When the church stops talking about Jesus, it has nothing to say.
All I remember from The Magic Stones is the image of a young man, some stones and blocks, and an experiment revealing the most perfect shape.
The mainline has long congratulated itself for being prophetic because it's good at voting for progressive agendas. But change happens at the local level.
In To the Lighthouse, two people who don't get along find themselves looking at a bowl of fruit. "Looking together," writes Woolf, "united them."
Be humble. Think of the imagination of God that brought creation into being; there could have been nothing.
When the Ascension coincides with Lailat al-Mi‘rāj, perhaps Christians and Muslims can spare a sidelong glance.
There is much hand-wringing about the future of theological education. Yet graduates still follow the Spirit's call into some form of ministry.
Azra Akšamija and Jo Murphy make art that points to things made invisible by fear—both our own fear and our society's.
Perhaps it's only when we let go of who and what our loved one was that we can receive who they are now.
I've never knowingly visited purgatory or fairy land, but I have set foot in a few small places that, once entered, prove to be larger.