Luke

White Americans aren’t the Israelites; we’re the Egyptians. Maybe we should follow their lead.

I don’t know if this is the pandemic’s end game. I do know that new things are already being born in us.

There’s a lot of a certain sort of pleasure pursued around Christmas.

When we resist the powers that oppress this world, we are baptized through fire.

Why am I so skeptical about sitting and learning at the feet of others?

Advent is also about our own coming and going, the ways we embody the reconstructive ways of the Lord.

Abortion is about real lives enmeshed in the realities of home and work and wages and debt.

My Grandma Violet was the black sheep of our family. I think of her when I pray.

My Grandma Violet was the black sheep of our family. I think of her when I pray.

My Grandma Violet was the black sheep of our family. I think of her when I pray.

Advent must respond in some consequential way to the widening uncertainty of the living of our days.

It’s hard to believe in an enchanted world.

It’s hard to believe in an enchanted world.

The first step of repentance is telling the truth about ourselves.

To be wild is to be free, unbought and unbossed by the structures of power.

What if Jesus is snatching us out of our desire for another world?