The ancient Israelites’ longing for cucumbers was really the longing for home, whether in Egypt or in a new place. I think it’s our longing too, in our strange and fearsome time.
It’s terrible to feel boxed in to a previous version of yourself. The heart of the gospel is this: everyone gets to grow and change.
We’re a full six months into this pandemic, and here is the final exam for this semester: Where are you feeling almost dead? Where are you coming alive for the first time in years?
How do we enact play in our busy, overscheduled lives? You already know the answer: We do less. We allow more unstructured time. We make messes, art carts, and robot noises.
Sometimes the longest and most difficult journey is not from place to place, but from assumption to experience, from disdain to respect, from judgment to love.
There’s no better place to begin a consideration of what we should give back to God than with an appreciation for God has given to us.
One opening is often all it takes for the Spirit to invade. Sometimes it hurts. In every case, it aims to heal.
In all our clashing, we must be mindful to know what we might forfeit with wanton hostility. Winning our claims at the cost of losing democracy is a loss for everyone.
When the blood is flowing in the streets, when the grapes of wrath have filled and split open like so many mothers’ broken hearts, what then is the approved protocol?