John
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Thomas speaks from the gut
Last year I took a class to determine my Enneagram number. I’m an old hand at Myers-Briggs, with its 16 types, but this nine-number circle with all sorts of arrows going back and forth was a new system for me. Thankfully the teacher, Suzanne Stabile, had a teaching style I understood well. It turns out we are the same type.
Some of us reside in the heart (or feeling) triad, as Suzanne and I do, and some in the head (or thinking) triad. My guess is Thomas would belong in the third triad.
By Martha Spong
Washing dirty feet
The feet and legs of the homeless men we serve at the Bowery Mission in New York are a testimony to the pain they endure daily. Many of their legs are swollen because, like Jesus, they have nowhere to lay their head to rest.
April 12, 2015, Second Sunday of Easter (John 20:19-31)
Thomas knows Jesus as incarnate. He cannot easily make the leap to Jesus’ new condition. It’s easier for us, because we consider the story in a different order.
by Martha Spong
Blogging toward Good Friday: Collective trauma
I’ve only seen three dead bodies in my life. The first was when I was 12 years old and my grandfather died at age 69. It was the first time I ever saw my father cry. At the funeral home, my sister was brave enough to reach out and touch my grandfather’s hand as it rested on his torso. Back in our seats, I asked her what his skin felt like. “Plastic,” she said.
By Britt Cox
Blogging toward Good Friday: Collective trauma
I’ve only seen three dead bodies in my life. The first was when I was 12 years old and my grandfather died at age 69. It was the first time I ever saw my father cry. At the funeral home, my sister was brave enough to reach out and touch my grandfather’s hand as it rested on his torso. Back in our seats, I asked her what his skin felt like. “Plastic,” she said.
By Britt Cox
Blogging toward Good Friday: Collective trauma
I’ve only seen three dead bodies in my life. The first was when I was 12 years old and my grandfather died at age 69. It was the first time I ever saw my father cry. At the funeral home, my sister was brave enough to reach out and touch my grandfather’s hand as it rested on his torso. Back in our seats, I asked her what his skin felt like. “Plastic,” she said.
By Britt Cox
Doubting Thomas, by Caravaggio (Michelangelo Merisi da, 1571–1610)
Art selection and commentary by Heidi J. Hornik and Mikeal C. Parsons.
Blogging toward Maundy Thursday: Be reconciled, then eat
"Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world.” What happens when you know your time has come? What do you say to those closest to you?
Dementia and resurrection
Perhaps it's only when we let go of who and what our loved one was that we can receive who they are now.
by Samuel Wells
Dementia and resurrection
Perhaps it's only when we let go of who and what our loved one was that we can receive who they are now.
by Samuel Wells
Oscar Romero's grain of wheat
This month in 1980, the Salvadoran archbishop was assassinated—shortly after preaching on John 12.
Oscar Romero's grain of wheat
This month in 1980, the Salvadoran archbishop was assassinated—shortly after preaching on John 12.
April 3, 2015, Good Friday: Isaiah 52:13-53:12; John 18:1-19:42
Aristotle writes that we would never go to the theater to see terrible things happen to a good man through no fault of his. Yet here we gather, aching for a good man’s sorrows and turning to him to make sense of our own.
by David Keck
April 3, 2015, Good Friday: Isaiah 52:13-53:12; John 18:1-19:42
Aristotle writes that we would never go to the theater to see terrible things happen to a good man through no fault of his. Yet here we gather, aching for a good man’s sorrows and turning to him to make sense of our own.
by David Keck
April 2, 2015, Maundy Thursday: John 13:1-17, 31b-35
John 13 begins with imminent betrayal, suffering, and death. Understandably, we envision the scene with somber images. But I wonder if we overlook Jesus’ joy.
by David Keck
March 29, 2015, Palm Sunday: John 12:12-16
Palm Sunday is a story of disappointed expectations, of what happens when someone you admire refuses to be who you think they should be.