were separating themselves totally from involvement in society at large, they were establishing an alternative society, in the world but not of it.102

Baptism, therefore, by implication, had an ecclesiological function—namely that of separating the church from the world. As such, it ‘formed a significant visible ecclesi­o­logical boundary for all so called Anabaptists.’103


Thirdly, baptism cemented the holiness status of the believer, individually and cor­porately. While baptism represented a public witness by the candidate to the divine act of salvation in the believer’s life, it signified also, if not more so, the pledge to live a changed life in the power of the Holy Spirit. Snyder illustrates this by using the example of Denck during ‘his Anabaptist phase.’ Denck viewed baptism as ‘the sign of the Covenant.’ By this he

… means that whoever is baptized into the death of Christ is baptized in order that he might die to the old Adam as (Christ) has died and that he may walk in a new life with Christ as He (Christ) was raised.’

Snyder concludes that

… here the ethical emphasis emerged as strongly in Denck’s thought as in that of other Anabaptists: salvation is not dependent on ‘imputed righteous­ness’ on the basis of faith in Christ alone, but rather salvation involves living a sanctified life, in the power of Christ’s Spirit.104

Such a symbolic interpretation of baptism demands much of the believer, and emphasizes correspondingly little, if any, divine intervention. Although the baptismal candidates come from a point where they have acutely experienced their sinfulness in the light of divine holiness, they now expect to overcome this sinfulness by the Holy Spirit, but even more so by human resolve—that is, through obedience.

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1Groundbreaking work in identifying the polygenetic origins of Anabaptism was originally done by Stayer, Packull and Deppermann. Cf. i.a. STAYER James M., PACKULL Werner O., DEPPERMANN Klaus, ‘From Monogenesis to Polygenesis: The Historical Discussion of Anabaptist Origins,’ MQR 49, 1975 pp.51-147. One of the first modern authors to refer to the Monastic/Mendicant influences in early Anabaptism was the 19th century theologian Albrecht Ritschl in, Ritschl Albrecht, Three Essays, ‘Prolegomena to the History of Pietism,’ in ‘Prolegomena, The Distinctiveness and Origin of the Anabaptists,’ Fortress Press, Philadelphia, 1972, pp.70-83.

2SNYDER C. Arnold, Anabaptist History and Theology: An Introduction, Pandora Press, Kitchener, Ont., 1995.

3 Anabaptist History and Theology, p.18.

4KASDORF Hans, ‘Der Missionsbefehl bei den Täufern im 16. Jahrhundert: Seine Bedeutung damals und heute,’ in Mission im Zeichen des Friedens, Beiträge zur Geschichte täuferisch-mennonitischer Mission, Logos Verlag GmbH/BTG, Lage, 2003, p.44.

5Ibid.

6Gottfried Riesen describes in his article ‘500 Jahre eigenständiges Pfarramt Affoltern im Emmental, 1484-1984,’ the escalating categories of persecution in the case of the Emmental (Bernese) Anabaptists as: prison, confiscation of possessions, banning into exile, banning to the gullies, and execution. (RIESEN Gottried, in Zingg Alfred, ‚500 Jahre eigenständiges Pfarramt Affoltern im Emmental, 1484-1984,’ in Mennonitica Helvetica, 1984, No.3, p.47).

7Cf. ‘Der Missionsbefehl bei den Täufern im 16. Jahrhundert,’ p.43.

8Cf. for example the recent reconciliation approaches between the Anabaptists and the Protestant state churches in Switzerland during the 2007 Täuferjahr.
9YODER John H., ‘Anabaptist Vision and Mennonite Reality,’ in Consultation on Anabaptist Mennonite Theology, A.J. Klassen (ed.), publ. by the Council of Mennonite Seminaries, 1970, pp.1-46.

10Ibid., pp.6f.

11 Ibid., pp.6 et al.

12A People of Mission, p.89.

13Ibid., p.2.

14According to Juhnke ‘it had grown out of eighteenth-century Pietism and a subsequent evangelical awakening.’ Ibid., p.2.

15Ibid., p.5.

16BERTSCHE Jim, CIM/AIMM: A Story of Vision, Commitment and Grace, Copyright held by Jim Bertsche, 1998.

17Ibid., p.6.

