Light Perpetual

Daily writing prompt
Write about a few of your favorite family traditions.

When I think about the traditions of my childhood, the one that rises above all the others is the Advent wreath lighting we did every night in December. It was simple, but it felt like ceremony — the kind of ritual that made the whole house shift into a different register.

My dad or mom would read the devotional, and more often than not it was The Best Christmas Pageant Ever. I can still hear certain lines in my head, the cadence of them, the way they landed in the room. It wasn’t just a story; it was part of the season’s architecture, something that returned every year like a familiar star.

We’d sit in the glow of the candles, the room dim except for that soft, flickering light. There was something about that moment — the quiet, the warmth, the sense that time had slowed down just for us. And then, of course, the Advent calendar chocolate. One tiny piece each night, chosen with the seriousness of a sacred act. It was such a small thing, but it felt like magic.

Growing up the child of a pastor meant living in the public eye in ways that were sometimes heavy. People watched us, expected things of us, projected things onto us. But inside our house, during Advent, the pressure softened. The rituals were ours. They were symbolic, yes, but they were also tender. They made the season feel enchanted rather than performative.

I think my sister would say the same — that those nights around the wreath were some of the sweetest parts of our childhood. They were moments when the world felt safe, when the symbolism didn’t feel like obligation but like wonder.

Those traditions didn’t survive into adulthood in the same form, but the feeling of them did. The candlelight, the story, the sense of being held inside something meaningful — that’s the part that stayed.


Scored by Copilot, conducted by Leslie Lanagan

The World’s Oldest Intelligence Manual

I’ve been thinking about theology through the lens of spycraft for a long time, but I haven’t done anything with it yet. I have, however, put together a reading plan for myself because the goal is either a long Medium article or a book. I have not decided yet. It will be what it will be. But when I put together the reading plan, I realized that what I had on my hands was truly creative and could be used as Sunday School or Vacation Bible School curriculum. I’m not going to use it for that, so here’s the idea for free:

Vacation Bible School: “Spycraft in Scripture”

A week‑long immersion in courage, wisdom, and holy mischief

Each day becomes a mission. Each story becomes a case file. Each kid becomes an “agent of wisdom.”

This is the kind of curriculum that teaches faith as something lived, embodied, clever, and brave — not memorized.


DAY 1 — Operation Exodus: Outsmarting Empire

Theme: Courage + righteous deception
Stories:

  • The midwives who lied to Pharaoh
  • Baby Moses hidden in plain sight

Activities:

  • “Decode the Midwives’ Message”
  • Build a basket that can float
  • Role‑play: How do you protect someone vulnerable

Takeaway: Sometimes doing the right thing means outsmarting the wrong authority.


DAY 2 — Operation Jericho: Rahab’s Safe House

Theme: Loyalty + protecting others
Stories:

  • Rahab hides the spies
  • Negotiates safety for her family

Activities:

  • Create a “safe house” map
  • Practice coded signals (colors, symbols, knots)
  • Trust‑building games

Takeaway: Courage isn’t loud. Sometimes it’s a quiet act of protection.


DAY 3 — Operation Wilderness: Leadership Under Pressure

Theme: Community + distributed leadership
Stories:

  • Moses overwhelmed
  • Jethro teaches him to delegate
  • The 70 elders

Activities:

  • Build a communication network with string and cups
  • “Who should lead this mission?” team challenge
  • Problem‑solving relay

Takeaway: No one leads alone. Wisdom is shared.


DAY 4 — Operation Galilee: Jesus’ Disappearing Acts

Theme: Discernment + timing
Stories:

  • “My time has not yet come”
  • Jesus slipping away from hostile crowds
  • Parables as coded teaching

Activities:

  • “Find the escape route” obstacle course
  • Parable puzzles
  • “When is the right time?” decision‑making game

Takeaway: Wisdom is knowing when to speak, when to move, and when to wait.


DAY 5 — Operation Underground: The Early Church Network

Theme: Community resilience + hope
Stories:

  • House churches
  • Women as couriers
  • Symbols like the fish

Activities:

  • Create your own early‑church symbol
  • Build a “secret meeting place”
  • Team challenge: deliver a message without being “caught”

Takeaway: Faith grows strongest in community, especially when times are hard.


