In the book “A Wrinkle in Time,” Mrs. Whatsit sighs and tells the children, “Explanations are not easy when they are about things for which your civilization still has no words.” Last weekend, the global community of Christian writers quaked in shock as we absorbed the news that the influential author Rachel Held Evans, 37,Continue reading “Explanations are not easy”
Tag Archives: loss
Thanksgiving and the Eucharist: the story of our lives
“With five brothers,” began my dad, telling the familiar story to my niece and nephew, “your Great-aunt Kathy was always getting her food stolen. Her spot was right next to your great-grandfather, who used to tease her. Every night at dinner, your Aunt Kathy would huddle over her plate, with her fork ready to stabContinue reading “Thanksgiving and the Eucharist: the story of our lives”
When disaster strikes, God remains
So faith, hope, love remain, these three; but the greatest of these is love. ~ 1 Corinthians 13:13 The two narratives twist together when the waters churn and the fears rise, when the winds blow and doubts intensify, when the flames destroy and homes burn to ash. Every surrender surfaces acts of courage and love.Continue reading “When disaster strikes, God remains”
Good Friday: The crosses we create
Today, this high holy day, at liturgies worldwide, we will know no sacrifice at the banquet table. Communion will be different, stirring up spiritual hungers to remind us of the pain of our loss, the awfulness of the absence of Christ. On this solemn day, an unusual ritual will file us forward; all of us areContinue reading “Good Friday: The crosses we create”
They have guns, but we have flowers—a modern beatitude
The beatitudes have been called Jesus’ version of the Ten Commandments. They sum up the heart of his message, point us in the right direction, show us the truth of God and grant eternal hope. Except they are a lot harder to understand. And to follow. What does it really mean, that “Blessed are theContinue reading “They have guns, but we have flowers—a modern beatitude”
Ashy Remembering
Black falls off my fingers. A dark coat of Truth covers me, my hands, all dirty. I am Too messy for this: the sacred Marking of penitents processing. Skin rubs skin, black in between Ash smeared upon holy, oily faces. The stream keeps moving. I am like a rock slowing the flow with redirecting, grounding. I proclaim:Continue reading “Ashy Remembering”