I did think for about two seconds that I might write a piece commenting on the peculiarities of the Hebrew in the text. But these last few months I have thought a great deal about the decline of the evangelical church in the West. Of course, there are areas (pre-pandemic) where the church
“Go ahead,” my friend Ernie said to me, “choose any one you would like.” I looked down into the plastic container that he held in front of me while admiring the many small wooden crosses he had crafted.
Lenten Fasting wasn’t a thing for me growing up. As a family, we did not observe the church calendar or engage in liturgical practice of any kind, apart from the occasional responsive reading found in the back of the hymnal at church. Oh, wait - that’s not true: we did have Pancake Tuesday
The thought of adding something to my calendar heightens my anxiety. Lately, I’ve actually been doing an okay job of saying “no” to additional things. But even then I’m still maxed out. Pastor, husband, father, volunteer, new puppy owner, physiotherapy appointments because of a 40-year-old body that sometimes gets angry at me for playing basketball:
Today is Ash Wednesday, the beginning of the season of Lent. And in many traditions, Ash Wednesday is marked with a worship service where people come forward to receive the sign of the cross in ashes
I’ve been out in Winnipeg this week attending a pastor’s conference on faith formation in a secular age. At one point during yesterday’s proceedings, the keynote speaker, Andrew Root, asked a couple of gut-level questions. Why does faith formation seem so hard in this time and place? Why does it feel so hard to be a pastor in this time and place?
I walk regularly. I have a route through a provincial park close to my home that takes about an hour and I do this almost every day. About two-thirds of the way through my walk, the path goes up a small incline and at the top, the trees suddenly brea
It is 1936. I live near the Red River in Winnipeg. I am a brown woman looking for safety in a land that's fast becoming white. After residential school, I married into a minning family, married a handsome husband, married a white Christian man. I was poor and
Occasionally, if I’m feeling a least mildly provocative (or if I want to see if someone is actually paying attention), I will respond to the query, “So, how’s it going” with “Good enough.” Sometimes my conversation partner will steamroll on, assuming
Few things encourage me like seeing everyday people—with everyday jobs, commitments, and schedules—extending small acts of presence, hospitality, and creativity in their localities. This is, in part, why I’m compelled by the notion of micro-neighbourliness: the small,