Lamenting a guilty verdictDerek Chauvin verdict a guilty verdictBy Cyneatha Millsaps


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Mothering goes beyond hugs and kissesMother's Day goes beyond hugs and kissesBy Gloria Guadarrama
Unfulfilled: A Reaction to the Chauvin Guilty Verdict A Reaction to the Chauvin Guilty VerdictBy Glen Guyton
Breaking the (food) chains of injusticeCreation Care the (food) chains of injusticeBy Raymond Epp
Congolese pastor journeys through despair to blessing during COVID-19Joureying Through Despair pastor journeys through despair to blessing during COVID-19By Bercy Mundedi
Sacrifice of loveGood Friday of loveBy Ofelia García Hernández
100 Words for Holy Week100 words for Holy Week Words for Holy WeekBy Karla Minter




Remembering Roberta: Let her legacy live on Roberta: Let her legacy live onBy Melody Pannell <p>​<em style="font-size:1.4rem;background-color:transparent;color:inherit;">"I can see the hand of God all through my whole life up to this very minute.  I wish to give credit to whom credit is due." </em><span style="font-size:1.4rem;background-color:transparent;color:inherit;font-style:inherit;">—</span><span style="font-size:1.4rem;background-color:transparent;color:inherit;font-style:inherit;"> </span><strong style="font-size:1.4rem;background-color:transparent;color:inherit;font-style:inherit;">Roberta Anna Morgan Webb</strong></p><p>Roberta Anna Morgan Webb was born to Goings and Helen Wilder Morgan on January 7, 1889, in the deeply segregated rural farm community of Raleigh, North Carolina. Webb grew up hearing "slave stories" about her family and the inhumane experiences that they suffered through and survived. One story that stood out to her was about her enslaved maternal grandfather Wilder, who had somehow learned to read. It was on the foundation of this story of resistance and resilience that Webb developed a love for learning and answered the call to teach, preach and become a social justice advocate. </p><p>In celebration of Women's History Month, let us remember Webb. She was a Black Mennonite trailblazer. </p><p>Webb was educated in North Carolina, in a small schoolhouse for Black children that was established by a White landowner. The schoolchildren's parents supplied resources as they could afford, but most of the families were impoverished and did not have access to adequate learning materials. Webb remembers sharing books with her peers and the joy that it brought her when she had a book of her own to take home and read. </p><p>Webb excelled in her studies, and in 1909, she graduated at the top of her class  at Hampton (Virginia) Institute, one of the nation's first all-Black colleges. After graduation, she taught at the Hampton Training School and became a certified teacher. Webb maneuvered through the intersections of race, class and gender to fulfill her dream of becoming a teacher. She taught <br>Black children in segregated schools in Elkton, Virginia, for two years and later in Harrisonburg, Virginia, for more than 12 years. </p><p>In 1915, Webb built a house at 471 Broad Street, in the Northeast Community of Harrisonburg. There, in that historically Black neighborhood, Webb's legend would begin within the Mennonite church.</p><p>In 1924, Webb married her husband, John Webb, and they had three beautiful daughters, Ada, Margret and Nancy. She spent many happy years raising her family. However, Webb recognized the growing need for working mothers to have a safe place to take their children while they were at work. She cared deeply about the social disparities of the children in her neighborhood and the needs of working women. </p><p>In February 1938, Webb established Harrisonburg's first childcare center in her home, saying, "I saw a great need in the community, and my life goal is to be as helpful as I can possibly be." In 1943, Webb became the first African American member of Broad Street Mennonite Church, where she was warmly known as "Sister Webb." Webb continued to use her voice to speak up against injustices and advocated for those that were marginalized in the community and the church.</p><p>On Dec. 5, 1947, Webb wrote a letter which was read by Rosalie Wyse at Scottdale Mennonite Church on Dec. 14, 1947. The theme for the evening program was racial prejudice within the mission church communities:<br></p><p><br></p><p><em>"Dear Friend, </em><br><em> </em><br><em>Greetings in His Name. Thank you for your inquiry regarding our racial problems here. One of the first steps to solving a problem, to me, is to recognize the fact that the problem exists. Yes, we have several phases of racial prejudice here, which, if not wiped out, will, in time, undermine the very foundations of our democracy and, which is more important, shake our Faith in the very Maker whom you are seemingly so anxious to have us serve."