18In a first history of CIM William B. Weaver writes, ‘our primary emphasis has been spiritual and not economic, educational or even medical. But on the other hand, we also learn that we could not ignore the economic, educational and medical in our program of work.’ WEAVER William B., Thirty-Five Years in the Congo, A History of the Demonstrations of Divine Power in the Congo, Congo Inland Mission, Chicago 36, Illinois, 1945, p.16.

19Spelt by Juhnke as ‘Egli.’ A People of Mission, p.67.

20NEWBIGIN Lesslie, The Open Secret, An Introduction to the Theology of Mission, Revised Edition, William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, Grand Rapids, Michigan, 1995, pp.8f.

21SHENK Wilbert A. ‘Die Mennoniten und das Evangelikale Netzwerk,’ in Mission im Zeichen des Friedens, p.120.

22German: ‘Das höchste Mass christlicher Hingabe,’ translation mine.

23German: ‘rief zum heldenhaften Opfer auf,’ translation mine.

24A People of Mission, p.91.

25Cf. ibid., pp.89ff.

26It formed part of a general trend of the Evangelical movement at the time to found tertiary institutions with a specific missionary focus. Cf. ‘Die Mennoniten und das Evangelikale Netzwerk,’ p.120.

27A People of Mission, p. 96. Many women included in the case study were educated at Grace Bible Institute.

28Ibid., p.83.

29Ibid., p.97.

30Ibid., p.102.

31Ibid.

32Ibid., p.104.

33‘Die Mennoniten und das Evangelikale Netzwerk,’ p.130. According to Shenk this is the case, because the Recovery of the Anabaptist Vision was primarily a tool to revitalize traditional Mennonitism, and not mission (praxis). (ibid.)

34A People of Mission, p.100.

35The Open Secret, p.8.

36A People of Mission, p.86.

37CIM/AIMM A Story of Vision, Commitment and Grace, p.313.

38This work was to be seen ‘as a low-profile ministry of servanthood. Missionaries were counseled to bear a non-judgmental spirit, even when they found certain practices of the churches strange and distasteful. (…) They were expected to learn as well as to teach.’ (A People of Mission, p.203).

39BENDER Harold S., ‘The Anabaptist Vision,’ in The Recovery of the Anabaptist Vision, Guy F. Hershberger, (ed.), Herald Press, Scottdale, Pa. 1957, pp.29-54; reprinted from ‘Church History,’ 13, March 1944, pp.3-24, and ‘MQR,’18, April 1944, pp.67-88, with slight revisions in text and footnotes.

40Similar attempts at reform have been made at various points of Anabaptist/Mennonite history. One major attempt was undertaken by Thielman Jansz van Braght, the editor of the Martyr’s Mirror. His purpose for compiling this work was to reform the 17th century Dutch Anabaptist movement, because of its considerable acculturation to Dutch society. Van Braght’s preferred tool for reform was stories of the suffering of the ‘true’ church. These were supposed to encourage his contemporaries to once again produce the visible fruit of discipleship, and through the resulting maladjustment to the ‘world’, become a suffering church once again.

41WENGER John C., ‘The Biblicism of the Anabaptists,’ in The Recovery of the Anabaptist Vision, pp.167-179.

42Ibid., p.176.

43 Ibid.

44 Ibid.

45 Cf. Anabaptist History and Theology, p.162.

46 DAVIS Kenneth Ronald, Anabaptism and Asceticism, A Study in Intellectual Origins, Herald Press, Scottdale, Pennsylvania, Kitchener, Ontario,1974, p.216.

47 ‘The Biblicism of the Anabaptists,’ p.167.

48DYCK Cornelius: ‘The Suffering Church in Anabaptism,’ MQR 59,1985, pp.5-23.

49‘The Suffering Church in Anabaptism,’ pp.12f.

50Therefore, ‘Anabaptist ethics and ecclesiology (too) rested on the living presence of the Spirit.’ (Anabaptist History and Theology p.96).

51Anabaptist History and Theology, p.87.

52‘The Biblicism of the Anabaptists,’ p.173—although Melchior Hoffman, who in its early history exerted a strong influence on the Dutch Anabaptists, reckoned with the ‘possibility of direct revelations in dreams and visions’ (Anabaptist History and Theology, p.154), as did many other spiritualists.

53‘The Biblicism of the Anabaptists,’ p.171.

54Hubmaier, who pursued an academic career, represents the most prominent exception. (Cf. Moore, John Allen, Anabaptist Portraits, Herald Press, Scottdale, Pa., Kitchner Ont., 1984, pp.165f).