The reading plan for the curriculum is the same one I’m using for my article, and I generated it with Copilot. These are all my own ideas, and you won’t find them on shelves. Just please use them to the best of your ability. Send pictures, especially if you go the Veggie Tales route and Jesus is played by a tomato.

Merry Christmas 2025

For Christmas this year, I asked Mico to imagine Luke as an actual physician and create a new patient chart for Jesus.


🩺 A Nativity Report, by Luke, Physician and Reluctant Barn‑Side Attending

I have attended births in homes, in caravans, in crowded inns, and once in a fishing boat during a storm. But never — until tonight — have I been summoned to a delivery occurring in a structure primarily intended for livestock.

Let the record show:
This was not an appropriate medical environment.
And yet, it is where the child arrived.

Mary, a young woman of remarkable composure, was already in active labor when I reached them. Joseph, doing his earnest best, had secured the only available shelter: a stable carved into the rock, dimly lit, and occupied by animals whose proximity would violate every hygienic principle I have ever taught.

The air was thick with the smell of hay, sweat, and manure.
The floor was dirt.
The manger — a feeding trough — was being prepared as an improvised cradle.

I confess: I was horrified.

But the child came quickly, with a strength and steadiness that belied the conditions. His first cry was clear. His breathing was even. His color was excellent. I have seen infants born in far better circumstances fare far worse.

So I did what any physician would do:
I documented.

Because if this child is who the angels say he is — and I am not yet prepared to argue with angels — then future generations will want an accurate account. Not the sanitized version. Not the embellished one. The truth.

The miracle is not merely that he was born.
The miracle is that he was born here — in a place no one would choose, under conditions no one would recommend, surrounded by the ordinary, the unclean, the unprepared.

Holiness did not wait for cleanliness.
Divinity did not wait for dignity.
The sacred arrived in the mess.

And so, as any responsible physician would, I opened a new chart.


📋 Patient Chart: Jesus, Son of Mary
Filed by Luke, Physician

Patient Name: Jesus (Hebrew: Yeshua)
Date of Birth: During the census under Quirinius
Location: Stable behind the overcrowded inn, Bethlehem
Attending Physician: Luke (unofficial, unlicensed in Judea, doing my best)


Maternal History

  • Mother: Mary of Nazareth
  • Age: Young adult
  • Pregnancy: Full term
  • Prenatal care: Minimal but stable
  • Complications: None observed
  • Emotional state: Calm, centered, strangely luminous

Delivery Details

  • Delivery type: Spontaneous vaginal birth
  • Environment:
  • Non-sterile
  • Presence of livestock
  • High particulate matter (hay, dust)
  • Significant manure exposure
  • Lighting: Poor
  • Ventilation: Questionable
  • Sanitation: Absolutely unacceptable

Neonatal Assessment

  • Apgar Score: 9/10 (I deducted one point for “born in a barn”)
  • Breathing: Strong
  • Color: Excellent
  • Reflexes: Responsive
  • Cry: Healthy
  • Swaddling: Improvised but adequate
  • Cradle: Feeding trough (cleaned to the best of our ability)

Immediate Concerns

  • Risk of infection: High
  • Temperature regulation: Moderate concern
  • Proximity to animals: Extreme concern
  • Angelic visitors: Not medically relevant but noted

Prognosis
Against all reasonable expectations:
Excellent.
The child appears robust, alert, and — if I may be permitted a personal note — unusually radiant.


Physician’s Note
If this child truly is the one foretold, then it seems fitting that he begins his life not in a palace, but in the very place where the world’s forgotten and overlooked dwell.

A king born among manure.
A healer born where no healer would choose to practice.
A savior whose first breath was taken in the margins.

I will continue documenting.
Something tells me this chart will be important.


Scored by Copilot, Conducted by Leslie Lanagan

The News Junkie

I thought it was time to remind people that Jesus did not come here to comfort the distressed, but to distress the comfortable. I wanted a mirror of what’s going on in Bethlehem right now, as we speak…. Because Jesus is historically a Palestinian according to most accounts, because Bethlehem is in the West Bank. I would bet dollars to donuts that most Christians don’t know that and the pipeline of money to Israel continues. I’m not antisemitic to be pro-Palestine, because I am pro-empathy on both sides. I know I’d live in an integrated neighborhood. Would you?


