Perhaps no one really believes giving up coffee or cookies forgives their sins. But do we see a Lenten discipline as an act of will?
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A historian contacted us about a tour of sites where mobs had lynched people—including the locust tree across from our sanctuary.
Mystics understand what moralists do not: God pulls us like a magnet to our essence.
The local clergy conversation turned to nostalgia about our so-called Christian past. I asked the Buddhist priest next to me what he thought.
It's not like paying more taxes would change a billionaire’s quality of life.
The psalmist takes cover in God like a stranded hiker seeking refuge beneath an overturned tree.
I don’t want to reach the end of life having complied with external demands instead of listening to the internal, eternal voice.
Like the sun, God seems distant sometimes.
When I read Falwell’s comments devaluing people who are poor, I thought of my encounters with Ted.
Why can’t our image-conscious letters include family fights, foreclosures, and job anxiety?
My class had struggled with the psalmists calling on God to kick in the teeth of their opponents. Then we got to the 94th Psalm.
Having my birthday in Advent makes me wonder: What if Jesus had grown old and dealt with changes like hearing loss?
Attacks on Jewish people, like attacks on African Americans, place a mirror in front of our culture and religion.
My visceral grief after the murders in Pittsburgh made me feel like a stranger in my own congregation.
I blunder through life in selfish and stupid ways that no mountain scene—however inspiring—can heal, forgive, or reorient.
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