Viewing entries tagged
Park Road Baptist Church

A National Movement of Lament

A National Movement of Lament

I believe we need a national movement of lament. No angry political sniping. No posturing, left and right. Just a soul-deep acknowledgement that our society is broken.

I Love This Job

I Love This Job

It’s the best profession in the world. I’m invited to participate in some of people’s most intimate moments – funerals, births, tragedies, celebrations, baptisms, marriages. I get to offer a regular commentary on life and culture, humbly imagining what God might be trying to say to each moment. 

As if All is Well in the World

As if All is Well in the World

Again I am sitting in this little farm house on the banks of the Choptank River, just outside of Easton, MD. The calm is as amazing now as when I was here in February for a few days of writing. There is no snow today, but the water is glass. Hardly a sound breaks the still, humid air. 

It’s as if all is well in the world.

Is God is Calling You to be an Angel?

Is God is Calling You to be an Angel?

As this refugee crisis continues to speak to your heads, maybe God will speak to your heart, and you’ll help us respond as a church? Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it (Hebrews 13.2). 

A Different Set of Rules

A Different Set of Rules

I was away last week, taking some study leave to complete a couple writing projects. I’m holed up in a little farm house on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. My colleagues and I awoke the first morning to three inches of fresh snow. This fertile land was silenced in white, a gray steam rising off the Choptank River, which crawled underneath the lifeless cold a hundred feet away.

I March With Them

I March With Them

After a few people asked why I was going to participate in the Women’s March on Charlotte, and why was it called a "March for Women" as opposed to a "March for All", I decided that I needed to respond. So I have taken portions of emails I wrote in response to those questions and turned them into this blog post. I am very well aware that everyone that marched will answer the question differently. I can only tell my story.  -Amy

Seen it on Facebook!

Seen it on Facebook!

Because he believed Hated Hillary was actually running a child sex ring, that somehow had not been detected, despite her being under unrelenting, continual surveillance, he took a loaded, automatic rifle to a public restaurant, and started shooting.

This unbelievable episode is now cause for a frantic discussion of “fake news” and potential cures for this new, dangerous social ill. Media and sociology and psychology experts from around the country are offering their erudite opinions on what we can do about this new, dangerous trend.

The Repair for Our Ills is Forward Only

The Repair for Our Ills is Forward Only

Last night I spoke to my congregation about having tried to remain mostly silent during this campaign, for fear my thoughts would be viewed as partisan.  But now that the election is over, I want to speak. 

A Letter to my 18-Year-Old Self

A Letter to my 18-Year-Old Self

Hi there.  This is weird, I know, but this is a letter from your 38-year-old self, written twenty years in the future.

I have timed this letter to arrive to you on August 14, 1996, which is a Wednesday during your first full week of classes at the University of Tennessee.  You have a roommate you’re still not sure you can trust, and suite mates you knew from high school that you’re glad to have.  Flip your expectations, buddy.  Let this be the first of many lessons not to judge before you have experience.  

Beautifully Gray

Beautifully Gray

The Blue Ridge Parkway is one of America‘s most beautiful byways. From this mountain crest the views into Virginia and North and South Carolina open to untold miles of raw wilderness and over the quaint hamlets nestled in the valleys below. Those views are expansive – unless you are driving 18 (white-knuckled) miles-per-hour, straining through a wet, heavy fog for a glimpse of the double-yellow line that stretches the pavement just below your front, left bumper.

Orlando

Orlando

Once again we have suffered a national tragedy that is as foolish as it is horrendous. Compounding the heartbreak is the fact that it may have been as preventable as it was predictable.
 
There’s a lot that could be learned from Orlando, however, we’ve shown we’re not interested in learning from these tragedies, though they are an embarrassment to any people who claim to be free. 

You Need to see their Eyes

You Need to see their Eyes

Every Sunday, Hope Chapel provide coffee, warmth and shelter, a song and a preached word. The congregants don’t dress like we do at Park Road, and their eyes tell a completely different story.
I see despair and desperation in some of those eyes, abuse and neglect in others. Those eyes have seen things I’d rather not think about, and there is a haze of bone-weariness in many: weary of working and not making it, weary of not making it work. Weary of being looked down on, given up on, cast aside, left behind.

Finding My Way Home

Finding My Way Home

John Mellencamp was talking about me when he sang, “Educated in a small town. Taught to fear Jesus in a small town. Used to daydream in that small town – another boring romantic that's me…” I got what every child should get from the small town experience.

Common Ground

Common Ground

As I try to weigh my own emotions, I find that I am awash, swinging from bewilderment to anger to anxiety… but the strongest sentiment I feel is just a soul-deep sadness. There is a mean spirit in the air. Social media allows us to be meaner. The Church and nation are suffering from our meanness.