1. Matthias, called to be an apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God, by the eleven who remained after the death of Judas, through the casting of lots. To the Church that is in Chattanooga, to those who call themselves Disciples, called to serve and proclaim wholeness in a fragmented world, together with […]Read More The First Letter of Matthias to the Church in Chattanooga
This is the night we gather to remember the crucifixion of Jesus. It is a hard night. And a hard story. Traditionally, the scripture that is read when we gather to remember this night is the Passion account from the Gospel of John. John’s account of the Passion is a hard story for many of […]Read More We do not know what’s coming in the morning: A Good Friday Meditation
Travis She was our neighbor. She stole our pumpkins. Overfed our dogs. On the day I took her To the hospital She called me by someone else’s name She was the nicest lady ever. — Julie I’ve always really loved this pic. I see my grandfather at a clay pigeon shoot I see that we […]Read More Third Month. Two Friends. One Poem.
It is in the shadow of the sundown that we find our waking hour Our bodies sore from the waking up and from the burdens we carry. And so we bring our aching to you. O Lord Hear Our Prayer It is dust, and mud, and memory that we stack upon our backs that we […]Read More An Ash Wednesday Prayer 2018
A thousand times, no I do not like that album I did not like it when we started dating, and I told you that even before I knew I liked you; please do not play it now because I am in the middle of something. It is a grand plan, this something because it always […]Read More A thousand times, no
I want to tell you about the time I had John Denver’s phone number. Or at least the possibility of having his number. By the time I might have had it, though, he was gone, having tried once more to touch the sun. It was in one of those pre-palm pilot organizers, long before smartphones. […]Read More John Denver’s Phone Number
i always hope i do not desecrate a holy place with my clumsy wonder. we wander into the sanctuary, passing a statue of moses, a gift sculpted by an italian for this sanctuary. the horns, born of a mistranslation and mother of dangerous myth, are part of the casting, never to be shaven off. a […]Read More how we plan to use our feet: the dinner at congregation mizpah