12 Jun 2019

Longings:

Or, Reflections on the Gospel of John in Response to Leonard Cohen I hunger. Bread fills me. I hunger again. I thirst. Wine makes the heart glad. My thirst is not quenched. I question. I have seen all done under the sun. Truth eludes me. I love As the wonder of a man with a virgin. Yet the unity is cracked. I live, Tasting, hearing, smelling, seeing, feeling all these mundane joys, Yet I die.

Joshua Schendel 1
05 Jun 2019

After Holy Communion

It is possible to ring with crystalline purity like a wineglass traced by fingertips. Each of us bearing Fingerprints, evidence in clay. Whether we be muddiest earth or turned perfectly transparent, Our heart of hearts remains Hidden even to us. Whether it be holy of holies or den of demons….Well, How does it resonate? Do its walls reverberate with that lone immutable Note? Consume the Word and hear His name sung on your palate. Taste

Guest Author 0
08 May 2019

Broken Silence: A Lament for Rachel Held Evans

God of the margins, We encounter you in the ostracized, in the liminal, on the outskirts of town. We encounter you in the pariah, the reject, the apostate. Sometimes we are the pariah, plagued by the ghosts of failed expectations. Of merciless accusations. With no consolation but your deafening silence. Sometimes we find you again. In a fellow outcast whose words spark hope. Whose vulnerability is magnetic. Whose inspiration is contagious. Their voice reverberates with

Jacob Quick 0
03 Apr 2019

Ashes

The sky is the colour of ashes—       White and grey; The eaves drip icicle tears       falling away   My life is filled with ashes,       my mood is fey; Death upon death finds my heart       falling away   Across my forehead a cross      —charcoal dust— Reminds me that my frame       will soon rust   Over the shadow of death       a Cross Reminds me that life       can flame from loss   The kernel of wheat       must die,

Johanna Byrkett 0
20 Feb 2019

More Than Morbid

April is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain.[1]   T. S. Eliot “We are the hollow men / We are the stuffed men,” Eliot begins his 1925 poem, “The Hollow Men.” Not the most positive of notes on which to start. But perhaps therein is its haunting power. Reality has a way of pressing beyond our rather feeble attempts at distracting ourselves.

Joshua Schendel 0
16 Nov 2018

The Passing of the Shadow

In the gloaming across the sere grass I see a shadow roaming up the hill, across the loam I see the dark shape pass.   Golden evening light has given way to misty twilight, the shadow’s flight (or was it descent?) lost in grey.   Who was it walked that hill? Who was it passed by without seeing— the porch, the cat sleeping still?   And who, indeed, let their shade-self walk across the bare

Johanna Byrkett 0
14 Nov 2018

Recovering the Beauty of the Christian

The beautiful is that which is pleasing when seen… —Thomas Aquinas As I indicated in my last post, I’ve been thinking about the topic of an apologetic for the Christian faith in light of our time and culture of ugliness (both inside and outside the Church). I suggested that theologians and leaders would do well to place a special emphasis on living beautifully. In this post, I would like to continue that line of thought,

Joshua Schendel 0
19 Sep 2018

Between Defiance and Despair

I have often said that the sole cause of man’s unhappiness is that he does not know how to stay quietly in his room. —Blaise Pascal Quietude. Calm. Collected. Consistency. These are not the buzzwords of our culture of revolution. If they make it on to the radar, it is as unwanted intruders. To use one’s voice is a virtue; to remain silent, a vice. To be calm is thought to be apathetic at best,

Joshua Schendel 0
08 Aug 2018

We Have A Secret

We have a secret   A secret that energizes us A secret that enables us A secret that brings us joy   That secret is: God is A community of divine Persons   One in love One in purpose Drawing all to Beauty   All is chaos outside this Order All is in fluctuation outside this Stability All is changing outside this Being   We have a secret   It connects us It creates a

Benjamin Winter 0
27 Jun 2018

Glorious Things of Thee Are Spoken (Part 2)

In the first part of this two part series on Psalm 46, I suggested that there are three strata of imagery in the psalm. The ‘city of God’ is a lush garden, providing for those inside her walls sustenance and shelter, calm and quiet, against all the wilds of life outside her walls. The city of God is, furthermore, protected against the judgement of God. The purging of evil involves God’s de-creative acts; yet for

