I am a woman of faith who longs for the reduction of poverty, empowerment of women, and an individual's right to practice religion--and an individual right to practice religion ought to be protected from corporate personhood's relgious whims.
I stood in the damp grass, on a warm afternoon, eating a veggie dog at the foreclosure-free picnic, with members of Mercy Junction. My husband started a worshiping community in Chattanooga, and they determined that housing issues would be a central part of their ministry. So they gathered, in solidarity with a man who was facing foreclosure after losing his job.
Nelson Mandela has died, and most of the TV stations have programs paying tribute to him. Over and over again journalists are referring to him as an “icon.” An “icon” of what? It still sounds vaguely blasphemous.
He has repeatedly told journalists (and the world) that he is not a saint, and that he rejects the depiction of him as any kind of saint. So if he is not a saint and not the icon of a saint, what is he?
I’ve had a chance to read the pope’s apostolic exhortation Gaudium Evangelii, and I’ve also been following much of the media and blogoverse response. Much of that has focused on his statements about capitalism or his affirmation of traditional church teaching on the ordination of women, abortion, etc.
Some people can’t get enough of Christmas carols. I can’t get enough of Advent hymns. “Prepare the Royal Highway,” “Creator of the Stars of Night, “On Jordan’s Banks the Baptist’s Cry,” “People, Look East,” “Comfort, Comfort, Now My People,” “Fling Wide the Door,” “Unexpected and Mysterious”—there just aren’t enough Advent Sundays to sing all the great ones.