Advent: Hope, Land, and Wine Hope is impossible without a deep sense of being landed. And hope is impossible if you never get dirt under your fingernails.
Heartbreaking Hope and Courage I became Toronto’s embittered lover. In many ways I still am. I have been so faithful to this city, but it hasn’t been faithful back.
Hope in my Wallet But hope is not born of the erasure of the past. Hope requires the redemption of the past, and the reclaiming of its promise.
Jeremiah’s Call and Desperate Times Without prophetic critique, hope before breakfast will be little more than cheap optimism at best, and a pious cover-up at worst.
From Transfixed to Hope: Hope Before Breakfast We may be sleepy, but we will not be numb. Hope and history may not rhyme, but we gather nonetheless with a radical and stubborn hope, even before breakfast!
Advent on the way to the Cross The times are too desperate for “Away in the Manger.” The situation is too dangerous for “Silent Night.”
Tale of Two Feasts Much depends on who eats and who doesn’t, on who is invited to dinner, on who is the host, and on where you eat.
Imagining Healed Daughters It's tough to be a woman. But, the reason why I find the Jesus-story we share in this room so compelling is how radically different he was in the world. Every small step towards healing requires someone releasing power. Jesus is willing to give up power in this exchange.
Remembering, Forgetting and the “F” Bomb Any alternative narrative, any liberating vision, has to engage in an imaginative act of forgetting … and remembering.
Beyond Smugness: The Beatitudes Again If we can be smug about this radical teaching of Jesus, then we demonstrate in our very smugness that we don’t get it.
Resurrection, Jesus and Leonard Settling in either knowing or unknowing, resolving the tension of faith and doubt would have been cheap and superficial, regardless of where one landed.
Easter! Too Good to be True? What if the story that scripture tells isn’t a fairy tale… what if instead, all fairy tales are resonating with and hinting at this singular real story that shapes our history? What if we’re created to long for these stories, to recognize them as familiar?