It began when I realized the church has always had a process for changing its mind.
How My Mind Has Changed
Then I had to learn to love God.
This is true of failures in writing, in faith, in life itself.
I’m throwing in my lot with the poets and painters, the novelists and songwriters.
How I became the kind of person who wants to do the work to which she’s called.
It’s been replaced by a thriving irrigation hose.
When I can't figure out what something means, I give the problem to my mind.
I used to wonder about the propriety of faith in a White Jesus. Now I struggle with the efficacy of faith at all.
Theology was not optional for me as a child. It was a matter of life or death.
The Spirit is God’s wild card, played over and over again when old forms fail.
I know one thing: there is holiness.
Early on, I got caught up in the logic of the Spirit—and in the steady beat of black life.
The Vietnam War forced Protestant ethicists to consider Catholic teachings about war, and I learned much from Catholic colleagues. My outlook was also changed by ecumenical contacts of another kind.
This is not a classic conversion story, let alone a pietistic revulsion against the intellect. It is an account of how prayer has the power to change one's perception of the theological task.
For the past two years or so I have begun remembering youthful dreams.