In response to the religious leaders' concern that Jesus was welcoming
and associating with clearly unreligious people, Jesus told stories
about God's attitude toward such wayward folk, as we find in Luke 15, from which this week's Gospel reading comes.
I have read most of what Harvey Cox has written over the decades. One sign of Cox’s longevity is the relative price of his books: my dog-eared paperback copy of Secular City bears a printed price of $1.45. The Future of Faith, published last fall, which I just finished reading, cost $24.99.
Our teacher cautions us that the corpse pose is the most difficult of all yoga postures to master, but after an hour’s exertion in warrior pose, downward-facing dog and cobra, the prospect of relaxing horizontally on one’s yoga mat brings both relief and the impertinent question, “How hard can it be?” Fascinated, I report to my husband, “Every day at the conclusion of yoga class we practice dying.” “That’s interesting,” he says, trying to share my enthusiasm. “It’s kind of like Lent,” I venture. "Lent is when we’re supposed to practice dying, right?”
Having lived in the town of Jonathan Edwards and his grandfather Solomon Stoddard for some 20 years, I’ve come to feel a kinship to the 17th- and 18th-century Puritan divines—as if they were relatives who somehow got left off my family tree.
Arthur George Weidenfeld credits Christians for helping him escape to Britain in 1938 from German-occupied Austria. As a way of showing his gratitude, Weidenfeld, a Jew, is helping to rescue up to 2,000 Christians from Syria and Iraq. He said it was Quakers and Plymouth Brethren who fed and clothed him and helped him to get to Britain. Baron Weidenfeld is the founder of the Weidenfeld and Nicolson publishing company. His fund to support Christians in war-torn regions in the Middle East recently sponsored a flight of 150 Syrian Christians to Poland (Independent, July 20).