The in-breaking of the kingdom of God shows up to me rarely in the grand gestures of life, but instead in the tender moments when God slows me down long enough to see the truth of God’s love, which silences — even just for a second — the lies of depression.
Satire can quickly become toothless, selling itself for an easy laugh.
Comedy has moved far past slapstick, and instead wishes to call forth something deeper within the mind, body, and soul.
The Word preached that one last time to that practical philosopher Pontius Pilate, and he spoke of the truth.
Our Anglican Communion recently decided at its Primates’ Meeting to “walk together." This will be a difficult path: if we are to have any kind of common life worthy of the name, we have to have the “serious conversations.”
We’ve forgotten what art is for. We need places to live, work, and worship: They are useful for us when they reflect our value as creatures of Beauty itself.
A common appreciation for the aesthetic of liturgy seems to be the one commonality that progressives and conservatives share in North American Anglicanism.
The proliferation of popular I am hurt and wounded style songs is itself sobering, having moved well beyond the pathos of, say, Patsy Cline in their stark descriptions.