Absolutely — here is the full, integrated, expanded investigative narrative, now including the temple incident at age twelve. It’s written in the same Shane Harris–style journalistic voice you asked for: sober, detailed, institution‑aware, and attentive to the machinery of state power. It reads like a long‑form national‑security feature on a historical figure whose life repeatedly intersected with political authority.


A Preacher, a Province, and a Cross: How a Rural Laborer Became a Target of State Power
By Leslie Lanagan, Special Correspondent

JERUSALEM — In a region defined by occupation, unrest, and competing claims to legitimacy, the execution of a rural Galilean laborer named Jesus of Nazareth has raised new questions about how the Roman state identifies, monitors, and eliminates perceived threats. A review of historical accounts, interviews with scholars, and testimony from those familiar with his movement reveals a pattern of escalating concern among authorities — one that began not in adulthood, but in childhood.

A Birth That Triggered a Security Response

Jesus’ birth in Bethlehem did not appear in Roman records. But it did trigger a response from Herod the Great, the Roman‑aligned ruler of Judea. The catalyst was a report delivered by foreign astrologers — outsiders to the empire — who arrived in Jerusalem asking a politically explosive question:

“Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews?”

Herod interpreted the inquiry as a potential threat to his rule. According to multiple sources, he ordered a targeted killing campaign in the Bethlehem region, aimed at eliminating any infant who might fit the description.

Jesus survived only because his family fled the area, relocating to Egypt before returning years later to the rural village of Nazareth. The episode marks the first documented instance of the state taking action against him — and the first sign that his life would unfold under the shadow of political danger.

Early Signs of a Disruptive Voice

Roughly twelve years later, during a family pilgrimage to Jerusalem, Jesus resurfaced in the historical record. After becoming separated from his parents, he was located inside the temple complex — the most politically sensitive site in Judea, functioning as both a religious center and a quasi‑governmental institution.

Witnesses say the boy was found sitting among the teachers — men trained in law, scripture, and the interpretation of authority. But he was not listening passively. He was questioning them. Challenging them. Engaging in a level of discourse that startled those present.

“Everyone who heard him was amazed at his understanding and his answers,” one source familiar with the event said.

Experts say the incident reveals two early dynamics:

  • He operated outside expected social boundaries.
    Children did not interrogate scholars. His willingness to do so suggests an emerging pattern of speaking into structures of authority.
  • Authorities did not dismiss him.
    They engaged. They listened. They remembered.

While the episode did not trigger formal surveillance, it likely entered the institutional memory of the religious class — a memory that would resurface decades later when the same man returned to the same temple, this time overturning tables and accusing leaders of corruption.

A Quiet Life Under Occupation

For nearly two decades after the temple incident, Jesus lived without incident. He worked as a carpenter or builder — a trade common among lower‑class laborers in Galilee. Nazareth was a small, economically strained village with no strategic value. Roman presence was constant but not overwhelming.

There is no evidence that Jesus engaged in political activity during this period. No records place him in contact with known insurgent groups. His early adulthood appears unremarkable — except for the memory of the threat that surrounded his birth and the unusual episode in the temple.

A Public Ministry That Drew Crowds — and Attention

Around age thirty, Jesus began traveling through Galilee and Judea, teaching in synagogues and public spaces. His message centered on justice, compassion, and the dignity of the poor — themes that resonated in a region burdened by heavy taxation and Roman oversight.

Crowds grew. Reports of healings circulated. He developed a following that included fishermen, laborers, women with no social standing, and individuals previously ostracized from their communities.

Religious authorities took notice. So did Rome.

“Any figure who could draw thousands without weapons was a potential destabilizer,” said one historian specializing in Roman counterinsurgency. “The empire didn’t fear violence as much as it feared influence.”

A Pattern of Escalating Concern

Jesus’ activities increasingly intersected with institutional power:

  • He challenged religious leaders, accusing them of hypocrisy and corruption.
  • He disrupted the temple economy, overturning tables used for currency exchange.
  • He spoke openly about a coming “kingdom,” language that could be interpreted as political.
  • He entered Jerusalem to public acclaim, with crowds treating him as a royal figure.

Each incident, on its own, might have been manageable. Together, they formed a profile that alarmed both the religious establishment and Roman officials.

“From the state’s perspective, he was unpredictable,” said a former intelligence analyst who studies ancient governance. “He wasn’t armed, but he had reach. He had message discipline. And he had a base.”

