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Holy Regret
A friend and I were talking early this morning about our respective experiences in the institutional church. The conversation was like a ride in a crop-duster, full of swoops and dives and wing-waggles, sometimes peaceful, sometimes thrilling, constantly flowing. And after the conversation, I sat at my desk, thinking about the things he’d told me and the things I’d told him, and I reached a conclusion. I’ve committed many sins and made many stupid decisions over the decades. But I don’t regret any of those things with the intensity and shame that I feel when I think of the pious boilerplate that I offered so many people when talking about…
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Savoring The Weariness
The weekend is ebbing and I’m sitting here, freshly showered and dressed in clean cotton and winding down, waiting to get sleepy. It’s a marvel that I’m not already sleepy, because I am bone-tired. But not because of physical exertion. A little while ago, I went out and picked some okra, re-tied some of the heavy-laden tomato plants, and watered all the flowers and vegetables. The humidity is hanging in the air like gray tulle, and I sweated heavily merely standing still with a garden hose. I needed the shower, but I didn’t tax myself. No, I am weary because this has been a weekend spent thinking, spent deep within…