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Jesus Freak Reunion
And so December 28th has come again. Thirty-five years ago the forty people who fill this lovely home lived together. They bought houses in the Columbus, Ohio ghetto and crammed into them; spouses, infants, single people, dogs, cats, goats, and assorted homeless persons or drug addicts picked up off the street. Then it gradually fell apart, or transitioned into normal American life, depending on the person....
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Ten 2011 Albums for Christians Who Hate Christian Music
I can’t stand Christian music. But I’m a Christian whose favorite music often addresses the deep and abiding big questions, and that doesn’t conform to easily labeled genres. Some of this music was made by Christians. Some of it was made by atheists. A lot of it was made by people whose religious/spiritual views are utterly unknown to me. All of it was released in 2011, and resonates in deep ways for me. The “loss/cross” and “grace/face” praise-by-numbers contingent might want to skip the proceedings....
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Working for The Man
I work for The Man; more specifically one of the fabled Banks Too Big to Fail. You may remember The Man. The Man is a figurative term that refers to those social and economic customs that prevent people from being treated as human beings in the workforce. The deification of profits, structures, and policies occurs at the expense of human identity, creativity, and unique talent. Hence....
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For All the Saints
When I was growing up in the Catholic Church, November 1st was a Holy Day. All Saints Day, they called it. Aside from the obligatory Mass I attended, it was a day to stop, to take time out of our busy lives to remember, to pray for, and to be thankful for all the saints who have gone before us. Now I don’t celebrate Holy Days. I don’t go to Mass. So this will have to do for my feeble attempt at recapturing something....
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A Bluegrass Wake
My sister died on a day when I was in Nashville. She went to be home, and I was five hundred miles from home, and another two thousand miles from my sister. It wasn't supposed to be this way. A one-to-three-months-to-live death sentence wasn't supposed to only last two weeks, and vacations—taken in part as a respite from the grievous weight of caring for a dying loved one—weren't supposed to end with....
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Current Issue
Issue 72
Memoir by Lauren Winner, Poetry by James Harpur, Art by Guy Chase and Adrian Wiszniewski
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