Signs of the Kingdom

Uniformity we can do without—but not unity.

Both in the natural world and in the church, new life often arises when things have come to an end.

As columnist Lou Lotz lets his dog in, then out, then in again, he reflects on the spiritual significance of persistence. 

In a world of specialists, pastors continue to be generalists. I’ve heard it said, “Pastors are the last of the generalists.”

Lou Lotz says it’s rare that Christians appreciate the richness of liturgy, the pleasure of tithing, and the necessity of confession anymore. In this column, he reflects on the cost of losing this understanding. 

Nothing holds us back like the pain in our past. If only we could be more like chickadees—amazing little birds with a gift for forgetting.

Dear Anonymous: Thank you for your letter. Sorry my sermon on abortion upset you.

An old ash tree came down in a storm and fell across my fence, smashing through the top and bottom rails. I trudged out through the snow with the dogs—sleek, black Gordon Setters—to inspect the damage. Surveying the wreckage, I noticed that the top six inches of the fence post, where the top rail had been nailed, had been shaved with a wood plane. You could still see the marks. 

I went to the dump the other day. They call it the County Landfill, but don't let them kid you. It's the dump. 

Were you told, as I was, that there was a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow? I once set out, as a little boy, trudging on my little legs, to find the pot of gold. But no sooner did I get off our yard than my mother came and marched me back home. And when I looked over my shoulder, the rainbow had disappeared. There went my gold.