</em></p><p>Webb died at the age of 101 on Dec. 20, 1990. She was the first African American to reside at Oak Lea Nursing Home in the Virginia Mennonite Retirement Community. </p><p>In 1994, Immanuel Mennonite Church in Harrisonburg, Virginia, established the Roberta Webb Child Care Center to honor and continue her rich legacy of empowering and educating children. Their mission is to "serve ethnically diverse families by providing quality and affordable childcare." </p><p>As we celebrate Women's History Month, let us remember Webb. Let us acknowledge the many challenging social and systemic barriers that she learned to overcome as a Black woman. Let us tell her story of resilience and let her legacy live on. </p><p><strong>Editor's note: </strong>Resources for this story were culled from a special archives file on Roberta Morgan Webb at Menno Simons Historical Library at Eastern Mennonite University in Harrisonburg, Virginia. <br></p>
100 words for Lent, weeks 3 and 4 words for Lent, weeks 3 and 4By Karla Minter<p>"At the anniversary, your feelings intensify," my spiritual director said. The first week of March is the anniversary of my father-in-law's memorial service. The second week, the anniversary of COVID-19 precautions. The third week, of moving my office to the dining room table. In my dining room office, there are no pictures on the walls, no curtains on the windows. The curtains came down in January 2020. The repainting and the remodel were planned. Hospice was not. This year-long letting go and cleaning out, brings me to the heart of Lent, clinging to promised patterns of life, death and resurrection." <br></p><p><em>What are your 100 words? If you would like to share, please send your 100 words to Zachary Headings at </em><a href=""><em></em></a><em>. </em><br></p>
100 words for the first two weeks of Lent words for the first two weeks of LentBy Karla Minter<p>I didn't realize I had floated into deeper water. Thinking I would walk back to shore, I let go of the inflated inner tube, sinking down until my feet felt the mucky bottom. Not knowing how to swim, I instinctively pushed upward toward sky and breath, raising my arms, sinking again. It was my mother who saw me from shore, walked into the waters and brought me to safety. My mother does not remember this story, but I will never forget. As pandemic waters overtake me, I will trust in God as a nurturing presence, bringing me safely to shore.</p><p><em>Now it's your turn! I invite you to fill your own "100 word" container. Unlike the uncertainty of </em><em>the COVID-19 pandemic</em><em>, your "100 words" will have a beginning, middle and ending. You can trust this space. </em><em>It'</em><em>s yours and will hold all that you bring. Pour your disappointment, grief and losses, joys and sorrows, hopes and fears into this space. Rather than words, you may choose 100 musical notes, colors, dance steps, etc. Name what is threatening to overtake you or keeping your feet stuck in the muck. There is life and breath within reach – keep going – you've got this!</em></p><p><em>If you feel called to share your 100 words, share them on Facebook and tag @MennoniteMissionNet or send them to </em><a href=""><em></em></a><em>.</em></p>
Ash Wednesday and White supremacy Wednesday and White supremacyBy Ben Tapper <p>​<span style="font-size:1.4rem;background-color:transparent;color:inherit;font-style:inherit;">Ash Wednesday is a day of repentance and confession. Ash is spread on our foreheads in the shape of a cross, as a reminder of Jesus' death and a call to repent from our sins. There is something humbling about recognizing when we've failed or fallen short. And where have humans fallen short more often than when it comes to the societal sin of White supremacy? White supremacy is the belief that Whiteness (people, culture, skin, etc.) is inherently more important than non-White culture. Systemic racism is a vehicle by which White supremacy is delivered, day in and day out.</span></p><p>The notion of systemic injustice isn't new to contemporary times. In Luke 4:18-19 Jesus stands in the Synagogue and utters these words "The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor" (NRSV).<em> </em>In Jesus' historical context, Rome was the dominant power. Roman citizens' cultural values were the norm. And Roman military, political and economic might was used to subvert and marginalize all other ethnic, cultural and religious groups. Jesus' own people were subject to this imperial violence. So, when Jesus stands and proclaims freedom for the oppressed and captives, he is very much speaking about freedom from social and political violence. Freedom was needed then, and it is still needed now. <em>(I unpack the link between this text and our present injustice in more depth </em><a href=""><em>here</em></a>.)