Unemployed Theologian

I don't realize how awkward my facial hair is until I put on some nice clothes but forget to shave. Then I look like a homeless person who stumbled upon a bag of moderately-used semi-formalwear, all scruff and argyle. And this is how I dolled myself up to sing at my church's Good Friday service this morning. Now please realize, I never dress up for church. Never have, never much saw the need to. I don't mean any disrespect by it, no latent irreverence toward authority, I simply don't care much about my clothes or appearance. In fact, growing up without money for my richer friends' fancy jackets, backpacks and light up sport shoes made me pretty Zen about the whole style thing. Instead of dressing for fashion I dress for comfort. Basketball shorts, t-shirts, sandals (even in February), easy. Plus, I like to think I walk with God as much outside the church as in, so I never felt a need to gussy up for the in-house stuff. It's different when I'm up fr...

My laptop used to freeze up when I played videos on it, and has overheated and shut down sporadically throughout its too-short two-year lifespan. It doesn't do either of those things much anymore, and realizing this has from time to time elicited in me a pang of hope that perhaps it has resolved these difficulties on its own without needing me to spend money I don't have to fix it. Similarly, when my car leaks oil less rapidly, squeaks less obnoxiously one week than the week before I have to talk myself out of believing it has recovered from its injuries of its own accord. Machines simply don't, can't heal, in spite of how convenient it would be for us if they could. Healing requires life, organic cells, breath, a revelation which has got me thinking more deeply than I'm used to. What is this peculiar business of healing? I am daily marveled by how much of the human experience we take for granted, as if we're numb to the magic of it all. We are indeed fearfull...