Daring to remember: Celebrating community in chaos
Sámi flag, Tromsø, Norway. Photograph by anjči via Wikimedia Commons. Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic license.
Nathan Perrin
My partner, Elise, is Sámi. If you’re unaware of who they are, they’re an indigenous group living in the northern regions of Norway, Finland, Sweden, and some parts of the Kola Peninsula of Russia. The Sámi faced the same kinds of genocide and oppression that Native American tribes faced in the United States, much of the oppression lasting to this day. One of the more tragic effects from this history of genocide was an effort by Sámi refugees to erase their own history when they migrated. They did this out of fear because they weren’t accepted anywhere else. Recently, there’s been a resurgence of Sámi culture and pride. Many Sámi families in the United States are choosing to remember their difficult history of surviving genocide, and they’re doing this in community with one another.
On my first date with Elise, we went to a Powwow around Chicago. Naively, I asked her why she felt a spiritual connection to Native American communities. She smiled and said her values around spirituality and community are found in indigenous cultures. When I asked her about church, she shrugged and said she loved Jesus and church but didn’t feel that same sense of obligation from other people.
In my own Mennonite context, there is an undercurrent of trauma. Five hundred years’ worth of persecution and oppression. This doesn’t excuse our own historical wrongs and atrocities, but coming into the Mennonite world as an outsider was an interesting experience in itself.
A little known-to-outsiders book is called the “Martyrs Mirror,” a collection of Anabaptist martyrdoms and persecutions. This is often gifted in other cousin Anabaptist communities on wedding days (Amish, conservative Mennonite, etc.) It’s an important piece of Anabaptist culture that proudly announces their history, their theology, and how they survived. The Mennonite distinction and theology of community is what helped save them.
Growing up evangelical in the States, I heard church and community downplayed often in the role of Christian living. In fact, megachurch culture makes it safe to hide from shared community by appealing to consumerism and comfort over discipleship. This isolationism is a hotbed for Christian nationalism, because without community there is no accountability. The plain truth of the matter is that we can’t be shocked at the rise of Trump while also having a permissive attitude towards a consumerist ecclesiology that makes misogyny and bigotry look attractive.
I contrast this American evangelical posture to both my Mennonite world and my Sámi partner often. There is a real sense of importance for Mennonites and Sámi to preserve their neighborliness and connection. I’ve known Mennonites who have lost their faith but maintain their culture and church community because those values helped them face hard times in their own lives.
One of the valuable lessons we can take from both Mennonites and Sámi is that legacies that go on are the ones that are communal in nature. The communities that survive are the ones that dare to remember and, even more surprising, dare to celebrate.
One of the valuable lessons we can take from both Mennonites and Sámi is that legacies that go on are the ones that are communal in nature. The communities that survive are the ones that dare to remember and, even more surprising, dare to celebrate. They have both lived through centuries of persecution through intentional love and service.
This gives me hope for progressive Christian communities who continue to find unique ways to meet the needs of the contexts they find themselves in. With the decline of third spaces, I believe there is a unique opportunity the Church has in serving lonely, suffering people. But if we truly want a Christianity beyond Trump and beyond Christian nationalism, American believers need to make peace with the idea that we need one another to get through the next few years. And yes, that means church attendance is one of several ways to get that need met.
One of the reasons why twelve-step communities continue to grow and thrive is because they help provide that built-in support for hardship and loneliness. What if the church were viewed the same way? What would happen if it was normal for our worship spaces to become sanctuaries for marginalized communities fearing erasure and oppression?
Whenever I’ve been asked about the decline in church attendance over the years, I tend to highlight the positives: the folks who are staying are the ones who are committed to faith and community. Church is no longer being seen as a mandatory American pressure. In this space, we have a chance to offer something tangible to people – a Gospel that doesn’t need expensive jeans or a Starbucks in their foyer to appeal to them.
One of the ways I’ve fallen in love with Sámi culture is that their understanding of who is Sámi is not dependent on any kind of right way of living or bloodlines. It’s dependent on who chooses to carry on the culture. My hope and prayer for the American church is that it will be close to our definition of Christian as well – those who carry on our faith traditions, and those who dare to remember. That's how we can, and will, survive Trump because a hyper-individualized theology can only go so far in convincing someone they belong to their community and neighborhood. We need each other. That deceptively simple idea and antidote to Christian nationalism is one of the best things the Gospel has to offer.
Nathan Perrin (he/him/his) is a writer and Anabaptist pastor in Chicagoland. He holds an MA in Quaker Studies and is a doctoral student studying Christian Community Development at Northern Seminary. His doctorate work centers on creating a writing program for nonprofits and churches to use to help under-resourced communities process trauma. His work has been published in the Dillydoun Review, Bangalore Review, Collateral Journal, Esoterica Magazine, etc. His forthcoming novella Memories of Green Rivers will be released in winter 2026 by Running Wild Press. He is also a screenwriter. For more information, visit www.nathanperrinwriter.com
The views expressed are those of the author and not necessarily those of American Baptist Home Mission Societies.
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