A mentor of mine used to say that every preacher has just one sermon. It’s true for Billy Graham. For Mother Teresa. For Buechner and Nouwen and Craddock. For Barbara Brown Taylor and Harry Emerson Fosdick. Joel Osteen, too, for that matter. It’s true for me, and it’s true for you. We all have just
On this Ash Wednesday, the Mardi Gras beads still cling effortlessly to Crepe Myrtle branches at the sanctuary entrance. It’s always a wonderful contrast of optics. In the foreground are little cheap plastic strands of merriment thrown from double-decker floats. Directly behind them stands a gothic revival house of worship dressed in its finest arches
Icees are my white flag of surrender. In the days before parenthood, I had no idea what breed of father I would be. I knew what I wanted to be. The kind who made up elaborate games that his children would play for hours on end. The kind who explored the backyard with his kids.