Someone else should have a turn feeling guilty about not reading Finnegans Wake.
First Person
“The history of a church,” one member wrote in an old scrapbook I found, is “an unfolding pageant of life.”
I love the Del Parson Jesus. But it's the Monkey Jesus I need now.
The thin cannot say to the fat, "I have no need of you."
Shouting against injustice is harder than lamenting it from afar. But it gets easier.
Turned toward one another in worship, we experience the grace of God's gaze.
Struggling with whether to abandon my Korean name made me think about the queerness in all of our identities.
The Jesuit archives in Rome didn't know if they had the document. But they said I could come look for it.
Thirty years later my petty crime came back to haunt me.
I routinely saw patients who were racist, sexist, demanding, and cruel. They were also afraid, exhausted, in pain, and helpless.
We embrace uninitiated visitors, rowdy children, and blue jeans. Why not tears?
He came to our community meal for years before I realized that I was asking something of him, too.
We went on with four performers instead of 10. It was invigorating.
The Red Sea, the baptistery, and the birth canal
Jewish history tells me to be both compassionate and alert. When it comes to the Palestinian conflict, I don't know how to do both at once.
Pages
Feed for "First Person"