</p><p>We're less than a year removed from the violent and unjust deaths of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor, at the hands of police officers, and the protests that ensued afterwards. Yet in the time since, we've seen the justice system fail to hold officers accountable. </p><p>While the systemic injustice that Black people face in the United States is well-documented and largely unaddressed, there is another side to the sin of White Supremacy: the erasure of Black excellence.</p><p>We've been inundated with images of poverty and violence within Black communities. We've seen the videos of the killing of Black people innumerable times in recent history. Our media has even taken us back in time and pulled up the grisly narratives of enslavement and segregation, so that we might relive or reckon with our national past. What is too often missing, even erased, are the narratives about Black excellence and brilliance. Yes, Black people face systemic injustice, but we also create amazing art and music, spark global movements, invent culinary masterpieces, contribute to science and philosophy (including from Africa — antiquity through U.S. modernity) and much more.</p><p>The sin of White supremacy leads to a singular narrative about Blackness that is incomplete at best. To repent of this sin means we must challenge the narratives we hold and expand our awareness. Truth be told, this sin has cost White people a great deal, because our humanity is bound together. To miss out on Black goodness is to experience goodness incompletely. Whiteness has tried to define humanity by excluding all that doesn't fit into its narrow parameters — not realizing that in doing so, the exclusion degrades and shrinks the humanity of all people. Therefore, this call to repentance isn't just a turning away from prejudice, bias and violence. It is turning towards divine wholeness. It is an openness to revelation and wonder that was previously missed. </p><p>Repentance must happen because it is just. It must happen because Black humanity is worth being witnessed. It must also happen because White humanity depends upon true repentance. There is a mutuality of wholeness that must be embraced. </p><p>So, what if, this Ash Wednesday, we burned our idols of White supremacy and celebrated our liberation with Jesus with the anointing of the black ash cross on our foreheads? </p><p>What if repenting meant our congregations made a more intentional effort to uplift and honor Black narratives? What if it meant highlighting Black heroes? What if it meant wrestling with texts from Black Liberation or Womanist theologians? What if repentance looked like seeking out examples of Black excellence, intelligence and power and bearing witness to the collective greatness that emanates from Black culture, despite more than 400 years of oppression and White supremacy?<br></p>
From Missionary Baptist to missional Anabaptist Missionary Baptist to missional AnabaptistBy Lynda Hollinger-Janzen<p><em>John Powell, who was introduced to the way of peace by Martin Luther King Jr., didn't give up on the Mennonite church, despite enduring its racism. This story has been adapted from a version that first appeared in </em>The Mennonite, <em>now </em><a href="">Anabaptist World<em>, on Nov. 1, 2011</em></a>. <strong><em>This article includes an example of the racist language Powell encountered. </em></strong><strong> </strong></p><p>GOSHEN, Indiana (Mennonite Mission Network) — John Powell, who has a long history with Mennonite Mission Network and its predecessor agencies, has been "sequestered" for the past 12 months in Ypsilanti, Michigan, with Shirley, his wife of 56 years. </p><p>Although the Powells observe the restrictions that have been imposed to prevent the spread of the COVID-19 virus, they remain active participants at a Mennonite and Church of the Brethren congregation, <a href="">Shalom Community Church in Ann Arbor</a>, Michigan. John Powell, a Mennonite Church USA ordained pastor, is also helping to write MennoMedia's adult Bible study curriculum. </p><p>Powell brings courage, passion, love for Jesus, and 70-times-seven forgiveness to every aspect of his ministry. He inherited some of these qualities; the rest, he said, are a gift of God's grace.<br></p><p><br></p><p><strong>KKK violence</strong></p><p>John Powell walks in ways of peace, though his road has not always been peaceful. Powell remembers his father taking on the Ku Klux Klan — and winning. He also remembers intense anger against the racist structures in the Mennonite church, which he left in 1974, vowing never to return.</p><p>Powell spoke of his father's dignity and daring, as he recounted events that took place in 1948. The senior Powell, John Sidney, sold some lumber, cut on his farm near Hissop, Alabama, to a Klan member who paid with a check calculated to bounce. John Sidney Powell refused to keep quiet about this injustice. When he learned that a pickup of armed Klansmen was headed toward his home to silence him, John Sidney Powell sent his seven-year-old son, John, to the safety of a neighbor's house and laid his plans to welcome the KKK delegation.