We all have family histories that shape who we are. Here’s part of my story …

In a busy and hectic world we all need to find space to slow down and breathe. Psalm 46:10 reminds us to pay attention to the presence of the divine with a call to, "Be still, and know that I am God." Do you take time to make space for the divine in your life?

What does it mean for us to say that we are only six social connections from anyone else on the planet? Some brief thoughts on our connectedness.

I haven’t written in a while because I didn’t want to simply write, “I told you so.” I didn’t want to sound patronizing. Yet, my frustration is that everything that happened last week at the nation’s capitol was entirely predictable.

I want to use the term Christian without any modifiers, no adjectives. I believe adjectival Christianity is the source of so many of the problems facing the church.

Whitehead and Perry share that “The desperate quest for power inherent in Christian nationalist ideology is antithetical to Jesus’ message. At its core, Christian nationalism is a hollow and deceptive philosophy that depends on human tradition and the basic principles of this world, rather than on Christ.”

I often hear people say that we shouldn’t judge others. Certainly we shouldn’t slander others, we shouldn’t bear false witness against others, we shouldn’t spread rumors about others, and we shouldn’t be judgmental. However, we must pass judgment on other people.

There was a time before Karl Marx. A time before Maynard Keynes and Adam Smith. A time before the political theory of Locke and Rousseau. There was a time when Christians didn’t think in terms of individual rights or argue about the virtues of socialism versus capitalism.

“The Lord works righteousness and justice for all the oppressed.”

In the American context, I no longer believe the term evangelical can be redeemed. It has been politicized in a manner that deprives it of all historical meaning. Therefore, it is no longer a descriptor that I can apply to myself.

I haven’t been writing because it’s been too hard to focus on one thing.

A short poem and image questioning the idea of peace through violence.

Twenty-five years ago this summer I stepped off the plane. It was hot, muggy, and dark. The air was thick and mixed with the smell of dust and fuel. We had arrived in Nairobi, Kenya. It was my first time in sub-Saharan Africa and it would change my life.

We, humans, were created to bear God’s image in the world and God gave us, humanity, the responsibility to be stewards of creation. To be God’s representatives on this planet. Only something went terribly wrong.

See to it that no one takes you captive through hollow and deceptive philosophy, which depends on human tradition and the elemental spiritual forces of this world rather than on Christ. Colossians 2:8

I’ve been living with this particular thought for several weeks.

It was late in the summer of 1992. I had moved from Belfast in June and was settling into my life in Minnesota when I saw the flashing lights of a police cruiser pull up behind me.