What do we say on a day like this? Today is Good Friday. Today is the day that Jesus dies. Today is a reminder that—even though we know Jesus promises that Death will not have the last word-death still has a word. Death still has a word. And what is Death’s word, on a day… Continue reading A Sermon For Good Friday.
I sit with my grief. I mother it. I hold its small, hot hand. I don’t say, shhh. I don’t say, it is okay. I wait until it is done having feelings. Then we stand and we go wash the dishes. We crack open bedroom doors, step over the creaks, and kiss the children. We are sore… Continue reading I hold my grief’s small, hot hand.
Ash Wednesday was my dad's favorite day. Wilson loved Lent-- at his funeral, his priest Charles told a story about how Dad's contribution to a vestry brainstorming session on evangelism was to suggest that they really double down on inviting people into Lent. For him, this was the season at the backbone of the Christian… Continue reading On Lent, and Wilson.
A few nights ago, my friend Will sang the words above as he prepared dinner for the two of us after a satisfying day out in the cold. It made me laugh out loud for how immanently relatable that moment is in my own time in the kitchen: thinking all is chugging along quite well… Continue reading Too many pastas for a too small pot.