Something about being close to the ocean is conducive to reading.
When I told my parents about the altar call, my mother patiently explained that for some of us conversion is an ongoing process.
Our beliefs inform how we live, how we order our priorities, how we spend our time and money, and how we vote. The recent papal encyclical takes this as given.
Some suggest the tragedy in Charleston would have been averted if Pastor Clementa Pinckney had been carrying a gun. The victims' families showed us another way.
My Presbyterian granddaughter hasn’t heard about 500 years of conflict over “the real presence.” At her cousins' Catholic church, she washed down the wafer with a large gulp from the cup—and then another.
What I miss most is not the preaching itself but the preparing, the rhythm, the demand, and the discipline.
It would be dishonest to attempt to squeeze nonreligious scientists into the mold of conventional belief. Nevertheless, they do end up confronting profoundly theological questions.
Chicago preachers are wary: we see the potential loss of great sermon material if the Cubs should start winning.
Every time I read Psalm 16, I think about how an individual's life is in large measure the sum total of the influence of others.
One blessing of being retired from ministry is that I'm reading more books that are not directly related to that work.
Two recent books testify to the difficult but hopeful work of forgiving in the most trying circumstances.
A friend recently announced that he had given up hope for the human race. There are days when I find myself thinking about this a lot.
Again and again, the religious impulse in human beings turns violent. Is there no other side to this grim tale?
Cuban Presbyterians used to be part of the PCUSA, and pastors paid into the pension plan. Then came the Castro revolution.
I watched on TV as Muslims at a conference were confronted by protesters carrying American flags and signs: “America is a Christian Nation. Muslims Are Not Welcome!”
We are confronting a reality that for some of us was just an abstraction: black and white communities perceive the police differently and are treated differently by them.
Reinhold Niebuhr once broke with the editor of this magazine to argue that moral responsibility requires resisting evil with force. It’s a compelling argument, but it doesn’t justify torture.
Churches need new thinking—on the part of denominational executives, pastors brave enough to walk into challenging situations, and people willing to let go of a church model that no longer works.
The Christmas truce of 1914—100 years ago this Christmas Eve—gave the world a glimpse of peace in a horrific time.
For many of us, Advent is the most meaningful season of the church year. It’s not passive waiting; it’s living into the promised future.
The Century's work relies primarily on subscriptions and donations. Thank you for supporting nonprofit journalism.
Support us by buying books: