And should you glimpse my wandering form out on the borderline Between death and resurrection and the council of the pines Do not worry for my comfort, do not sorrow for me so All your diamond tears will rise up and adorn the sky beside me when I go —“When I go,” lyrics by Dave Carter I capture the white eye of the lowering sun, the branches sticking out like craggy lashes, blinking as I move between the cemetery trees.... Read more
Earlier this year during Lent, I visited a Russian Orthodox monastery on an evergreen island out across the water from Seattle. I’d never been there before, but this local pilgrimage felt somehow familiar. After the ferry ride across the chilly waters with seagulls in the air, the drive through the woodsy, misty island on winding roads, away from major cities or even a simple corner store, and finally pulling up to a locked gate where I could push a button... Read more
I found myself engaged in another maddening conversation with my four-year old daughter. We were discussing the aquarium we were going to visit the next day. She wrinkled her nose and pronounced that she wouldn’t go. “Why?” I asked, more than a little impatient. “What if there are sharks? What if there are eels?” I assured her that we would keep her safe. “No,” she said, firmly. “I am not going to the aquarium.” “Yes,” I said, “you are,” thinking... Read more
When Hulk stops in Africa for a drink of water, he happens to be within Wakanda’s borders, and soon a small fleet of highly advanced aircraft are dropping their payload on him—and trying not to get their wings ripped off. Amidst all the explosions, a scrawny young woman on a motorcycle rides up and sweet-talks him down in about half a minute. Hulk actually knew her from back in New York, where a similar scene played out. I guess writer... Read more
Lot’s wife, or what’s left of her, stands in the barren wilderness outside Sodom waiting to trip up any who would skip merrily through the Old Testament, seeing God only as creator, provider, and oh-so-merciful father. It’s no wonder that so many poets—with their obnoxious preference for the prophetic—have invited her into their lines to ask readers to slow down, not to smooth her grainy surfaces. Amy McCann’s “Salt Wife” curates the ambiguity of this woman, forcing the blunt mineral... Read more
The gentlemen I’ve been visiting in my local jail for the past decade live a daily existence, I’ve often considered, not unlike monks in the monastery I’ve also visited. They don’t have their wives or girlfriends with them. They all wear the same plain garment—not black robes, but old red scrubs. Their hair often grows scraggly, as they—like monks—don’t have many mirrors. They don’t care what they look like. The food isn’t very flavorful. They’re cut off from what used... Read more
I was at work last Thursday when I received the call from the school that every parent dreads: My eight-year-old daughter had been discovered with nits in her hair. Actually, she was not alone. A bunch of children in the class had lice, and the school had pressed administrative staffers into corralling children for impromptu head checks for lice and nits. There had been a long email sent out to families asking everyone to do a precautionary treatment before sending... Read more
I haven’t any major gripes with the Roman Catholic Church. On the whole, I feel gratitude. The church took me in when I needed some in-taking. Living in Detroit, however, I have found myself worshipping at Saint Anthony over on the East Side. The Mass at Saint Anthony is presided over by Bishop Karl Rodig, who was ordained a Roman Catholic priest in Salzburg in 1986. But things got different from there on out. Rodig had issues with the church’s... Read more
The Reverend Dr. James H. Cone, known as the originator of black liberation theology, died of cancer on April 28 at the age of seventy-nine, just two days after the grand opening of The National Memorial for Peace and Justice and The Legacy Museum: From Enslavement to Mass Incarceration in Montgomery, Alabama on April 26. Though the timing is coincidental, I see this death and birth, this closing and opening, as profoundly connected. Cone devoted his career to exploring how... Read more
It has been years since I read the Narnia books, but the phrase I remember from them is “Aslan is not a tame lion.” Aslan, the books’ figure of Christ, can be tender and merciful; but the children learn that he can be wildly powerful as well. I recalled this while reading Richard Chess’s poem “are you my god.” The poem’s opening twelve lines evoke tame, “orderly” Seders, shouting that they “wont do!” No, your Seder must be wild with... Read more
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