Micha Boyett writes tenderly about her Southern Baptist background, even as she grafts herself into a more liturgical expression of the faith.
My student hasn’t allegorized Jane Eyre as Origen did the Bible. But she wrestles with passages until the text gives her a blessing.
“When I started out I was focused on whether God was or was not out there. Now I am much more comfortable with ambiguity.”
Wendy Cadge asks, What happens to religion when hospitals, many of them founded by religious groups, are secularized or otherwise constrained to serve patients beyond their founding communities?
In the pristine white glare of the airport corridor, the linoleum became my prayer rug. But my solitude was short lived.
Deo gratias. That’s what the sign in my office says. It’s not fancy, just two words laser-printed on office paper and tacked up over the computer monitor so I can read it dozens of times a day. The phrase—which means “Thanks be to God”—is the traditional Benedictine greeting that monks offer visitors.
The answer that comes out of a tornado is not the kind of answer we want—or at least not one that responds to our agonized questions.
When I cling to anxieties or resentments, my whole body is like a clenched fist. Contemplative prayer requires unclenching it.