Essays
A collection of reflections shaped by curiosity, conviction, and care. Written for those navigating faith, culture, nature, and meaning in a world that’s always in motion.
I noticed that the way we spoke about nature almost always celebrated beautiful aspects, typically in general terms: mountains, clouds, wildflowers, sunsets, that sort of thing. We did not discuss parasitic wasps at all, or STI-infected cicadas.
Strange how quickly people’s lives fade into oblivion. These people lived their lives, then died. And their stories? What happens to their stories? Maybe a few facts or memories get preserved, but what of all the sorrows and thoughts and day-to-day experiences?
It seems to me people have all kinds of unhelpful notions about what a vote means. And that can lead to them choosing not to vote, usually for either (or both) of two reasons. 1. They don’t think their vote matters. 2. They want to signal their virtue.
Let’s address these one at a time.
What distinctive gifts does the church bring to the table? What can we offer, right now, in this moment in history? What gifts of the church are suited well for what we need?
The cinematography is amazing! The production design incredible! The acting top-notch! The directing visionary! Eh. I was bored.
Even I have to admit, it looks terrible: broken, rotting stalks, bare dirt, no happy winged visitors. I tell myself there are over-wintering insects in there, that native roots are strong, that spring is coming. But right now: stillness, death.
Miss P recommends relaxed bemusement at the strained and unnecessary efforts of some Christians to claw back holy meaning for Ash Wednesday out of the lacey pink clutches of commercialized romance.
We often wonder what God is calling us to do in a particular moment or passage of life. Could we ask ourselves, in such moments, “What is my blessed unrest here?”
Those of us who teach in humanities fields at university face the threshold of every new semester with the sinking feeling that we have dedicated our lives to something “the culture” no longer values. We’re useless, if not downright nefarious.
These candlelit evenings, ancient hope glimmers like a gift,
gleams for a moment, then falters, slips to nothing
in the circling of the year, our loves still unsteady, our roots
still shallow, every promise a whisper of moth’s wings and still
pending.
But what to do with this whiz-bang of a passage from Mark, where Jesus instructs the disciples about impending doom?
As with the Pew study, PRRI found that religious leadership structures duly release well-meaning statements, and religious people talk a good game about “creation care” and “stewardship,” but many of the faithful are far more influenced in their climate views by their news sources and their politics than by theological motivations or faith communities.
Distant from my parents’ and their parents’ worlds, scrambling to understand my children’s world, I feel a kind of chronological loneliness. That’s the term I came up with to describe this feeling of floating between.
We’re not talking about a language, or a dialect, or even current slang, but rather those little ways of speaking that are idiosyncratic to a particular person or family unit. In other words, the weird little turns of phrase that only you and maybe your family use. Surely you have some of your own.
The Enemy Within