Genesis

Like the first humans, I am far from divine. 

Genesis 12:1–4a; John 3:1–17

Nine trans Christians tell their stories.

Jonathan Safran Foer asks what it really means to say, Here I am.

It took me a long time to accept this about myself. Eventually I even came to like it.

It’s dangerous to trust God in the face of suffering. It’s more dangerous not to.

Maybe the parable of the persistent widow isn't about God. Maybe it's about us.

Princeton Theological Seminary's farm grows food. But this isn't the main point.

Hope is the content of faith. Hope is the adopted son, the grafted inheritor. If there are to be, as with Abraham’s descendants, innumerable stars and grains of sands, it will be through this boy.

Hope is the content of faith. Hope is the adopted son, the grafted inheritor. If there are to be, as with Abraham’s descendants, innumerable stars and grains of sands, it will be through this boy.

What is the point of prayer? The question is writ large in the texts from both the Hebrew scripture and the Gospel for this Sunday. The terrain is fraught with places to trip and fall.

God’s experience of hospitality—in the mysterious travelers and in the person of Jesus—inspires us to think beyond an Abraham-vs.-Sarah or Martha-vs.-Mary divide.

I love Genesis for some of the same reasons the church fathers were wary of it.

In John's prologue, the incarnate Word is the God of creative address.

In John's prologue, the incarnate Word is the God of creative address.

If the church is the bride of Christ, then Jesus is married to both Rachel and Leah—to the church he wants, and to the church he has to take.

Like Adam, we may end up treating God as if God were at the periphery. But where there is no center—or where we become the center—the circumference of life disappears.