Like the sludge on a car in the winter, most of our messes accumulate gradually.
Life of Faith
As a child, I testified every Sunday morning. I can’t do it anymore.
Arthur Brooks gave the room an important assignment. President Trump turned it down.
We gave our readers a one-word writing prompt: “Feet.”
A new collection of Doyle’s nonfiction overflows with wonder.
At the heart of life is the mess of being stuck with other people.
Hope smells like barbecue.
What we can learn from the parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector
God’s presence transfigures here, now, in the familiar.
Each year a Hindu priest asks my students to “worship our own, but respect all.” They find the second part easier.
The gymnast who brought down Larry Nassar tells her story.
Idolatry is the desire to manipulate God.
Epiphanies flare up and fade. How can we keep them in our everyday vision?
One of the greatest mysteries of faith is that God loves us as is.
How human isolation from the rest of the world keeps us from thriving.