Rev. Larry Strenge is a friend of mine, I am honored to say.
Below are photos from my home office (I’ve discovered that you can see them a bit more clearly if you click on them.)
A few months back, which was several years later than it should have been, I stumbled on poetry by Billy Collins.
Saturday, my father, my daughter, and two friends went to cut our Christmas tree. Every year, we march out to some spot out of town for the annual sawing down of the Tannenbaum.
This year’s Advent launches us into the “Year of Mark,” the period when the primary gospel readings come from, well, Mark, obviously.
If you have never read Wendell Berry, or worse, never heard of him, stop reading this blog this very moment and go to your nearest local bookstore to buy his stuff up before your neighbor snags all the goods first.
So for folks who read my stuff, or have heard me speak, you know that I am ridiculously annoyed with the echoing space in the creed between Mary’s birthing of Jesus and Pontius Pilate’s offing of him.
Ten years ago yesterday, all was mostly well in my world.
Tuesday, post Holy Week.
Daughter Else asks magnificent questions.
Wally Taylor teaches New Testament at (the truly outstanding) Trinity Lutheran Seminary, in the fair city of Columbus, Ohio.
So tomorrow, on Ash Wednesday, many–not all, but many–people in the Christian Church mark the beginning of Lent.
Appropriately, I think, I tend to keep personal updates off of my OMG Facebook page.
I was fussing with the idea of re-posting this blog this week, but then a friend of mine made reference to it today, and I viewed it as a sign that maybe I should just as well go ahead and do it for the third year running.
Google yields only one pop song, and an iffy one at that, with the word “finitude” in its lyrics.
“We pray for the Holy Spirit to come, and then, when she does, we want her to go home!”
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