We have sterilized the cross. What began as a device of torture and execution now adorns bejeweled necklines, book jackets marketing to Christians, and all manner of art and decor.
We were standing in front of an overflowing trash can in the neighborhood “fast-food chicken” franchise. It took me a moment to register my son asking me the question. I’d been daydreaming and lost in thought.
On Palm Sunday, during the reading of the passion gospel, my three and a half year old learned that Jesus died. On the one hand, I was swelling with parental pride for his calm attentiveness and understanding of the story. But on the other hand, I was worried about how this new information would begin processing in his young mind.
I am a priest. I am going through a divorce. Imagine my excitement level as I prepare to preach Sunday on Proper 22 in Year […]
Time for confession— I take far too much pride in my son. It is sinful. I am a realist and know the day will come […]
St. Barnabas, one of the earliest Apostles, is mostly a supporting actor in the story of the early church. In the drama of those first […]