One of the many books I hope to publish one day is The Night Stair: Reflections on Contemplative Prayer.
Walt Whitman’s poem “Song of Myself” begins with the line, “I lean and loaf at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.” This is not a bad way to begin the practice of contemplative prayer.
My favorite character in literature is Father Zossima, the saintly old monk who forms the spiritual center of gravity in Dostoyevsky’s last and greatest novel, The Brothers Karamazov. On his deathbed, in the climactic scene of the first half of the book, Zossima reflects in the following words on his childhood and on the biblical story of Job:
A while back I wrote a blog on “The Green-Letter Bible” in which I suggested highlighting in green the rhema words of God—that is, those verses which from time to time we hear Him speak personally to us. For me, one of those verses is James 3:17: “The wisdom that comes from heaven is first of all pure.”
My good friend Murray Phillips, a renowned wilderness painter and one of the kindest and most interesting people I have ever known, died on March 1 of a brain tumor, the day after his third wedding anniversary.
What’s your favorite potato chip? Mine is Miss Vicky’s lime and black pepper. Does this matter? Absolutely! Sometimes little things can make the difference between connecting with God, or not.
In Canada in 2015, a law was passed enabling euthanasia, now called MAiD—Medical Aid in Dying. I refuse to use this euphemism. I call it Assisted Suicide.
People like to ask, “What kind of a God lets little children suffer?” Really they are asking, “What kind of a God lets children suffer before they are even old enough to know the comfort of faith?”
One glaring omission from my book The Mystery of Marriage is any mention of Jesus’ first miracle at the wedding in Cana.
One gorgeous morning last fall, sitting out on my front porch, I noticed a bee that seemed somehow stranded. He remained in one place for a long while, rhymically moving his abdomen as though trying to recover from some trauma, or perhaps just performing some mysterious biological function.