The other Easter
On the first Easter morning no one was singing Alleluia. Not for hours. The atmosphere in the room where Jesus’ disciples and others were huddled
On the first Easter morning no one was singing Alleluia. Not for hours. The atmosphere in the room where Jesus’ disciples and others were huddled
Seven months after the attacks on the United States that reduced the twin towers of the World Trade Center to a smouldering mass of rubble, I flew into New York. It was the week before Holy Week of 2002.
Beneath the towering umber faces of Mount Sinai lies a broad, empty valley called the Plain of Waiting. Bounded by peaks that rise sharply out
I used to live in Jerusalem. I lived there with my wife and our children in in the 1990s when I served with St. George’s College as the director of their Desert Program.
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