</p><p>Although young John Powell didn't witness the events, they have become part of his family's history. As the pickup pulled up in front of the Powell home, the fraudulent check-writer yelled an obscenity-studded command for John Sidney Powell to present himself. John Sidney Powell did. He stepped out of the door with composure — and two firearms.</p><p>One of the Klansmen barked a command to drop the guns, to which John Sidney Powell replied, "You better look around before you go any farther."</p><p>The noisy bravado of the men in the pickup died into silence as they became aware of their precarious situation. Willie Mae Powell, John Sidney's wife, stood at a window with her rifle trained on one of the Klansmen. Sons and relatives with guns were poised at each window, on the roof and behind trees.</p><p>The hush was broken as the pickup sputtered to life and backed off the Powell property. Soon, there was only a cloud of exhaust left to indicate that the Klan had been there. A few days later, John Sidney Powell received full payment for the lumber, in cash.<br></p><p><br></p><p><strong>Martin Luther King Jr. introduces Powell to nonviolent conflict resolution</strong></p><p>"I didn't grow up with a pacifist heritage," John Powell said. "It was a slow conversion from violence to nonviolence as I was around people who were practicing peace. I saw a change in people and the mood of the nation when protests were nonviolent."</p><p>Powell was in high school when he first spoke with Martin Luther King Jr. Over the next four years with King's mentoring, he became a conscientious objector.</p><p>"That was one of the things Martin taught, that you could be affirming of those who are your enemies," Powell said. "He also said if we were COs [conscientious objectors], we needed to connect ourselves to a historic peace church."</p><p>Of the peace church options, Powell chose the Mennonite church because of the voluntary service workers he'd worked alongside in three Michigan locations. One of these workers, Shirley Hochstedler of Kokomo, Indiana, later became Powell's wife and partner in ministry.</p><p>"I was attracted to her because of her mind," Powell said. "She and I got into this heated debate about politics!"</p><p>Powell expressed appreciation for Shirley's constant support throughout his various ministries, especially when she was obliged to assume financial support of the family. One of these times was when Powell was fired from an administrative position at the University of Michigan. His offense? Spearheading a prayer vigil in front of the university president's home the night before the regents were to vote on ending their investments in corporations doing business in South Africa.</p><p>In addition to partnering with her husband, Shirley Powell advocated against hunger-related injustice. She was the national chairperson of the Nestlé boycott that unveiled the suffering and death resulting from the company's promotion of breast milk substitutes. She participated in the 1981 Geneva summit, where the United Nations and the World Health Organization began to issue and enforce more responsible guidelines in the sale of infant formula. Before her retirement, she was also the executive director for the Hunger Action Coalition of Michigan. </p><p><br></p><p><strong>Church: Haven and hell</strong></p><p>John Powell was born into a church that has been both a haven and a place of wounding for him. As a child in Alabama, he loved "third Sunday worship," which lasted from 9 a.m. to 9:30 p.m. (His congregation met only once each month because it shared a pastor with three other congregations.) The members of his Missionary Baptist congregation may have been feeling tired from 12-hour days of sharecropping and working in the kitchens of White families. And yet, they were always singing God's praises, Powell said.</p><p>"When I attended the churches of my White friends, they would be singing some of the same good songs my church sang," Powell said. "But when we left, it was a totally different story —we were separated. The same people that were proclaiming God were also cracking heads of Black folks. I'm saying, 'Is this a God of justice?'"</p><p>In 1968, Powell moved into leadership in the Mennonite church when he left a good-paying job as a union organizer in the Detroit area to accept a pastorate in Kansas. Powell's salary as a pastor was less than half of what he had been earning. The conference to which the congregation belonged showed how little they valued Powell's leadership when they suggested that Shirley Powell, who had recently given birth to their first child, get a job so the conference could be spared the expense of the pastor's meager salary.</p><p>"Granted, I was a little radical. I did not wear a suit and tie. I wore my <em>dashikis</em> [West African traditional garb]. I had the pulpit on the level of the congregation and rearranged the rows of pews so they were facing each other. I also organized a reconciliation center on the site where the Wichita riots had just happened," Powell says.