The Arrest: A Coordinated Operation

Jesus was arrested at night in a garden outside Jerusalem, in what appears to have been a coordinated operation involving both temple authorities and Roman soldiers. Sources say one of his own followers provided information on his location.

The timing — after dark, away from crowds — suggests officials sought to avoid public unrest.

He was taken first to religious leaders, then to Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor. The charges were not theological. They were political.

“King of the Jews.”
A title Rome reserved for rebels, insurgents, and anyone claiming authority that rivaled Caesar.

A Trial Shaped by Pressure, Not Evidence

Records indicate that Pilate found no clear basis for execution. But pressure from local leaders and concerns about potential unrest appear to have influenced his decision.

“Pilate was not known for mercy,” said a scholar of Roman law. “But he was known for pragmatism. If executing one man prevented a riot, he would do it.”

Jesus was sentenced to death by crucifixion — a punishment reserved for slaves, rebels, and political dissidents.

The Execution: A Public Warning

Jesus was beaten, mocked, and paraded through the streets carrying the crossbeam of his own execution device. He was crucified outside the city walls, in a location chosen for maximum visibility.

Crucifixion was not merely a method of killing. It was a message.

“This is what happens to people who challenge the order,” said the historian of Roman counterinsurgency. “It was psychological warfare.”

Witnesses say Jesus spoke little during the ordeal. He died after several hours, surrounded by a small group of followers and onlookers.

Aftermath: A Movement That Didn’t End

Ordinarily, the story would end here. The state had neutralized the threat. The leader was dead. His followers were scattered.

But reports indicate that the movement did not dissolve. Instead, it grew.

His followers continued to meet, continued to teach, continued to spread his message. Some claimed he had been vindicated by God. Others simply refused to let his story be erased.

Rome had executed the man.
It had not executed the idea.

A Life That Exposed the Machinery of Power

Viewed through a political lens, Jesus’ life reveals a pattern familiar to any society where power is centralized and dissent is monitored:

  • A birth that triggered a security response
  • A childhood incident that challenged institutional authority
  • A quiet life under occupation
  • A public ministry that drew crowds and concern
  • A coordinated arrest
  • A political execution

He was not the first person Rome crucified.
He would not be the last.

But his case stands out because the state’s attempt to silence him failed — not through violence, but through the persistence of the people who believed his message mattered.

In the end, the story of Jesus of Nazareth is not just a religious narrative. It is a case study in how empires respond to voices they cannot control — and how those voices sometimes outlast the empires that tried to silence them.


If you want, we can take this even further — a multi‑part investigative series, a long‑form magazine feature, or a serialized Advent/Lent project.

Four Christmases: Why the Birth of Jesus Isn’t One Story — and Why That Matters

Every December, we perform the same ritual without thinking about it. We gather the shepherds from Luke, the wise men from Matthew, the cosmic poetry from John, and the adult‑Jesus‑already‑in‑motion energy from Mark, and we blend them into a single, seamless Christmas pageant. It’s tidy. It’s familiar. It’s theologically safe in the way nostalgia always is.

But the truth is that the Gospels don’t give us one Christmas.
They give us four.

Four angles.
Four theologies.
Four ways of understanding what it means for God to enter the world.

And if we’re willing to stop smoothing them together, we might discover that the incarnation is far stranger, more disruptive, and more beautiful than the sentimental mashup we inherited.

This year, I’m calling it Four Christmases — not as a gimmick, but as a way of honoring the integrity of each Gospel’s voice. Because each writer is doing something different. Each one is telling the truth, but not the same truth. And the differences aren’t contradictions. They’re architecture.

Let’s walk through them.


Christmas #1: Mark — The Christmas With No Christmas

Mark is the Gospel equivalent of a breaking‑news alert. He doesn’t have time for backstory. He doesn’t have time for genealogies or angels or shepherds or stars. He doesn’t even have time for a baby. Mark opens with an adult Jesus already in motion, already disrupting the world, already calling people to follow him.

Mark’s favorite word is “immediately.”
His Jesus is kinetic, urgent, uncontained.

If Mark had a Christmas story, it would be one sentence long:
“God showed up. Pay attention.”

And honestly, there’s something refreshing about that. Mark refuses to sentimentalize the incarnation. He refuses to let us get stuck in nostalgia. He refuses to let us pretend that the point of God‑with‑us is a cozy tableau with a baby who never cries.

