Fear is a terrific uniter, but it's a strange way to carve out a Christian life.
As a child born in South Korea, I was taught that every North Korean is evil. As an adult, I found myself face to face with one.
Neuroscientist Abigail Marsh documents fascinating discoveries about how our brains process fear.
In our current crisis, fear is both cause and consequence.
When I fly I smile a lot, type only in English, and pretend I'm not reading a book about the rise of ISIS.
Our collective panic is hurting us. Can faith help?
“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.
The prospect of Syrian refugees entering the U.S. has unleashed a wave of fear. But fear, while understandable, is an unreliable guide to policy.
Like many others, I have lived the last few weeks from one devastating news event to the next, aching for the people lost and left hurting from mass shootings, trying to imagine myself into the shoes of refugees and those caught in the Syrian War, letting the pain of Paris, San Bernardino, Colorado Springs, and the U.S. presidential campaign compound my sense of the world’s terrors, wondering if I can do something to stop the madness. But while these thoughts have been in my head, I encountered, or re-encountered, a powerful song.