Following Jesus in rejecting empire
Less than two hours walk to the south of Dunleer sits the town of Drogheda. From there the River Boyne flows out into the Irish Sea. It is a convenient location for those in England to ship their old, their infirm, and their mentally ill to a place the polite refer to as a, “Care…
“I was … I was …” she stammers. “He’s a bloody human child not an animal!” “Yes mum. I mean, yes sir.” “You’re the chore maiden, come to help my wife?” “Yes sir.” And the man grabs Delaney by her arm lifting her from the stool. “Come with me you little devil!” And the girl…
“It’s too hot, Sister.” Delaney is accustomed to the rough dressing at the hands of Sister Mary Eunice who yanks the tattered wool sweater down over the seven-year-old’s raised arms, lifted as in surrender. Lamplight bounces from her cheeks which are flush like a furnace. It’s still dark, barely past five thirty. Her curly dark…
I killed a man on Monday As I prayed to God for safety My knee upon his neck Interceding for protection From all who look like him Loitering in my neighborhood Choking him with my ungodly fear I killed a man on Monday As I studied his tragic past Kneeling down to look more closely…
Sometimes the truth needs to be told from an angle. The truth head on can blind a person or scare them, like a bolt of lightning. Better to tell it in a more circuitous way. Or so it seems Emily Dickenson believed if we grasp her poem. Jesus liked to tell it slant in his…