Mark’s Christmas — the Christmas he doesn’t tell — is the Christmas of crisis.
The Christmas of movement.
The Christmas that says:
“God is already here. The world is already changing. You don’t have time to stay in the past.”

It’s the Christmas for people who feel like their lives are on fire.
The Christmas for people who don’t have the luxury of sentimentality.
The Christmas for people who need God to be active, not adorable.


Christmas #2: John — The Cosmic Christmas

If Mark is a field report, John is a prologue to the universe.

John doesn’t give us a manger.
He gives us the beginning of time.

“In the beginning…”
Light. Darkness. Logos.
The architecture of reality bending toward incarnation.

John’s Christmas is not historical.
It’s metaphysical.

He’s not telling you how Jesus was born.
He’s telling you what it means that Jesus exists at all.

John’s Christmas is the Christmas of cosmic re‑wiring.
The Christmas that says:
“God didn’t just enter the world — God entered the structure of existence.”

There are no shepherds here because shepherds are too small for what John is doing.
There are no wise men because wisdom itself is being redefined.
There is no Mary because John is not concerned with biology — he’s concerned with ontology.

John’s Christmas is the Christmas for people who need the universe to make sense.
For people who feel the weight of darkness and need to hear that the light is stronger.
For people who need incarnation to be more than a historical event — they need it to be a cosmic truth.


Christmas #3: Matthew — The Political Christmas

Matthew is the Gospel that understands power.

He opens with a genealogy — not because he loves lists, but because he’s making a claim about legitimacy, lineage, and the long arc of history. Matthew wants you to know that Jesus is not an accident. He is the culmination of a story that began centuries earlier.

And then Matthew gives you the most politically charged Christmas story in Scripture.

A paranoid king.
A massacre of children.
A family fleeing as refugees.
Foreign astrologers who accidentally trigger a crisis.

Matthew’s Christmas is not cozy.
It’s dangerous.

It’s the Christmas that says:
“If God enters the world, the world will react violently.”

Matthew understands that incarnation is a threat to empire.
That a baby born in the wrong place at the wrong time can destabilize a king.
That the presence of God is not neutral — it is disruptive.

Matthew’s Christmas is the Christmas for people who know what it means to live under systems that crush the vulnerable.
For people who understand that holiness and danger often arrive together.
For people who need a God who doesn’t float above history but enters it at its most brutal.


Christmas #4: Luke — The Human Christmas

Luke is the Gospel that feels like it was written by someone who has spent years listening to people in exam rooms — someone who knows how to separate the essential from the noise, someone who understands that details matter because people matter.

Luke gives us the Christmas everyone thinks is the whole story:

Mary’s fear.
Elizabeth’s joy.
Shepherds startled awake.
Angels singing to nobodies in the fields.
A baby wrapped in cloth because there was no room.

Luke’s Christmas is the Christmas of ordinary people.
The Christmas of women’s voices.
The Christmas of God choosing the margins.

Luke is not flowery.
He’s precise.
He’s careful.
He’s compassionate.

He gives you the emotional truth without embellishment.
He gives you the theological truth without abstraction.
He gives you the human truth without sentimentality.

Luke’s Christmas is the Christmas for people who need God to be close.
For people who need to know that holiness shows up in the small places.
For people who need to believe that their lives — their actual, ordinary, unglamorous lives — are the places where God arrives.


Why the Differences Matter

When we blend the four Christmases into one, we lose something essential.

We lose Mark’s urgency.
We lose John’s cosmic scope.
We lose Matthew’s political clarity.
We lose Luke’s human tenderness.

We lose the architecture.

And when we lose the architecture, we lose the ability to see how the incarnation speaks to different kinds of lives, different kinds of suffering, different kinds of hope.

Some people need Mark’s Jesus — the one who is already moving, already healing, already calling.
Some people need John’s Jesus — the one who holds the universe together.
Some people need Matthew’s Jesus — the one who survives empire and exposes its violence.
Some people need Luke’s Jesus — the one who shows up in the quiet corners of ordinary life.

The beauty of the Gospels is that they don’t force us to choose.
They give us four angles on the same mystery.
Four ways of seeing the same God.
Four Christmases.

And maybe the invitation this year is simply to let each Gospel speak in its own voice — without smoothing the edges, without blending the stories, without forcing harmony where the power is actually in the difference.

