The God of Pentecost doesn’t have an official language.
This is the shocking revelation of the day of Pentecost, but one often lost amid the day’s more bombastic metaphors of rushing winds, descending doves and intoxicated disciples with tongues touched by fire.
There is a wicked irony that as the United States marks the 50th anniversary of the Civil Rights Movement, the country’s highest court is edging closer to gutting one of the movement’s greatest victories.
And, as a progressive Christian, I’m also reclaiming repentance.
Given Lent’s themes of penitence, it’s actually a season well-suited for progressives. Unfortunately, it is also season often marred by the popular piety of giving up sodas and sweets and frequently misrepresented through a common misunderstanding of repentance.
A curious thing is happening this Sunday in churches across America.
For some, this curious thing is Pulpit Freedom Sunday. The day, promoted by the conservative group Alliance Defending Freedom for the fourth year, urges pastors to speak out in favor of candidates they support, defying IRS restrictions that forbid such political speech in religious nonprofits.
In a nutshell, this is Pentecost, or at least, the most intriguing detail of the famous Acts story. But too often this significant detail gets lost in the celebration of rushing wind, fiery tongues and the so-called birth of the church.
I became a stay-at-home father several years ago, I slowly realized
that all the theology I had studied in seminary, if I were honest,
didn’t connect with my new reality of diapers, spit-up and frozen breast
Monday, the protesters of the Occupy Wall Street movement
channeled Michael Jackson in “Thriller,” dressing up like zombies,
complete with fake blood, stupefied stagger and an insatiable appetite
Not so much the eating part, but the preparing part. For the past three
years, since becoming a stay-at-home dad, I have done most of the
cooking, especially around the holidays, planning, preparing, and
cooking festive feasts.
enemy curses me. No enemy raises fists at me. No enemy persecutes me.
No enemy hates me. I doubt anyone in the enemies of my state - Taliban
or Al-Qaeda - care much about a stay-at-home dad living in a suburb of
nothing in Texas. Frankly, I'm not important enough to have enemies in
this world, and I'm not doing anything important enough that might make
me any, either.
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