what might be considered a genuine middle age. My call grew out of childhood devotions and their reward. It included, if I am honest, some nostalgia for the sense of escape, the security of escape that I found within the large and imposing structure of the church – both its building and its liturgy. Read More
Our language, sacred as well as secular, is saturated with the imagery of war, weaponry, and, particularly in common parlance, the gun. Read More
How we communicate what we communicate is itself an instrument of the gospel. Read More
While the intervention of kings made a political football out of the army commander’s illness, the faithful Elisha kept his mind on his ministry, which was to demonstrate to the world that God’s power is present, God’s mercy is manifest, and that keeping to one’s house, advocating for frequent (hand) washing, donning the mask of humility, and protecting the integrity of one’s position as a prophet and a pastor are potent means to unleashing the change of circumstances for which we all thirst, and hunger, and pray. Read More
The way of the cross was never lonely of contemptuous onlookers or tormenting troublemakers. One of them, a centurion, had his head and heart turned by the faithfulness of Christ, the pierced openness of his heart. Others were astonished by his refusal to remain locked down in the tomb, safe behind the stone, protected by death from all further harm. Read More
The next morning, I was still suffering a slight defensive hangover as I approached the self-imposed sentence of leading a public conversation about abortion, the death penalty, gun violence, and getting married (or not) during Lent. But now almost nothing was theoretical. Read More
Light pollution is one visible symptom of our undoing of the order of Creation. The separation of day and night is countered by round-the-clock activity and artificial illumination. We refuse to submit ourselves to the bounds that God set for us. We have rebelled from the beginning. But this past weekend, for a brief moment, I glimpsed hope. Read More
The grief that visited that church on the west side of Cleveland in Holy Week, rippling out in concentric circles from the gravesides of the lost, had already found its own transformation into activism, intervention, wrestling a new life out of the death that interrupted families and upended the lives of countless others. Read More
Beyond the border, we saw organized and eloquent graffiti – some local, some by Banksy. It seemed strange to elevate a symbol and instrument of division and disruption to celebrity status; but perhaps the spotlight is preferable to the searchlight. Read More
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