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Writing used to be easy. Now, nothing seems easy. Leaning in, I just stare at the screen. Occasionally, I try to type something. Despite my desperation to write, my mind is held captive to a former place. Bloody films never leave you.

There’s some good news amid the gloom of global terrorism—namely, the little-known world of wasatiyya, or centrist, Islam.

Hope is the content of faith. Hope is the adopted son, the grafted inheritor. If there are to be, as with Abraham’s descendants, innumerable stars and grains of sands, it will be through this boy.

In Rio, refugees will compete under an international flag. Maybe this will inspire new reflection on the purpose of a nation.

So what’s been the most shocking thing to come out of GOP-presidential-nomination-land in the last couple days?

I lit the candles, opened the doors, picked up a handful of bulletins, and stood at the entrance. I smiled at a group of 15 students. One waved and then they turned and walked to the grocery store.

If we are looking for the moment that precipitated our fall into the media blitz that is our common life, we might consider the O. J. trial.

America does not have a problem with racial tension. Racial tension is simply the fever indicating the disease. America has a problem with racism.

Ten years ago we started being married. It is the vow that started our vocation. But what does it mean when a vow becomes an everyday verb? When a calling is shared as a single story?

You were thrilled to enter the crawl space, but also frightened. There was a chance of snakes.

At first read, this Sunday's Colossians text landed for me with a bit of a thud between the rich narrative images of Genesis and Luke. But the text engages the themes of calling and vocation in important ways. 

Recent news, as so often is the case, has brought images and descriptions of young black men shot by police officers. The narrative is sickeningly familiar: a young person dies; protests take place; authorities promise a full and fair investigation and, if warranted, consequences for the officers involved; journalists and community leaders remind us of the long series of these deaths; voices call for mutual respect and genuine collaboration between minority communities and law enforcement agencies, and insist on reform of the justice system.  Hardly anything changes.

Honest and harrowing, this spiritual autobiography testifies to God’s persuasive presence in a life that bears family legacies of slavery, alcoholism, abuse, and mental illness.

When I walk and talk with a friend, we share an intimate experience. Listening to a podcast is similar.

The president’s speech in Dallas this week was an excellent performance of a difficult task. There was just one point where I thought he missed it.