First Person
The gift of nurturing small things during isolation
What deep desire do my sourdough starter and jade clippings represent?
The liturgy of a black lives matter protest
Last week in Louisville, I went to church.
Wearing down structural evil with the ministry of erosion
During the pandemic, our church’s justice work has gone online.
A pastor’s pandemic diary
I hope our little flock survives. But the church is nonessential to God’s redemption of the world.
Beginning to learn to be a pastor
Shortly after his ordination, a home visit unexpectedly throws a new pastor in the deep end.
A New Monastic community in a time of social distancing
The idea of this place is incarnation. When someone here gets sick, so does everyone else.
I go to thrift stores for the books
I almost always find something good that I didn’t know I needed.
My theological wake-up call at Walmart
We’re too often blind to what God sees.
How do we remember people killed by police?
Call their names. Tell their stories. Confess our role.
In this Easter season, words fail
After the resurrection, the disciples’ words failed too.
A confession to you, my nursing daughter
What am I to make of your singular desire for milk?
Potawatomi women are water protectors
I'm standing by Lake Michigan for the first time, but it already knows me.
The pandemic has made us unintentional monastics
We are urged into the desert of retreat, and we are afraid.
A congregation that spans the US-Mexico border
For more than a decade, Christians have worshiped together across the border wall.
How I learned to love worshiping via video call
I'm immunocompromised. My ability to attend worship has long been determined by the CDC.
Navigating the immigration labyrinth with two pastors facing deportation
We gathered in an ICE parking lot. Not to protest, but to show that we cared.
Thinking about Good Friday during a pandemic
This year the Solemn Reproaches are speaking to me in a new way.
Has social distancing put us in a double pandemic?
Loneliness is a public health crisis, too.
On not getting used to this
My spiritual practices have long been communal ones. I love people—and their presence.