This article examines the theoretical and practical concerns of a White professor who teaches a course on African American religious thought. It begins with a discussion of what it means to be embodied White, and how that affects the teaching of another embodied reality. From there it moves to the major assignment of the course, the evolutionary essay, and how this assignment facilitates student reflection upon their own embodied existence, particularly in terms of race. The article concludes with a brief reflection on the continuing challenges the author faces when teaching such a course.

course four times in my first two years at the university. The students find the readings stimulating, but want more from me than I can give. I try to learn about Buddhist, Lakota, and Navajo traditions as I go, and I begin to see the value in teaching religion to many students who have very little appreciation for the complexity and vitality of any religious tradition. I affirm the claim that part of the role of the professor is to learn along with the students. But my learning curve feels uncomfortably high for a young female professor who regularly gets mistaken for a student.After my second year of full-time teaching, I join a Lilly-funded Teaching Workshop with about eighteen other professors of religion. In order to participate in this workshop, each of us submits a project proposal that we plan to complete by the end of our year together.

This article traces the author's journey of becoming a Lutheran feminist theologian. Drawing on insights from both Lutheran and feminist traditions, the author proposes a shift in Christian vocation imagery from that of servant to friend. She then argues that call to friendship includes subverting global structures of domination. The article ends with an invitation to join the expanding conversation about how Lutheran and feminist frameworks address the needs of our contemporary world.

I used to be a digital skeptic, dubious that virtual connectedness could foster any meaningful relating among us. Getting diagnosed with incurable cancer, however, provided all sorts of opportunities to reconsider my assumptions about how the world works, including my certainty that virtual connectivity is incapable of enriching our lives. Cancer broke my back and treatment landed me in the hospital, sidelining me from in-person interaction except with doctors and nurses, family, and a few close friends. Life as a university professor, an involved parent, an active churchgoer, and a participant in community events-all of it came to a halt. But amid so much loss, I was introduced to the life-giving possibilities of virtual connectedness. Relatives and friends got in touch through a website focused on caring for those who are sick. Friends created a virtual calendar of food and cleaning needs. As news of my cancer spread virtually, others living with incurable cancer got in touch to offer resources and support. These virtual connections were not simply poor substitutes for real interaction; they nurtured my broken body and filled my soul at a time of despair. I wouldn't have survived my cancer quarantine without them. As a theologian I had never given the church universal much thought in life before cancer. But when cancer prevented me from being physically present at church, I was introduced to how the body of Christ exists virtually in profound, healing ways. Not long after I moved into my first remission I came across Pastor Jason Byassee's insight that the body of Christ has always been a virtual body. 1 Byassee observes that Paul was almost never physically present with most fellow members of the body of Christ. While Paul was physically distant from the early churches in Corinth, Thessalonica, and Galatia, he was virtually present through his letters that were read aloud to the gathered community. Inspired by this insight that the body of Christ has always been nurtured by virtual forms of connectedness, I set to writing and speaking about the transformative role the virtual body of Christ has always played in ministering to those who suffer, and how we might employ our digital tools to enhance our ability to live out this calling in the world. 2 In these days of the Covid-19 pandemic, it is not just the very sick or the very frail who are connecting with the virtual body of Christ; it's most every churchgoer. Christian communities are scrambling to offer online worship, virtual youth group, Bible studies, and more in response to state and national orders to avoid physical contact with one another. With the mass migration to virtual worship, churches are confronting a host of questions about how and whether key elements of worship can be carried out in virtual spaces. And CONTACT Deanna A. Thompson

influences Catholic thought, lacks an eschatological vision for society transformed by salvation, and it is judged inadequate and lacking in ethical response.Returning to her case study, Pineda-Madrid reflects on the activist groups in Juarez and social protests against both the murders and government inaction. The prevalent symbols at these rallies are crosses painted either pink or black as grave markers for the missing murdered women. She argues that these acts of resistance count as religious practices, not just political ones, because of the cross symbolism and the salvific intent to stop the destruction of community along the Mexican border.The conclusion develops a constructive theology of salvation. On the cross, it is Jesus' love that is salvific, not his suffering as Anselm emphasized. The author develops a thoughtful definition of community, which includes sharing a consciousness of past, present, and future, which for Mexicans centers on key historical events and symbols, such as the cross, the Virgin, and the Exodus. From a feminist perspective, feminicide represents the crucifixion of women, and the response of salvation offers the possibility of the empty tomb, the defeat of death, and new life in community released from oppression.While the book's arguments for resistance to suffering and a social concept of salvation are persuasive, they are found in previous womanist and feminist theology. The chapter on Anselm functions as a straw man to provide a negative backdrop for the author's position and to avoid direct critique of current Catholic theology. Nonetheless, this book makes an original contribution in analyzing the feminicide in Ciudad Juarez, its political context, and its precedents in the Mexican imaginary's validating of women's suffering. It offers a stimulating Latino/a theology situated on the Mexican border and a persuasive ethical summons to active resistance.