Does a fish notice the water? I suspect he lives and moves and breathes in it his whole existence, never thinking about what is surrounding him and flowing through him. Do we notice how culture affects us? Maybe not any more than the fish notices water. It’s easy to go back in time to Bible days and clearly see how the world’s influence seeped into the church. You Corinthians, get a grip! It’s not okay to sleep with your step-mom! You Galatians, don’t you get that it’s not about keeping the law? It’s a little harder to see how our own societal norms affect us continually. We live Continue Reading
Why I Envy Waterfowl
The sky is a pearly grey overcast, the lake a pewter sheen with tiny ripples from the breeze. A blackbird sings from the shore; two geese honk in the distance. Coots circle near the dock, occasionally disappearing and bobbing back up. I want to be like a coot. Not that I want to grow feathers and eat live fish; I want to live differently than what my culture – even my church culture – dictates. I want to live an upheld life. I did not have swim lessons in a pool with a licensed instructor until I was ten. The limited coaching I got before that was from my then-teenage uncles at a Continue Reading
How Personal History is like a Bed Spring
Thirty-one years later, a thousand miles from where I’ve landed, I find myself back at a sacred place deep in a redwood forest. A trickling stream meanders through ferns and ivy, Stellar jays flit and scold, fragrance of jasmine blossoms hangs in the air.This is where he asked me to marry him.It’s a few steps to the entrance of the auditorium where, months later, we would take our vows. Today, organ music beckons me again, this time for the Palm Sunday service at the writers’ conference I helped organize when I worked here.I’ve come full circle. God has ordered my every step. I have known Continue Reading
How Slavery Frees Us
It was beautiful and creepy at the same time. We walked the pristine grounds for three hours, watching swans sail on the pond, wandering down row upon row of Camellias in their final bloom, strolling around manicured lawns and rose gardens surrounding the original Middleton Plantation house.Under the oaks facing the river, a string quartet warmed up for a wedding. Such a serene setting. Such an unlikely place for injustice and brutality. We knew if the land could speak, it must have some chilling tales to tell. The swamps thick with cypress trees, the clumps of cane, the river and the Continue Reading