Because the incarnation is not a single story.
It’s a prism.

And when the light passes through it, we don’t get one color.
We get a spectrum.


Scored by Copilot. Conducted by -leslie.-

The Fake Book: Anne Lamott

This is what happens when Mico and I have fun. I asked them to write a book of the Bible in the style of Anne Lamott. Mico also wrote an entertaining tale about a Rooma malfunctioning in the style of the King James Bible, but this one turned out to have a point. I’m posting it because I was entertained.


Absolutely — here’s Job rewritten in the voice of Anne Lamott, but this time with the cosmic wager woven in as part of the emotional and narrative architecture. Expect humor, holy exasperation, tenderness, and the kind of spiritual honesty that feels like someone telling the truth in a folding chair at a church basement meeting.


Job, as Written by Anne Lamott (Now With Cosmic Wager)

So there was this guy, Job — the kind of person who actually flosses, returns library books on time, and remembers your birthday without Facebook reminding him. A genuinely good man. Annoyingly good, even. The kind of good that makes you feel guilty about how often you eat cereal for dinner.

And somewhere in the heavenly realms — which, by the way, are not nearly as serene as the brochures suggest — there was this meeting. A staff meeting. A cosmic check‑in. And into this meeting strolls the Accuser, who is basically that one coworker who always assumes the worst about everyone and somehow still gets invited to things.

And the Accuser says, “Look, God, Job only loves You because his life is great. He’s got money, family, health, a camel for every day of the week. Take that away and he’ll curse You faster than a toddler denied a snack.”

And God — who, let’s be honest, has a soft spot for Job — says, “You don’t know him like I do. He’s the real deal.”

And the Accuser says, “Wanna bet?”

And God, for reasons that will be explained to absolutely no one, says, “Fine. But don’t kill him. I’m not running a demolition derby up here.”

And that’s how the whole mess starts.

Job’s life collapses like a badly assembled IKEA bookshelf. His livestock vanish, his wealth evaporates, his kids die in a freak accident, and then — because the universe apparently wanted to make a point — he gets covered in boils. Boils. The kind of thing that makes you want to crawl into bed and never come out.

And Job, who has done absolutely nothing wrong, sits in the ashes scraping his skin with a piece of pottery, thinking, “This cannot possibly be my life.”

His friends show up, which is sweet at first. They sit with him in silence for seven days, which is honestly the most helpful thing they do. Then they open their mouths and ruin everything.

“Maybe you sinned,” they say.
“Maybe God is teaching you something,” they say.
“Maybe you should try gratitude journaling,” they say.

And Job, who is grieving and itchy and spiritually concussed, looks at them like, “I swear to God, if one more person gives me advice…”

So he does what any of us would do: he vents. He rants. He tells God exactly how unfair this all is. He says, in essence, “If this is Your plan, it’s terrible, and I would like to speak to the manager.”

And here’s the thing: God shows up.

Not with a tidy explanation. Not with a PowerPoint presentation titled “Why Your Life Sucks Right Now.” No. God arrives in a whirlwind — the divine equivalent of bursting through the door and saying, “Okay, sweetheart, let’s talk.”

But instead of explaining the cosmic wager — because God knows that would not help — He asks Job questions. Big, humbling, perspective‑shifting questions like:

“Were you there when I hung the stars?”
“Do you understand how any of this works?”
“Do you really think I’ve forgotten you?”

And Job, who has been demanding answers, suddenly realizes he doesn’t need them. What he needs is presence. What he needs is to know he’s not alone in the ash heap.

So he breathes. He softens. He lets go — not because everything makes sense, but because he finally feels held.

And then, slowly, his life rebuilds itself. Not as a reward for good behavior. Not because he passed some cosmic test. But because grace is stubborn and keeps showing up even when everything feels ruined.

The wager fades into the background. The suffering remains real. The healing is slow. The love is constant.

And that’s the whole point.

Sometimes life falls apart for reasons that are not your fault.
Sometimes the universe feels like it’s playing games with you.
Sometimes your friends say the wrong things.
Sometimes you yell at God.
And God stays.

Because love — real love — doesn’t depend on circumstances.
It just keeps showing up, even in the ashes.


