After forty years, I can say I'm free of envy of my fellow youth group member, even if he is still handsome at sixty--like a movie star who has decided to make his hair gray to acknowledge he’s aging but still sexy.
On the one hand, I wish I had never left the ministry. On the other hand, I wish I had never gone into it in the first place.
What would it be like if we had a whole nation of grownups who knew how to think critically and cared enough to resist the hysteria of crowds? What kind of leaders would be chosen?
I’ve been hearing from some of my friends that they are tired of their tax dollars being used to enable people who were too lazy to work.
I’m horrified that we locked my sweet, loveable, funny aunt into a prison of silence, where she dreaded the day she would die and go to the hell we had created.
I’m scared like everyone else right now. I have one of those essential jobs where I come out of isolation to sell groceries to people, some of whom could be contagious. The anxiety hangs on me like an extra weight that I carry wherever I go. Sometimes it gets me down but it’s my job … Continue reading Essential Work (101st Post)
Over my time as a minister, people whispered these questions to me, often ashamed to put them into words. I’m articulating them in hopes of engaging their thinking.
It has taken me a long time to see that our religion could be a tool to prey on the vulnerable. The baptismal waters come closer to drowning them rather than cleansing them.
I'm not going to be attending my 35th college reunion.
Even after all this time, I still have to remind myself that I never had mystical powers of healing, although people tried a little harder to pull themselves together and straighten up when they knew I was a minister.