At Progressive Field the other night for the Indians’ latest shellacking of the Tigers, I was standing in line at the concession stand when it came time for the national anthem.

In my last two posts, I wrote about the pervasiveness of violence in our world, the temptation to use violence to combat violence, and my conviction that for myself, anyway, Jesus’s teachings and example prohibit my giving in to that temptation.

On my way to work Thursday morning, the song “If I Had a Rocket Launcher” came up on my playlist.

Next Monday is Memorial Day, and I must admit that I feel torn every time one of these patriotic, military-based holidays comes along.

It probably won’t pass, may not even make it to the floor of the legislature, but a bill has arisen that would police bathrooms in Ohio in a similar way that recently signed bills in North Carolina and Mississippi will soon do.

It’s kind of hard to believe, but this month marks thirty years since I graduated from high school. It’s hard for me to believe, anyway.

This weekend I will be officiating at my first same-sex wedding.

In The Waste Land, T.S. Eliot famously wrote: April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land...

In The Nonviolent Atonement, J. Denny Weaver offers a crucial alternative to the standard understanding of the events we commemorate during Holy Week.

Last night I read that Chicago has already had twice as many homicides in the first sixty days of 2016 as it did during the same period last year.

Last Sunday I preached about how Jesus incarnates God as a mother hen who places herself between her chicks and the fox, sacrificing her own life to save the lives of her children.

Eleven years ago I married into a family of Episcopalians. Sarah’s father is the recently retired bishop of the Diocese of New Jersey, and Sarah describes herself as a “cradle Episcopalian.”