I am seldom without reading material—the Economist is my staple for doctors’ waiting rooms—but lately I find it more difficult to concentrate on reading that requires sustained attention, like poetry. I have to work at making time and a quiet heart.
My formal theological training began and ended with a course on the
scriptures in eighth grade, leaving me with all the faults of the
autodidact and a paper on what, with an adolescent's callow complacency,
I termed the "affair" of David and Bathsheba. The foundations of my
faith, nurtured by early exposure to the Bible and hymns, lie in song