As a kid growing up in East Tennessee, there were few better ways to enjoy an oppressively sticky late summer evening, than attempting to catch lightnin’ bugs*. (*NOTE: I realize some of you may not be familiar with the colloquialism “lightnin’ bugs,” as…
i’m not rob bell.
I had this somewhat obvious epiphany the other day. I’m not, nor have I ever been, Rob Bell. I know, I know, groundbreaking. I’d probably give this one a “discovering you have enough change in your late model civic’s ashtray…
on arks and alienation: or why building a 70 million dollar boat in the middle of Kentucky still seems like a bad idea.
These days it doesn’t take much to leave me feeling dismayed and embarrassed by the public image of the faith to which I’ve tethered my hopes, fears, dreams, and abilities to pay my mortgage. Which, is why I’m ever so…
cynicism + the art of resurrection.
If you’ve been reading my work for any length of time (and once again, I recycle this joke only because it’s too good not to: thanks Mom!) you’ve likely at one point or another come to at least 2 conclusions about…
blessings.
Ahem, (clears throat, drinks water, begins.) Blessed are the persecuted mega-church majorities, for they own most of the world already. Blessed are those who mourn the loss of Christianity’s cultural power, for they will be trapped eternally in a group…
Forever asking, what’s the next right thing?
Quite often, over the course of numerous conversations unfolding inside the circled wagons of wounded American evangelicalism, there develops this almost liturgically repetitious refrain among the faithful: Our best years are behind us. Whether it’s wistfully recounting the size of…
the next right thing.
Quite often, over the course of numerous conversations unfolding inside the circled wagons of wounded American Evangelicalism, there develops this almost liturgically repetitious refrain amongst the faithful: our best years are behind us. Whether it’s wistfully recounting the size of…
Flesh is the new Word.
Over the course of my quickly fading 20s I’ve discovered a few truths about existence: 1) My crutch like belief-as a poorly complected 17 year old-that my skin would finally even out in my late twenties was, disappointingly, misplaced. (Also, is there…
the speck is also the log.
I’m a racist. I tried beginning this conversation differently, for instance by talking about how incredibly difficult hearing about the events unfolding in Ferguson has been, but that route’s been mired in political and rhetorical polarization with each side mustering proof texts…