55Anabaptism and Asceticism, p.215.

56BLANKE Fritz, Brothers in Christ, The history of the oldest Anabaptist congregation Zollikon, near Zürich, Switzerland, Herald Press, Scottdale, Pa., 1973, p.10.

57Ibid.

58Ibid.

59BLOK Marian, ‘Discipleship in Menno Simon’s Dat Fundament,’ in Menno Simons: A Reappraisal - Essays in Honor of Irvin B. Horst on the 450th Anniversary of the FUNDAMENTENBOEK, pp.105-130.

60Ibid., pp. 110f.

61WILLIAM George Hunston, The Radical Reformation, Westminster Press, Philadelphia, 1962, p.834.

62Ibid.

63MARTIN Dennis D., ‘Catholic Spirituality and Anabaptist and Mennonite Discipleship’, MQR 62, 1988, pp.5-25.

64Ibid., p.9.

65Ibid.

66Ibid.

67Anabaptist History and Theology, p.96.

68Ibid., p.300.

69Anabaptist History and Theology, p.84.

70Cf. ibid.

71His teaching was monophysite—to the point of docetism (Anabaptist History and Theology, pp.84/154/357), or quasi-docetism (Ibid., p.302), and had been ‘inherited, and modified from Caspar Schwenkfeld’ (Ibid., pp.34/356).

72SAXER Ernst, ‘Die Christologie des Menno Simons im Vergleich zur Lehre der Reformatoren, insbesondere Calvins,’ in Mennonitica Helvetica: Organ des Schweizerischen Vereins für Täufergeschichte, Gümligen, No. 20, 1997, p. 11-23.

73The Complete Writings of Menno Simons (CWMS) c.1496-1561, Mennonite Publishing House, Scottdale, Pa., 1984, pp.422-454.

74It was particularly in his younger years that he emphasized this soteriological aspect, at a time in his life when soteriology formed the core of his theology. It is widely accepted that, in his later years, a significant shift occurred in his theological emphasis, from repentance and spiritual rebirth to that of their implications for the Christian life and for the ecclesia. Cf. inter alia ‘Die Christologie des Menno Simons im Vergleich zur Lehre der Reformatoren, insbesondere Calvins,’ p.15.

75CWMS, pp.785-834.

76‘Die Christologie des Menno Simons im Vergleich zur Lehre der Reformatoren, insbesondere Calvins,’ p.17.

77Anabaptist History and Theology, p.358 et al.

78Ibid., p.44.

79We find similar perfectionist tendencies with a similar Christology in some parts of the monastic tradition.

80ISAAK Helmut, ‘Menno’s Vision of the Anticipation of the Kingdom of God in his Early Writings,’ in Menno Simons a Reappraisal: Essays in Honor of Irvin B. Horst on the 450th Anniversary of the Fundamentenboek, pp.57-82, p.58.

81Ibid., p58.

82‘The Anabaptist Theology of Discipleship, p.27.

83Ibid., pp.27f.

84Cf. Marian Blok’s discussion of the Christology that underpins Menno Simons’ concept of discipleship, in ‘Discipleship in Menno Simon’s Dat Fundament,’ pp. 109-113.

85YODER John H., (trans.), The Legacy of Michael Sattler, Scottdale, Pa.: Herald Press, 1973, pp.22, 40, 58.

86Ibid., p.58.

87‘Discipleship in Menno Simon’s Dat Fundament,’ p.112.

88Snyder uses two different spellings: Leonhard as well as Leonhart.

89Anabaptist History and Theology, pp.88f.

90BEACHY Alvin J., The Concept of Grace in the Radical Reformation, Nieuwkoop B. De Graaf, Harrisonburg, 1976, p. 174.

91Ibid., pp.230f.

92Ibid., 230.

93 Brothers in Christ, pp.356ff.

94 Ibid., p.40.

95Ibid., p.14.

96 Brothers in Christ, pp.356ff.

97‘Discipleship in Menno Simon’s DAT FUNDAMENT,’ p.114.

98Ibid.

99 ‘Menno’s Vision of the Anticipation of the Kingdom of God,’ p.68.

100Anabaptist History and Theology, p.91.

101Ibid., p.91.

102Ibid., p.61.

103Ibid., p.91.

104Ibid., p.91.