Text: Mark 8:27-34 I have never traveled to Frog Hollow but at critical points in my life, I have found myself there. Some of you may already know that Frog Hollow is an actual place in the western part of Virginia. Though a native Virginian, I first heard of Frog Hollow from friends who moved there from Manitoba. Moving from one country to another and across numerous cultures, the late Jim and Norma Fairfield arrived in Frog Hollow some years back. Jim kept a journal about t
Text: Romans 8:27-34 Libel Mueller, an American, German-born, Pulitzer Prize winning poet has penned a poem that I love more each time I read it. In her poem, monet refuses the operation, Mueller writes: Doctor, you say there are no halos around the streetlights of Paris and what I see is an aberration caused by old age, an affliction. I tell you it has taken me all my life to arrive at the vision of gas lamps as angels, to soften and blur and finally banish the edges you reg
Text: Mark 10:46-52 In Anthony Doerr’s breathtaking novel, All the Light We Cannot See, a mysterious Frenchman asks, "What do we call visible light? We call it color. But the electromagnetic spectrum runs to zero in one direction and infinity in the other, so really, . . . mathematically, all of light is invisible" (Part 1, chapter 20, ‘Open Your Eyes’). The heroine in this novel is Marie-Laure LeBlanc, whose loving father, a talented locksmith, goes to extraordinary lengths
Text: Mark 10:17-27 I have so much left to learn. I have, though, learned one lesson in this life that serves me well whenever I pay attention. The lesson is this: life is so much richer when we learn to ask the right questions. Sometimes people ask the right questions in the Gospel of Mark, but not often. In last week’s text, a group of religious legal eagles ask Jesus, “Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?” They do not ask the question hoping to learn something new.
Text: Mark 10:1-16 On the first day of elementary school each year, I would leave the house with brand new notebooks, freshly sharpened pencils, and a 3-ring binder. If I had earned enough from mowing lawns or selling lemonade that summer, I would also proudly carry a handsome new Superman or Batman lunch box. But that is not all I carried. I was in elementary school at the time of the Cuban Missile Crisis and at the height of the Cold War. The question of my childhood was no