Unemployed Theologian

'My pastor, Veronica, one Sunday told the story of a sparrow lying in the street with its legs straight up in the air, sweating a little under its feathery arms. A warhorse walks up to the bird and asks, "What on earth are you doing?" The sparrow replies, "I heard the sky was falling, and I wanted to help." The horse laughs a big, loud, sneering horse laugh, and says, "Do you really think you're going to hold back the sky, with those scrawny little legs?" And the sparrow says, "One does what one can."' ~ Anne Lamott, Stitches Hope is a funny thing. You don't realize you need it until you suddenly find yourself without it. It's intangible, almost metaphysical, yet quantifiably necessary for survival. Scripture implores us to abide in it, reminds us of its utter importance (second only to love and tied with faith), yet counterintuitively does not seem to provide much definition for it. And in a season when life seems inte...

In her writing tutorial/memoir Bird by Bird , Anne Lamott advises her students to look through a one-inch picture frame as they write their stories. Focus in on one thing, she says, like a dimple, a calculus test, or a smell that recalls a memory, and dig into the truth behind that object or moment. Many a writer has drowned in the enormity of their scope, so Lamott reminds us to start small and go from there. She also suggests near the end of the book that her readers practice on stories from their childhoods. Because childhood is a tender time, when we're innocent and malleable and more attuned to whispers of the cosmos. And if we can manage to dig up some of those old memories, we might find embedded in them nuggets of truth.  So, for kicks, I tried to sort through the files of my inner archive for my earliest memory. Unfortunately, someone made a real mess in there and forgot to clean it up, so memories from that far back proved elusive. Maybe that's how memory works ...

It's the most wonderful time of the year, or so they tell me. I've said it too, sang it, and I believe it mostly. To be perfectly frank, though, I'm not sure what it means anymore. Why is it the most wonderful time of the year? Peace on earth, good will toward men and all that? But I'm afraid those things don't seem terribly true right now. No, the Christmas spirit has been kept at bay by the cold specter of tragedy as the television screen paints a picture of hell on earth and ill will toward all. Americans taste and see that all is not right with the world as each image from the Newtown massacre flits before our eyes: lives taken at the hands of a deranged killer. The most innocent among us (young children), as well as some of the noblest (teachers), gone too soon. It is maddening, sickening, and unbelievable yet tragically true. Newtown is only the epicenter of these tremors, however, as unfathomable loss and unshakable terror ripple across our country. Bomb th...