The scene generally looks the same: after my older son and I pick up his brother at preschool, I have a choice to make. Do I take the shorter route, the one that winds down MacArthur and through the center of town, complete with stoplights and traffic and grit galore? Or do I take the back roads that take a few minutes longer but guarantees a glimpse of the magical view?
Dear Thomas, As we celebrate your feast day today I can’t help but cringe when I think about the number of times I’ve heard people chide the use of your modern-day nickname “Doubting Thomas.” As much as I’d rather not admit it, I, too, have declared from the pulpit that it’s demeaning and unfair to emphasize your apparent skepticism surrounding Jesus’ resurrection.
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 […]
Failing was my entrance into a holy Lent.
This end-of-year sprint is familiar territory for all of us. And still, every year it rolls around and surprises us.
My daughter would start with the memorized prayer, then go “off script” and talk to God. She learned to pray.
When we give thanks to God for our blessings, we recognize their true source.
It didn’t exist a year ago. But today, it is a real ministry just beginning to bear fruit.
It is by God’s hand, not our own doing, that we are all continually fed.
I don’t ever want my children to think for one second that love and grace have to be earned.