When I was in seminary, I pastored Pecan Grove Baptist Church, which was outside of Gatesville, Texas. To be more specific, the little white church sat next to a creek off of FM 107 between Oglesby and Mound. Now you know right where it was, or is—it’s still there. When I went drove down from…
The weeks have slipped by since I last wrote. My silence has not been for lack of ideas. Sometimes, in the midst of the shouting from both screen and page over the various crises that have come and gone, I have not felt the need to add my voice. The main reason, however, is my…
“Living Invitations” A Sermon for Pilgrim United Church of Christ, Durham NC John 1:43-51 January 18, 2015 When I was a kid I thought Jesus was magic. I’m not talking about the miracles. Somehow those made sense in their own way. The Messiah ought to be able to do miracles. I mean the super hero…
Christmas was gone before they got to the manger, camels and servants grumbling. “We saw his star in the east,” they said. Mary wondered why a sign from God didn’t get them there on time for the birth. “You missed the angel choir,” she replied. They knelt before the babe, offering gifts and hopeful hearts:…
My friends, Burt and Julie, are celebrating the wedding of their son tomorrow. Several years ago, I wrote this poem remembering the birth of their daughter. Today seems a good day to look at it again. this day after Some time after seminary my best friend, Burt, got married; then a few more years and…
This story is not new, but then neither are the feelings it names. Thanks for making the journey with me this Advent. A Faraway Christmas by Milton Brasher-Cunningham A Faraway Christmas As we gather together on this Silent Night, To sing ‘round the tree in the soft candlelight, From a Faraway Christmas, from time that’s…
Tonight Ginger, Jay, and I sat at Geer Street Garden and, among other things, talked our way through the litany of sadness and grief that grips our world both far and near. We remembered people close to us who are learning to live without those they love, those we are getting close to the end…
Today was dark and cold here in Durham. I drove to work in the dark early this morning and drove home in the dark this afternoon. In between I heard snippets of stories that passed for news that were mostly people yelling. Listening does not often get reported as being significant. Yelling makes for good…
love is the drum that beats in our bones even in our broken melodies of grief our symphonies of sorrow and sadness relentless resonance in the late night club of all that could have been the hope of the high hat the syncopation of surprise the gentle jazz of joy put your hands together love…
I will tell it to you as it was told to me. Somewhere early in my day I read these words from my friend Olivia, who lives in Boston. She is someone in love with life who looks for ways to feel connected to the world around her. Here’s what she found: I spotted this…