I grew up in Appalachia, where Sunday worship was not a quiet, polite thing folks sat and watched happen. Where I grew up, in Southwest Ohio, worship was a verb. It was beautifully imperfect, and sometimes, even a little chaotic. There were babies crying, hands raised, and shoes kicked off so folks could better connect…
I Still Have to Clean the Kitchen….
Well, It's 2:11 PM.... I Guess We're All Still Here.... So, today was the day. According to a particularly loud corner of the internet, the sky was supposed to part, trumpets were to sound, and the faithful were to be whisked away, leaving the rest of us behind with their empty cars idling on the…
Drag Queens, Unicorn Snot, and Holy Moments
One of the oldest members of our congregation, a wise and wonderful woman in her 90s, pulled me aside after our worship service this past Sunday. Her eyes were bright. “I've always believed the saying that the arc of the moral universe is long, but it ultimately bends towards justice,” she said, her voice steady.…
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