Lifting up the lowly
When I was a little girl, the closet in my bedroom had a back door. You pushed through clothes, unlatched a hook, and behind the door was a dark tunnel: a slanted crawl space that ran the length of the house.
When I was a little girl, the closet in my bedroom had a back door. You pushed through clothes, unlatched a hook, and behind the door was a dark tunnel: a slanted crawl space that ran the length of the house.
What is your favorite day in the Church Year? Christmas? Easter? Pentecost? All Saints?
Does anyone ever answer with Ascension Day?
This Easter I am practicing resurrection. I am practicing hope. I am practicing knowing that no matter how bad it gets there is redemption, even after death.
As we enter into our third Lent of the pandemic, I’m grateful for the muscle memory and predictable patterns I have created for this season. T
Sandwiched between its higher status siblings Christmas and Lent, Epiphany sometimes feels like the middle child of liturgical seasons.
When I think of The Feast of the Presentation of our Lord, I can’t help recalling the offertories I have witnessed in Haiti.
My younger daughter was being particular for Christmas: Mandarin skin cream from Aesop, a small facial boutique shop on Lido Isle.
John, for me, is the apostle of light, the apostle who shines the light on the true nature of our God and our Lord and Savior.
Worship has been much on my mind recently, not necessarily the liturgy or the music or whether to be online or in person for Christmas services, but mostly I’ve been pondering the innate human need to worship, and its various manifestations.