A New Tradition?
A Jesus-Centered Way Beyond Empire
There is a stream of Christian faith that has quietly shaped SeePhas from the beginning.
It is deeply centered on Jesus.
It is rooted in the earliest centuries of The Way.
And it carries a long memory of what happened when faith and empire learned to speak the same language.
This is not an attempt to recreate the past, nor to withdraw from the world as it is.
It is an effort to recover orientation—to remember what it means to follow Jesus not simply as a set of beliefs, but as a way of life.
Scripture is received here not as a static rulebook, but as a living story—one that forms communities when read through the life, teaching, death, and resurrection of Jesus.
What follows is not a manifesto.
It is a story: where this way comes from, what it values, how it is lived, and why it still matters.
Before It Had a Name
Before Christianity became aligned with political power, it did not think of itself as a new religion at all.
It was known simply as The Way.
It was a shared life shaped by allegiance to Jesus rather than Caesar—marked by table fellowship, enemy-love, care for the poor, and a refusal to return violence for violence. The earliest communities gathered not to rule the world, but to learn how to live faithfully within it.
This way of life only made sense because the earliest followers of Jesus believed that God raised him from the dead—and that resurrection, not empire, would have the final word over history.
That orientation did not disappear, even as history moved on.
Centuries later, during the Radical Reformation, Anabaptists recovered many of these same instincts—voluntary discipleship, nonviolence, shared life, and resistance to state-controlled faith. In more recent generations, peace-church movements and cruciform theology continued the same work of retrieval.
Today, this stream is often described as Neo-Anabaptist—not because it is new, but because it keeps returning to an older center.
Those who find themselves here are not bound by denomination. They are pastors and theologians, artists and parents, activists and ordinary communities—people seeking to live faithfully without confusing the kingdom of God with the kingdoms of this world.
Along the way, thinkers such as John Howard Yoder, Stanley Hauerwas, Greg Boyd, and Brian Zahnd have helped articulate this way—naming its tensions, sharpening its critique of empire, and reminding the church that Jesus’ life still matters for how we live now.
What Orients This Way
This tradition is not held together primarily by doctrines, but by posture.
It begins with the conviction that Jesus is not an exception to God’s character, but its clearest revelation—that divine power is most truly seen not in control, but in love, and that enemy-love and nonviolence are not abstract ideals, but commands meant to be lived.
Here, the church understands itself not as a ruler, but as a witness.
Not as a manager of society, but as a community learning how to live differently within it.
Empire—especially when baptized in religious language—is approached with caution. Coercion, domination, and violence may promise order, but they distort the gospel. The cross, not triumph, remains the clearest sign of God’s presence in the world.
In this way of faith, effectiveness is never allowed to replace faithfulness.
How It Is Lived
Because this way is not primarily about assent, it is practiced through habits of life.
It takes shape in shared life rather than private spirituality.
Around tables where hierarchy loosens and belonging deepens.
In forgiveness and reconciliation where retaliation would be easier.
In care for the vulnerable as a mark of faithfulness, not charity.
In resistance to violence, even when violence feels justified.
And in sustained attention to formation—who we are becoming together.
Prayer, shared worship, and the table remain central, reminding the church that this life is received as grace before it is practiced as faithfulness.
Formation in this way is not self-generated, but sustained by the Spirit’s ongoing work—guiding, correcting, and renewing communities over time.
Here, the church is not a dispenser of certainty.
It is a community of practice—learning, often slowly and imperfectly, how to live toward love, justice (mishpat), and shared flourishing.
Where It May Be Going
This tradition is not growing because it promises power, certainty, or cultural dominance.
It is growing because many are weary—tired of Christianity shaped by fear, control, and empire.
Its future likely looks quieter than most movements: smaller, more intentional communities; fewer claims to moral authority and deeper moral credibility; less certainty paired with greater humility.
It will likely choose faithfulness over influence, presence over platform, and hope grounded not in progress, but in resurrection.
This is not a way that expects to win history.
It is a way of faith that trusts God with history.
A Closing Word
This is not a return to the past.
It is a re-orientation toward Jesus—
and a refusal to confuse his kingdom with any empire.
It is a path that bends, sometimes doubles back, and rarely moves in straight lines.
But it remains oriented toward love, justice, and the world God intends.
And for some of us, it is the way that finally feels like home.
SeePhas 