For five unusual days in September, a queue stretched ten miles across London. Through the night, in the cold, clutching cups of tea, befriending the strangers who waited alongside them, 250,000 people waited to view the coffin of Queen Elizabeth II. Some queued out of grief, some from curiosity; some came because waiting patiently in line for more than 24 hours seemed like the most British act possible, a kind of patriotic performance art.
Before Mary can cut the tags off the brand-new frankincense, the weeping starts.
The leaders of the NRSVue project talk about translation, reception, and what Bibles are for.
God’s faithfulness shows up with wonder and surprise in a weary and heavy-laden world.
My mother didn’t like the name Mary: too Catholic. And she didn’t much like my grandmother for whom I was named: too Baptist. But she did believe in giving her children proper names after their grandparents, so in the end, tradition won out. I was named Mary after my father’s Virginian mother but called Polly “for short,” even though it’s longer.
Joseph has a massive decision to make.
“One day,” says Avivah Zornberg, “I had a flash of insight about Leviticus as a whole.”
The eclectic scholar masterfully uncovers the subterranean threads and tensions that underlie this nonnarrative text.
John the Baptist is not sure if Jesus is very Christlike.