At one point, Milt simply stops praying before meals. “The loss of Dad’s prayer voice,” Howard writes, “was an absence, like losing one of your
Editor’s note: This is another installment in our occasional series, “How do we come to be the ones we are?” My parents would have said
At a work meeting this week, our committee was discussing a niggling little matter that will need to be decided soon. As we talked amicably,
Editor’s Note: This is another entry in our continuing series that asks, “How do we come to be the ones we are?” “The Latin root
Editor’s Note: We continue our occasional series on “How do we come to be the ones we are?” with this reflection from April Fiet. I
Editor’s Note: A few months ago, the poet Thomas Lynch raised the question in our podcast: “How do we come to be the ones we
Over the past number of decades, there has been a turn towards an autobiographical approach in the field of Practical Theology. Practical theologian Heather Walton
I baptized my older daughter, Sarah, when she was three months old. She was not my first baptism, though she was among my first. I
You will abide, I hope, my looking back a bit. It comes easily to a man or woman in his/her 70s. Just ask. But if
I had an experience early in 2017 that still comes back from time to time to poke my worldview, my fragile hold on “things church,”
“Touch has a memory,” said the poet John Keats, who stared down the impending loss of his own life: death from tuberculosis at the age
During the long and difficult days of the Montgomery bus boycott, Martin Luther King Jr. and his family received daily death threats as he led
The last time I had lunch with my mother had been fifteen months ago—in other words, before the pandemic. A few months after the pandemic
I’ve only been hunting once. It was, on the whole, a memorable experience for all of the right reasons: a handful of days in Michigan’s
April 21. 4:37 a.m. The moon shines. Stars signal a clear sky. No clouds to provide a barrier to the cold. Tender apple blossoms, white
Not Alone: Gatineau, Quebec Sophie was born and raised in Quebec. She left the Catholic Church because its worship services were impersonal and it failed
In a crumbling monastery, overlooking grazing sheep and stony shores, we said words that cracked something open in my heart and changed my life forever.
One of the penalties of an ecological education is that one lives alone in a world of wounds–Aldo Leopold I am lingering in a Sunday
Each of us has our own pandemic story that intersects somehow with our culture’s larger story; our own micro-stories written on the margins of a
