Theology That Bites Back
Introduction: Given the state of government education in America today, there is naturally a great and growing excitement among the youth of today concerning the tried and failed policies of Sen. Bernie Sanders. Or, as they might put it in Brooklyn, it sometimes seems the yoots are all in. After all, if we can put …
“But President Collins had himself some hidden reserves, an aquifer of moxie far beneath the deepest wells he had ever had to use. But even he didn’t know about any of that, and I am running ahead. All the writers’ workshops say not to do that, and especially not in the third paragraph.”
Flags Out Front, p. 2
Letter to the Editor: Re. Cast Iron Kites - I have been baffled for some time by the evangelical inclination to talk of polygamy as a worse perversion than homosexuality. Christ states ...
“She pushed against his chest, a little halfheartedly, and sat up. ‘Do you like my hair like this?’ ‘I love it when you wear it up like that,’ he said earnestly. ‘Your barrettes are twin fawns grazing among the lilies.’”
“John sat there for a moment, scratching his beard, trying to look both judicious and wise. You and me both, sister, he was thinking. But pastors don’t have the option of saying things like ‘This particular sin has me by the throat too. Nothing whatever can be done about it. Go away.”
Introduction: It should be noted at the outset that Preston Sprinkle and Branson Parler are not exactly sons of thunder. They recently wrote an article on polyamory for Christianity Today, in which ...
“But when it finally happened to her, the whole thing was far more illuminating than she had thought it would be and went all the way back to her girlhood. Vanity, selfishness, conceit, superficiality, covetousness, ambition—all of them tumbled off the top bookshelf of her mind and were just lying there on the floor, waiting for someone to pick them all up and throw them away.”
“So he just sat, not paying attention to much of anything. But occasionally a phrase from the prayer book would create a little spiritual thruppa-da-da, much like what happens when you forget to put the lawn mower in the garage for the winter, and try to get it started in the spring. Nothing much there, but occasionally there might be a noise that might indicate that at some point in the indefinite future there might be something there. Every three weeks or so, the Rev. Jane Hutchens, for that was her name, would read something profound that Thomas Cranmer had written in the sixteenth century, Lord knows why anymore, and Chad would shift in his seat. Thruppa-da-da.”
Introduction: Just when my life starts getting back to normal, the Southern Baptists hear about it and start acting up again. If you want a little background to these words that I say, consider this ...
