In response to our request for essays on the topic mistake, we received many compelling reflections. Here is a selection.
Molly Phinney Baskette's book is not a robust example of the Christian practice of confession. But she does offer a glimpse into the life of a church that is thriving against the odds.
Readers who found Pastrix to be a long, cool drink will find more refreshment here. Those who have tired of Nadia Bolz-Weber's cranky schtick will tire of it here as well.
I can still smell the wet canvas and sawdust of my father's revivals. He believed that any self-respecting revival was held in a tent.
It’s hard to deny these little echoes of the synoptics which John reshapes for his own dramatic purposes. It seems narratively wrong for Jesus to cleanse the temple at the beginning of his ministry rather than at the climactic end. It makes more sense if one hears Luke in the background ever so slightly—Jesus’ claiming of the temple as his father’s house and his identity as the Son. Here in John, he has just performed a miracle at his mother’s behest, bringing spirit into the most fleshly event of human life. Now he goes to what is supposedly a spiritual place and finds only flesh. No wonder he is annoyed.
There is a black lab—a student's guide dog—lying on the floor during chapel. As I preach, I wonder what the dog is thinking.
I’ve never seen a film that translates grace to the screen like Babette’s Feast. As one of the rare films that focuses on the lined and battered faces of real people Babette’s Feast challenges viewers to love real life. The film embraces God’s love for the embodied, the ordinary and the value of the extraordinary, and a love that wastes nothing.
Late last week, President Obama ordered a review of the specifics as to how the death penalty is administered at the state level. This came in response to the sad episode in which Clayton Lockett, convicted for the horrific murder of Stephanie Neiman, died of an apparent heart attack shortly after a botched lethal injection. The administration’s step is a good one, but it’s hardly bold or brave.
Flannery O’Connor never wrote just for herself, God, and an elite group of peers. She was eager for an audience with ears to hear about grace.