Losing stuff drives me to distraction. I totally empathize with the characters in Jesus’ stories who search for things. Just like the woman who loses the coin and the shepherd who loses the sheep, when my keys go missing it’s hard for me to do much except to search and mutter.

What if we terminated our contract with silence around porn? And what if our neighbour’s moral help allowed us to live in a way that is more free, more joyous, more kind?

Ultimately, a wet floor and a bunch of dudes with power tools taking over our kitchen isn’t an especially big deal. And maybe that’s what makes this flood just the right metaphor for us: now and almost always, other folks have problems that make ours look pretty trivial.

Categories are both immensely useful and an immense barrier to human connection.

Maybe it is a question that we are, all of us, living right now: Whose fault is it that we are enduring a global pandemic?

Like a great many people across our country, I was both surprised and moved as I listened to Mitt Romney speak on Wednesday. What caught my attention was not the decision that he reached – evaluating that decision, be it wrong, right, or somewhere in between, is the domain of a political commentator rather than a pastor – but rather it was the way that he spoke of making it.