Lemonade is a spectacular piece of visual theology. It offers hope for healing—not a generic healing, but the healing of black, female bodies.
We Are the Eighth Day, © Melanie Weidner
The apocalypse, it seems, is cultural and psychological rather than historical. One can only hope that this theory is right.
Like Dmitri Karamazov, Robert Mapplethorpe knows that the beautiful is a battleground—and he's happy to play on the devil's side.
From our 21st-century perch, William Shakespeare seems more reclusive than ever.
On Saturdays at First Presbyterian, the congregants know good jazz when they hear it. But the event is first of all a church service.
In The Lady in the Van, viewers see playwright Alan Bennett befriend a woman experiencing homelessness—and treat her as a human.
The sacred is experienced in liminal spaces where profound silence happens. But behind the silence is activity.
In an era of partisan politics, it's difficult to tell the truth. The complaints about Confirmation reveal a lack of progress.
Time was when we had a neutral commons where those of us who wanted to say something could say it, try to earn people’s attention, and choose whether to give them our own. I’m speaking of course of the internet—a long decade ago, before social media swallowed it whole.
Williams was at once theologian, mystic, poet, novelist, editor, playwright, and critic, not to mention (possibly) a living Anglican saint.