Is it possible that the very act of being together opens a path for the Holy Spirit to connect with us?
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When you think of the border, do you feel powerlessness, Church?
Read MoreYou are an asylum seeker. Maybe you got into a fight with the wrong person on the football field, and now you’re being threatened by one of the local gangs.
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Behind you stretches a series of footprints. They have brought you here, now. This here and this now, to which you have been pressing.
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I have spent some time on dusty roads—pilgrim’s ways that are steeped in equal parts history, mystery, and intention.
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There was wind tearing down the treeless pasture, tangling my hair behind me. The ocean wrapped around me on three sides.
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My kids and I counted the days we have been quarantined for COVID-19 today. The number is in the fifties. My eldest son looked at me and said, "Mom, that number makes me sad."
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Why are we here?
As a student of philosophy, I usually read that question with the emphasis on the Why.
It feels like an uprising. An uprising of hope, not hate. An uprising armed with love, not weapons.
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Jesus said, “Follow me.” Following a king who served and a savior who died is not easy. It is a difficult way. Change. Sorrow.
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The blood was dried in drops along his left side. Near his shoulder they were round, rusty brown disks, stiff and dry. Near his waist they were oblong, having fallen a greater distance.
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As Elsa sings in the new movie, Frozen 2, the unknown is a scary place. It can be anxiety provoking to have no control over the future and have no idea what it holds.
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My friend,
You are invited
to go to your
Facebook/ Instagram/ Twitter/ social media whatever
and scroll…
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No one tells you about the adjustment phase when you get married—when you’re adjusting to life together and encountering everything that your partner does differently than you.
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Where does this newsletter find you?
In the midst of this Coronavirus moment in history,
Many people are thinking about community this week. How do we create and maintain it in the age of social distancing? We are collectively learning and relearning that social and physical contact matters.
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The rock face was wet. Water streamed from above his head down to his feet where it just stopped. There must have been a crack or hole just where the path met the cliff wall, because the dust of the path was only slightly impeded by the waterfall.
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“He is around thirty pounds, with shaggy gray hair, a spotted tongue, his name is Barnaby, and I have had him for about fifteen years,” I say into the phone. “Yep, we definitely have your dog,” says the other person on the other end of the line.
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I rouse to the melody of my alarm, and before my eyes can blink open and fully take in the light, my stomach tightens into knots. My dog Scout stirs, licks my hand, but she doesn’t yet rise.
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“Absolute distinction.”
Incommensurable worlds. Dialectically opposed. Right and wrong, black and white, in and out.
A parable, this parable, invites us into the space between incommensurable worlds.