slut shaming and holy week

jesus kicks off holy week by hanging out with a guy he’d raised from the dead. just chilling with martha and mary, of martha and mary fame, and with lazarus, who is reclining at the table like it’s just another day in the neighborhood. um, my dude, you died! now you’re just going to eat

eucharist

i’d slept over at julie’s and so when her family woke up for church on sunday morning, i did too.  we piled into their station wagon and drove to st. peter and paul’s.  i pulled at the sleeves of the dress i borrowed, the dress i’d never wear and i dreaded the building that i

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failing at jesus stuff

she told me their church had split and that people were saying terrible things about them. i nodded my head and listened. silent, i nodded. churches are trouble, i thought.  churches are the problem.  they’re so messy, i thought. and when i looked out on the landscape of faith, i felt hopeless. but i was

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ferris wheel church metaphor

the ferris wheel never stopped. they opened the doors like greeters on a sunday morning and ushered you right to your seat. it was unnerving. i hesitated like at the mall before an escalator. it inched. barely perceptible. it kept moving. the wheels of the machine don’t stop. i got in. of course i did.

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o lord, make haste to help me

our help is in the name of the lord. our life, like a bird, has escaped from the snare of the fowler.  indeed the snare has been broken and we have escaped. they say that when times are good that it’s easy to forget the lord.  then when times are hard, we call out to

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box mix

so many days went into them.  they were piggy banks into which i put my coin. they taught me to slow down.  to bake a gingerbread house myself.  i didn’t know that i could. there are those kits that line the shelves.  the ones that have the walls and the roof already made for you.

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