</p><p>Powell converted a vacated laundromat into The Brothers' House, a community center where religious leaders could dialogue about race issues.</p><p>Powell's ministry in Wichita lasted one year before he was invited to become executive secretary of the Minority Ministries Council in Elkhart, Indiana. In this capacity, he worked on a document that suggested concrete ways of empowering Mennonite congregations in African American, Hispanic and Native American communities. In 1969, Powell presented his proposals at a meeting in Turner, Oregon.</p><p>"If I thought I had hell before, I had more," Powell said. "A brother got up in the meeting and said, 'If we do what John Powell says to do, the next thing they'll have me out of my pulpit and a nigger in there.'"</p><p>After five years of trying to work within the racist structures of the Mennonite church, Powell was angry and discouraged.</p><p>"I left the Mennonite church, declaring clearly that I would never ever return," Powell said.<br></p><p><br></p><p><strong>Evangelized back into the Mennonite church</strong></p><p>However, over the next two decades, as Powell ministered in several denominations throughout the United States and internationally, he made his way, step-by-step, back to the Mennonite church. </p><p>"I was evangelized back into the Mennonite church," Powell said. "It was brothers and sisters who loved me to death. They invited me to meetings. They listened to me. They became increasingly involved in the struggle for civil rights."</p><p>In 1997, Powell accepted a half-time position as the director of evangelism and church development with Mennonite Board of Missions, while he continued to teach and provide administration for a ministry training program at Houghton College, a Wesleyan Church institution in western New York. For 16 years, Powell served in various directorships and in other capacities with the mission agency that became Mennonite Mission Network in 2002. </p><p>Beginning in 2013, John Powell served Mennonite congregations as regional pastor for the northern region of Mennonite Church USA's Indiana-Michigan Conference until his retirement four years later. </p><p>Throughout his life, Powell has practiced the ministry of reconciliation that he preaches — even to the extent of accepting his Oregon-conference adversary as a brother. In Kenya, during a conference that Powell organized to encourage dialogue between African and African American theologians, he was christened <em>Sebsebe Samantar </em>— the Gatherer and Peacemaker, a name that describes his God-given vocation.<br></p>
Love your neighbor’s church as you love your own your neighbor’s church as you love your ownCompiled by Lynda Hollinger-Janzen<p><em>Anne-Cathy Graber, a Mennonite pastor and a consecrated sister in a Catholic community with an ecumenical vocation, describes her pilgrimage toward a ministry of healing Christ's body, fragmented by denominational divisions. </em><a href="/news/Paris-Mennonite-Center-personnel-honored-in-2020"><em>She is also a theologian and an author</em></a><em>. </em></p><p><em>This story has been compiled by Lynda Hollinger-Janzen from two interviews: one conducted by </em><a href=""><em>Rev. Dr. </em><em>Casely Essamuah,</em></a><em> secretary of</em><em> </em><a href=""><em>Global Christian Forum</em></a><em>, and the other with</em><em> </em><em>Ivan Karageorgiev. </em></p><p>I grew up in a Mennonite family near Montbéliard, France. My ancestors include generations of pastors and missionaries, who left me a guiding vision as an inheritance: never divorce Christian faith from engagement with society. This taught me that working for the good of our city is as important as participation in our church.<br></p><p>When I was baptized, at 14, I was surprised by God's call to become a pastor. I secretly carried this call for 24 years, because my congregation didn't ordain females as pastors. <br></p><p>I encountered the <em>Chemin Neuf </em>(New Way) community in 1983, while I was studying musicology in Lyon. It was in this Catholic community, which promotes unity among the world's Christian churches, that I realized that I needed other denominations! For the first time, I saw that my own denomination wasn't God's only witness to the gospel. I was also astonished to experience the simplicity with which the <em>Chemin Neuf </em>community lived out reconciliation with diverse denominations and cultures — married and single people, men and women — all sharing in the tasks of ordinary life. We prayed together, served together, learned together, and engaged in mission together.