Joshua Schendel 0
18 May 2018

Glorious Things of Thee are Spoken (Part 1)

In a sermon preached the same year that Augustine began to write his City of God, he told his congregation: “Brethren, when I speak of that City, and especially when scandals grow great here, I just cannot bring myself to stop…” (Enarr. In Ps. 84.10). As in Augustine’s time, so in ours as well scandals increase. Whether they do so more in our own time, I am not one to judge (though I rather doubt

Joshua Schendel 1
04 May 2018

Empty Hands

I want to hold my worth in my hands; to trace my accomplishments in gilded letters on spine and cover; to smell them in ink and paper.   But my desire is a dream awakened, and all I can trace are tears of shame, that I have nothing to hold out in offering but empty hands.   Empty hands—not clenched fists, angry, or grasping at given gifts; Empty hands, ready to hold another’s, to serve,

Johanna Byrkett 0
09 Mar 2018

What if the Season is Barren?

They are like trees along a riverbank bearing luscious fruit each season without fail. Their leaves shall never wither, and all they do shall prosper. —Psalm 1:3, The Living Bible   What if the season is barren rather than bearing? How if the leaves have curled and the river has curved away—away from from this tree, empty?   “Empty? Why art thou empty?” Asks the Spirit-wind, rustling through parchèd leaves. “Have you ceased to delight

Johanna Byrkett 0
23 Feb 2018

At Home in the Body

“…as long as we have a body and our soul is fused with such an evil we shall never adequately attain what we desire.” – Plato (Phaedo, 66b)   I often wonder     what it means          that God gave us               bodies   made of bones,     flesh, and water—          with fingers, for example,               to pop open sodas   for sipping on     some hot summer          day—or with               eyes   to wander into the gaze     of others—strangers,          enemies, lovers—

Cameron Brooks 0
12 Jan 2018

Unmerited

Kindness flowing out in wine and chocolate chip cookies, in smiles and eyes, in words and hidden acts   Grace flowing down in water and wine and blood over dark soul nights, to unworthy us   Love flowing over from hearts and hands, eyes and lips in forgiveness again, and again—every time   Gifts ever flowing that we cannot earn, cannot repay, we humbly receive with open, empty hands   Full over flowing hands and

Johanna Byrkett 0
06 Dec 2017

Advent

Advent Heavy lay the snow the last warm breath just lingering inside our gloves next to fatigue it slowed and chilled me and my brothers toying with a seam at winter’s hem until the cold was far too much we stumbled home and stood like living clouds of steam our thrown scarves garlands for the railing and the chairs Mother I even began to feel afraid when the last light topped its arc those slender

Daniel Hyland 0
24 Nov 2017

Cleansing Fire

 What if prayer is a furnace?      When we confess, every sin and every evil thing         is burnt away into ashes.            But every prayer in line with Life and Love             —stemming from God’s Spirit—                  is refined like gold and silver.                     What if that? 

Johanna Byrkett 0
08 Nov 2017

All the Secrets

All the Secrets You don’t believe me, look there, part the grass, he’s walking through the kitchen in his shirt you laugh he’ll hear you and come looking. He keeps (I saw it from a faded picture snagged at midnight on a full-waned moon a solitary awning’s bulb the best light going) a frog that talks, oh yes I mean it don’t you say I lied, I’ve heard it croak a choked horn’s wheeze that

Daniel Hyland 0
27 Oct 2017

Before Fall

by Cameron Brooks   On an early September morning I hear Fall whispering. Rushing out the front door I catch its thin voice in an unexpected breeze, faint, crisp, foreign to my bare skin, which is leathered and browned from four months of sun and sand and runs along the river behind our home. I pause in the paved lot to listen closer. As I lean into the breeze, I remember how my world has

Cameron Brooks 0
25 Oct 2017

Images of the Shroud

Images of the Shroud I stay up late at night searching for high-resolution images of the Shroud of Turin weighing the evidence and different theories. I can see the blood on his arms, ringing round the bicep and shoulders, running like tattoos, the wound on the hand, and those on the feet, ribcage, and brow. They trace a body on the cloth, the relic of a crux connecting earth to heaven, there to issue blood

Daniel Hyland 0