When we’re obsessed with the forecast, we may miss what’s happening in the present.
In God's future, nothing is wasted.
How can we overcome our anxiety? And should we even try?
We live in an anxious age. But it's worse for some than others.
We church leaders need to stop fretting about our future and immerse ourselves in the baptismal waters that proclaim perfect love.
“Do we lean in, or blame society?” We don’t need a solution that addresses either/or. With many structural inequities, injustices, and cruelty, the answer is both/and. Do we feed the homeless, or advocate for a society that no longer produces so many homeless people? Do we protest the death of one young black man, or do we work to change the brutal policing system? Do we send the people in Flint bottled water, or do we fix the pipes? The answer to all of these is yes and yes.
From 1925 till the war broke out, it is nearly impossible to find a period when Bonhoeffer was not working with children or teens.
A recent meeting of the Conference on Faith and History featured a paper session titled “20th century evangelicalism.” Surprisingly, all three papers focused on conservative Protestant gender ideologies in the years since World War II. Just a few years ago, I would have expected studies of evangelicalism to emphasize political influence. Is gender the hot new topic?
I grew up in the midst of the Prosperity Gospel movement, and it’s left its mark, I’m afraid. I believed that God would bless (meaning financially bless) those who served the Almighty. It wasn’t only service, but God’s favor also came with financial reward.
“You have to grow tougher skin, Carol,” my colleague told me when I invited him to lunch and asked for his advice on a church matter. I inhaled deeply. That was the same response I heard repeatedly for the first ten years of my pastorate. Whenever I got frustrated, well-meaning friends and colleagues would tell me that I needed to miraculously grow some sort of Teflon epidermis.
As I grow older, I'm increasingly scared of heights. But there I was with my four-year-old in front of a three-story water slide.
Anxiety has a way of turning otherwise faithful Christians into foxhole atheists. I'm too busy worrying to pray.
I worry about avian flu. I worry that my identity is being stolen right this second. I check four times to make sure I turned the stove off. It's breathless, compulsive behavior.
I want to arrive at the kind of equilibrium admired by the disciples who broke down the barrier to St. Anthony's fortress. To do this, I have to befriend the demons dwelling in the cave of my heart.