advent journal
A season isn’t something that befalls you, it is something that you inhabit. —John Berger, The Seasons in Quincy: Four Portraits of John Berger in the fulness of time they hit the road when the days were accomplished they stayed a couple of nights then they went back home
advent journal
Maybe it’s because I went into the family business. My grandfather, Milton I, was a preacher. My father, Milton II, was a preacher. I am Milton III. In the spring of my first year at Baylor, I walked down the aisle at Columbus Avenue Baptist Church one Sunday night
advent journal
And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered. (Luke 2:6 KJV) I first learned the story the same way Linus told it: in language so old that some of the words were forgotten or meanings had changed “the days
advent journal
resounding there is no such thing as silence in the calm of any quiet you can hear hearts breaking dreams dying thanks giving sadness sounding hope harbinging losses mounting faith enduring love outlasting grief weighing grace pervading hands holding listen closely listen . . . for your name your name mine, too Peace,
advent journal
two-lane life is a road but not the interstate think two-lane blacktop that hits all the lights intentional inconvenience that makes you stop in soul food cafés filling stations of the heart hurry is not on the menu the details of our days are not detours traveling together takes time
advent journal
missing a meal we have several mangers on our mantle nativities from around the world as though everyone showed up at once the Magi made the effort to bring incense and offerings; the shepherds came crashing in with stories of angels, but no one brought anything to eat (and that’
poetry
I preached at my church yesterday. The sermon is short because it was a New Member Sunday and we had twenty-two people join. Here's what I said. _______________________________ There is a tradition in poetry of the “found poem,” which is a type of poetry created by taking words, phrases,
lenten journal
This morning a group of us gathered at church for breakfast and reflection together on “tomb time.” The experience led me to these words. there was dead silence from those trapped outside the tomb not a word about where they went or if they stayed together they didn’t know
lenten journal
cross words growing up it was nothing but the blood as though violence was an answer we’ve seen enough history to know that blood doesn’t wash clean as much as it stains, colors almost everything whole civilizations built with wood and nails and blood by the time it
lenten journal
wandering holy week is slipping by (so are a lot of things) and I wonder how it felt that first time around looking for donkeys and then washing coats setting up the upper room holy errands, yes, but still things to get done . . . by the time they finally sat down
lenten journal
One of the cool things I got to do this week was be a part of the book launch for David Finnegan-Hosey’s new book, Christ on the Psych Ward, which I had the honor of editing. A group of about fifty gathered at Potter’s House in Washington DC
lenten journal
I spent the past week in Durham, North Carolina and then took the train to Washington DC for the book launch of Christ on the Psych Ward by David Finnegan-Hosey. I rode the train home today in the snow—our fourth Nor’easter in three weeks. One forecast I read