Prayer for the city

Burst my bubble, Lord, for through it
I see only distortions of neighbor.

And who, Lord, is my neighbor?
All I know is this sphere of iridescent protection.

I launch iridescent projections into lives I don’t know.
My bubble—a drug. I’m in no condition to love.

By egregiously misreading Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s moral crisis, it primes viewers for violence.

Toni Alimi and Matthew Elia each make the case that it is. Their books demand a reckoning.

One of the clearest ways God says yes to Christians is when unjust authorities hate us.

My in-laws took the whole family to Ken Ham’s monument to young earth creationism. What could go wrong?

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