I probably should have looked at the map.
For some reason though, I was feeling overconfident, thinking that I could intuit the route to my destination, that there might be signs or something, or flocks of people to follow. There weren’t, and as I got farther and farther from the train station, I became indifferently lost, in no rush at all. So I wandered around this sleepy suburb, wondering what it would be like to live there, looking for the humanity in it all.
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Dylann Roof hasn’t said very much. While on trial for killing nine black churchgoers in South Carolina, he didn’t take the stand to defend himself. After he was convicted, he chose to represent himself during the sentencing, and again, said very little. He provided no evidence in his favor, and his closing argument yesterday took just a few minutes.
What he has said, though, is chilling. Last week, he assured the jury that he is completely mentally competent, that what he did was not the result of some deficiency or defect. He’s said more than once that he does not regret what he did, that he has shed no tears for his victims. He’s also acknowledged that the people he murdered were, in his words, “innocent.” He should know – they welcomed him into their church, talked to him, prayed with him.
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I haven’t written anything on here for a while. There’s a reason for that.
When you’re a super connected millennial, who’s up to date on the minute-by-minute happenings of the world, who follows commentators and activists from all over the spectrum, when you have a platform – even a tiny one – there’s a temptation to take a stance, on pretty much everything. And this year seems to have been particularly cruel to us, full of surprises, heartache, and think-piece fodder – there’s no shortage of issues to take a stance on.
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There’s a beautiful and jarring memorial set up a few blocks from my house, in honor of Philadelphians who have lost their lives to gun violence this year. T-shirts with their names and ages line a fence outside of a church. Those shirts hang are empty because the people who once filled them – many of whom were shockingly young – are no longer with us. They were humans, friends, neighbors, parents, and children who have left a tangible void in their households and in this city. Going past it this week has been particularly moving. Continue reading →
So, Pentecost happened – weird, right?
If you’re unfamiliar with the occasion, here’s what you need to know: there was wind. There was fire. There was spontaneous multilingualism. There may or may not have been day drinking. At the very least, Pentecost was the church’s birthday, when early leaders began publicly preaching the good news of Jesus, baptizing people, and breaking bread in community. It was arguably one of the most climactic moments in the New Testament. Yesterday, churches around the world remembered this bizarre, momentous milestone.
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A couple of weeks ago, I had the pleasure of watching Lemonade, Beyoncé’s latest visual album. Perhaps you’ve heard of it. Since its release on April 23rd, it’s stirred up plenty of gossip, memes, articles, and mild controversy. What fun! I’ll try not to be more of the same here. By the way, if you haven’t already, definitely try to find the time to watch the album and read some of the media’s commentary.
Maybe a few minutes into Lemonade, I got that feeling that you have when you know that you’re about to witness something particularly profound. On one hand, this is an extremely well-executed work: the cinematography, lighting, settings, costumes, hair!, poetry, allusions to myth and folklore, tradition and politics. And of course, Beyoncé’s stellar voice and startling lyrics. It’s all very thoughtful and captivating. Art that entertains us, and that looks nice, and is technically impressive is good. There’s a place for that in our society and our lives. That’s the role that Beyoncé’s previous albums have filled, and that’s totally fine. But Lemonade is great. I suspect that this is a piece that could last, that our grandkids could hear about, see, and be moved by. Continue reading →
The other day, someone asked me if I’d be uncomfortable sharing a public restroom with a trans person.
This was asked sincerely, by a man, who simply has not had the experience of being a woman, especially a woman in a public and vulnerable space, so they genuinely wanted to know. I gave the simple, off-the-cuff response of, “no, of course not.”
But I spoke too soon, so let me revise:
Would I be uncomfortable sharing a public restroom with a trans person? Maybe a little. Continue reading →
This morning I woke up to the sound of my neighbor screaming at his son. This happens kind of a lot. Happy Good Friday.
This Lent, my church did a sermon series entitled “What Lies Beneath: Recovering the Lost Language of Sin,” which was really great and which you should all binge-listen-to right now. The idea behind the title was that many of us work really hard to look like we have it all together. When something goes wrong, we ignore it, or write it off, or pass the blame. But beneath our metaphorical floorboards, we are a fallen, broken, frail people.
However, something I’ve learned about living in a dense neighborhood of a big city is that not everyone is as interested in keeping up appearances as suburban transplants like me are. A lot of people just put it all out there for the rest of us to see or overhear. Addiction, poverty, failed relationships, and violence happen everywhere, but I’m constantly surprised – maybe even impressed – by how many people around here don’t work too hard to hide it. Continue reading →
Like many Americans, I’ve reached the point in the election cycle where I’m having to actually consider what a Trump presidency would look like for the country – a notion that most of us laughed off just a few months ago. It’s a disturbing prospect.
Something that I’ve found fascinating in all of this is the general public response to Trump’s candidacy thus far. I try to follow a wide range of news sources and thought leaders – some are pretty liberal, some are pretty conservative, and a few fall in between. In the past week or so, there’s been this funny little trend, where commentators are struggling to determine how Trump’s gotten so far, and why he’s doing so well. It’s funny to me because people from all over the spectrum seem to agree that a Trump presidency would be terrible – it’s almost always treated as some looming potential disaster – and now they’re trying to figure out why this bad thing is happening and how we can stop it. The theories are varied, conflicting, and definitely interesting. But I come away from all of these articles (but especially the ones written by and for conservatives) with the same question: if a Donald Trump presidency is so obviously bad for America, then who on earth is voting for him? Continue reading →
Somehow, in a weird way, Lent has become my favorite time of year. It’s the refreshing stability of rules and rituals. It’s the way that winter’s thawing into spring mirrors our hearts as we move toward Easter. It’s the challenge of tangible fasting and existential honesty. There’s a lot at play here – I love it all. And each Lent, I find myself revisiting one of my favorite short stories, Flannery O’Connor’s Revelation.
In this story, we meet Mrs. Turpin, a woman understood to be ugly both inside and out. Brutally bigoted, condescending, and self-righteous, Mrs. Turpin takes cruel joy in the belief that she is fundamentally better than the people surrounding her. We meet her before and during a life-changing encounter that shakes her to her wicked core, leaving her rethinking everything she thinks she knows about herself. After a stranger sees her for who she really is and calls her to “go back to hell where you came from, you old wart hog,” Mrs. Turpin finds herself questioning God:
“What do you send me a message like that for?” she said in a low fierce voice, barely above a whisper but with the force of a shout in its concentrated fury. “How am I a hog and me both? How am I saved and from hell too?”
Head to my church’s website to read the rest, or, download their Lent Prayerbook.