Matt grew up in the Episcopal Church. One Sunday he appeared at the altar—with his arms crossed over his chest.
My ecclesiastical criminality has been going on for 45 years. It all started at a Trappist abbey in Virginia.
Sacramentality is the breath of Christian life—life that springs from the sacraments and life that yearns to return to them.
My Presbyterian granddaughter hasn’t heard about 500 years of conflict over “the real presence.” At her cousins' Catholic church, she washed down the wafer with a large gulp from the cup—and then another.
As I came to the first student and his family, kneeling with outstretched hands, suddenly someone took out a phone and snapped a picture.