<br></p><p>It is in our daily lives, in community, that we live out Christ's commandments in Matthew 22:37 and 39, "'You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind … [and] your neighbor as yourself'" (NRSV). Hearing these words in an ecumenical context expanded their meaning for me: I must love other denominations, as I love my own! Here was an invitation to serve other denominations, as I serve my own.<br></p><p>A month-long Ignatian retreat, guided by the teachings of Ignatius of Loyola, determined the direction of my life. While meditating on the stories of Christ's childhood in the gospels, I saw a new dimension of his identity and his mission. As a Mennonite, I was familiar with the cross, where Christ is Savior and Reconciler. But, in the prophetic words, recorded in Luke 2:34, when Simeon handed Jesus back to Mary in the temple, I heard as if for the first time, "He will be a 'sign of contradiction.'" [Editor's note: This is the literal translation from French, with the meaning of "he will confound many."]<br></p><p>Accepting this aspect of Christ's identity took me a long time. I came to understand that Christ comes into my life as the one who contradicts, or confounds, my logic, my way of seeing and doing. However, this is a healthy contradiction because it enlarges my spirit and crosses limiting boundaries.   <br></p><p>After that retreat, I met with my Mennonite church leaders to share my call to join the <em>Chemin Neuf </em>community and to take a vow of celibacy. Celibacy for God's kingdom is not at all a Mennonite tradition! It also went against <em>Chemin Neuf</em> rules, which encourage each person to remain in good standing with the tenets of their own faith tradition, in as far as possible. In this way, <em>Chemin Neuf </em>attempts ecumenical engagement that goes beyond the personal and community levels, to include institutions. So, it is not possible to belong to the <em>Chemin Neuf</em> community without the blessing of one's own denomination. This creates confidence between denominations and opens new spaces for understanding. <br></p><p>In 1996, after years of dialogue and waiting, I — a Mennonite — became a full member of a Catholic community. Soon after this, I began to study theology at the University of Strasbourg. I learned that theology studied through an ecumenical lens helps us better appreciate our own denominational theology and practice. Ecumenical work is like learning other languages. It helps identify more precisely what the obstacles are to interfaith cooperation and, thus, allows us to better diagnose a cure!<br></p><p>During my years of study, the Mennonite church had called me to an itinerant pastoral ministry. This meant I wouldn't be assigned to one congregation but would be available to travel wherever my gifts are needed. I am accountable to the Paris Mennonite Center, Mennonite Mission Network, and the <em>Chemin Neuf </em>community. Requests that come to me are discerned by a counsel, composed of one or two representatives from each of these entities<br></p><p>I work for ecumenism in the hope that it will continue to invite us all to gratitude for the diverse gifts that are expressed in "other" denominations and that it will open our eyes to recognize our sin of becoming accustomed to, and even justifying, the division of Christ's body. We must recognize other denominations as truly being part of the church.<br></p><p><em>Join Graber in praying for "</em><a href=""><em>church unity </em><em>through reconciled diversity</em></a><em>:</em><em>" </em></p><p><em>"May your Spirit enable us to experience the suffering caused by division …" </em></p>



Lamenting a guilty verdict a guilty verdictBy Cyneatha Millsaps
Mothering goes beyond hugs and kisses goes beyond hugs and kissesBy Gloria Guadarrama
Unfulfilled: A Reaction to the Chauvin Guilty Verdict A Reaction to the Chauvin Guilty VerdictBy Glen Guyton
Breaking the (food) chains of injustice the (food) chains of injusticeBy Raymond EppGP0|#5da9bf40-0a0e-4b7b-a13a-b92633577fef;L0|#05da9bf40-0a0e-4b7b-a13a-b92633577fef|Japan;GTSet|#f1c3ac69-6cd4-4109-8ba8-137477ba8a7d;GPP|#af610d13-4793-4c57-8b8c-d4ea261d7a85;GPP|#62ebb633-b401-4243-a537-1a85230e4ebf
Congolese pastor journeys through despair to blessing during COVID-19 pastor journeys through despair to blessing during COVID-19By Bercy Mundedi
Sacrifice of love of loveBy Ofelia García Hernández GP0|#554cada3-83a2-4e50-8e06-7789a356802c;L0|#0554cada3-83a2-4e50-8e06-7789a356802c|Mexico;GTSet|#f1c3ac69-6cd4-4109-8ba8-137477ba8a7d;GPP|#e2a61412-b024-41d7-adeb-1c4e0b790c03;GPP|#62ebb633-b401-4243-a537-1a85230e4ebf
100 Words for Holy Week Words for Holy WeekBy Karla Minter
Sacrificio de amor de amorPor Ofelia García Hernández GP0|#554cada3-83a2-4e50-8e06-7789a356802c;L0|#0554cada3-83a2-4e50-8e06-7789a356802c|Mexico;GTSet|#f1c3ac69-6cd4-4109-8ba8-137477ba8a7d;GPP|#e2a61412-b024-41d7-adeb-1c4e0b790c03;GPP|#62ebb633-b401-4243-a537-1a85230e4ebf
Remembering Roberta: Let her legacy live on Roberta: Let her legacy live onBy Melody Pannell
100 words for Lent, weeks 3 and 4 words for Lent, weeks 3 and 4By Karla Minter