I doubt; I am uncertain; I am restless, prone to wander. And yet glimmers of holy keep interrupting my gaze.

The Spirit is the reason we can build a church and have confidence that we will get it at least a little bit right.

I am not a saint. I am, however, beginning to learn that I am a small character in a story that is always fundamentally about God.

God is a novelist. He uses all sorts of literary devices: alliteration, assonance, rhyme, synecdoche, onomatopoeia. But of all of these, His favorite is foreshadowing.And that is what God was doing at the Cloisters and with Eudora Welty. He was foreshadowing. He was laying traps, leaving clues, clues I could have seen had I been perceptive enough.

My job [as a teacher] is to love the Scriptures in public. And then sit down.

Some days I am not sure if my faith is riddled with doubt or whether, graciously, my doubt is riddled with faith.

I doubt; I am uncertain; I am restless, prone to wander. And yet glimmers of holy keep interrupting my gaze.