When the miracle happened it was not
with bright light or fire—
but a farm door with the thick smell of sheep
and a wind tugging at the shutters.
There was no sign the world had changed for ever
or that God had taken place;
just a child crying softly in a corner,
and the door open, for those who came to find.
According to Cherith Lundin, the handcrafted artist book Surface Incidents (created this year in an edition of 50) began from an intentional reshuffling of some of the piles of raw material that inhabit her studio space—materials that she often finds “quietly carrying on conversations behind the scenes from one table top to the next.”
In 2020 the conjunction of Jupiter and Saturn . . . the closest
since 1623 and the closest observable since 1226! —Earth News
Rutherford Falls gambles on humor to sort out White blindness. Reservation Dogs ignores the White gaze altogether.
It’s a question of control, or should I say
the lack of it in this fractured fear-filled
world that draws me each free afternoon
to focus on a wooden puzzle, solid, tactile,
tangible, and for an hour piece together
all that has been torn asunder, city, sunset,
ocean, forest, to play at being the hand of
God, as if in prayer, a sacred act to gather
up the scattered fragments, and reconnect,
make whole again.
After teaching a class in a large, white tent
for several weeks, one morning I noticed
a sign affixed to the flapping eaves: EXIT.
The thing is, this was an open-sided tent,
with no walls. We could look out on the spreading lawn
in every direction, come and go wherever we liked.
Yet there was the sign, proclaiming the one
and narrow way. Au contraire, I wanted to say.
The nearest exit is all around you.
In Crossroads, a troubled associate pastor faces his deepest desires and doubts.
As Protestants gain numbers, a sizable world of Christian music in many genres has emerged.
for Padmaja Pullagura
There’s Holy Communion tonight, so
my mother washes her body since she
should her soul’s there she goes, but
as per vastu our washroom was built
outside, stained today with our dirt,
slippery with grime, and cobwebbed
corners, stinks of dead lizards, off the
ant-line crevices, she reminds me again
and again that a new one inside outs the
vulnerable old one, where the foul beings
shared our days slithering inside, coiling
around those rusting faucets of our privacy
This week, Matt and Adam are joined by Casey Thompson to talk, spice, messiahs, and Denis Villeneuve's new adaptation of Dune.