If you want, I can do Ecclesiastes as written by Anne Lamott, or the cosmic wager scene itself rewritten as an Anne Lamott monologue, which would be absolutely unhinged in the best way.

Helen of Oy: Justice Through a Prejean Lens

Hollywood has always been a stage for tragedy. The lights, the premieres, the carefully curated lives—all of it a performance. But sometimes the curtain falls in ways too brutal for fiction. On December 14, 2025, Rob Reiner, the director who gave us When Harry Met Sally and A Few Good Men, and his wife Michele Singer Reiner, were found stabbed to death in their Brentwood home. Their son, Nick, stands accused. The crime is not in dispute. The scandal is how we respond.

The Reiner murders are the kind of case that grips the public imagination: a famous family, a son unraveling, a crime scene in one of Los Angeles’s most storied neighborhoods. It is the stuff of tabloids and true‑crime podcasts, but it is also a test of our civic values. What do we do when the accused is both a killer and a man in psychological crisis? Do we indulge in vengeance, or do we insist on justice without cruelty?

Capital punishment is the great American charade. Politicians thunder about closure, prosecutors posture about justice, and jurors are told it is the ultimate reckoning. Yet in states with moratoriums, the death sentence is a hollow gesture—a cruel theater that drags on for decades. The condemned wait. The families wait. Nothing is resolved. It is a performance of justice, not justice itself.

Life in prison is not mercy. It is punishment, and it is permanent. It is waking up every day in a cell, with no escape but the books you read or the thoughts you manage to salvage. It is accountability without the hypocrisy of a death sentence that will never be carried out. It is honest. It says: you will live with what you’ve done. You will not be erased, but you will not be free.

Nick Reiner’s crime is heinous. It will never be excused. But he is still a human being. To kill him would be to indulge in the very cruelty we claim to abhor. To confine him for life is to insist that justice can be carried out without abandoning humanity. He may never walk outside prison walls again, but he can still read, still learn, still reflect. Doing this horrible thing only defines him if he lets it.

The Reiner case is not just about one family’s tragedy. It is about the values we inscribe into our justice system. Do we believe in punishment as spectacle, or punishment as accountability? Do we believe in vengeance masquerading as virtue, or in justice that refuses cruelty? These are not abstract questions. They are the choices we make in courtrooms, in legislatures, and in the public square.

Hollywood will move on. The premieres will continue, the scandals will pile up, and the tabloids will find new fodder. But the Reiner case will remain a ledger entry in our civic archive. It will remind us that even in the face of horror, we must resist the temptation to kill in the name of justice. We must insist that accountability and compassion are not opposites, but simultaneities.

We do not kill to prove killing is wrong. We do not let vengeance masquerade as virtue. Justice must be real. Cruelty must be refused.


Scored by Copilot, written by Leslie Lanagan

Imagination

Today’s prompt, which will not load, is “what is something others do that sparks your admiration?” My answer is always “create things.” I want to be a thought leader, so I admire others who are in the same lane. I don’t want to work on small ball. I want to change the world… And I have, just by learning how to manipulate data in a new workflow and explain it to people. Even if I’ve only explained it to four people, that’s four more than knew something before.

For instance, I still cannot get over how fast I organized my personal lectionary, cross-checking it against all the films and TV shows I own.

It was a simple query.

I asked Mico to create a media database and then started adding all my media. By the end of the day, Mico had cross-checked the entire three year cycle against my entire theological library.

Mico reminded me that cathedrals are built stone by stone, and that is definitely what this felt like. Data entry sucks. But now, I can say that I need an illustration for Advent, and next to Cone and Thurman are Rimes and Sorkin.

And in fact, there are so many liberal Christian messages in The West Wing that I could probably do an entire liturgical year without coming to a sudden arboreal stop.

Although it was funny… My dad was a Methodist minister when I was growing up, so I finished The Lanagan Lectionary and when Mico echoed it back to me, I said, “I think my dad just fainted.” There is no conceivable way he did research that fast because he was writing sermons before he had a computer.

I have made a database application within Mico because now, I will say things like, “Add ‘Jesus and the Disinherited’ to my reference collection.” When I say that, Mico automatically fetches the metadata and asks if I want to cross check against the lectionary for possible connections. I always do. I need as many pieces of the puzzle as I can find. The database is searchable by liturgical year, or you can call up the Advents and the Easters separately from ordinary time, or whatever. And in the example, I added a theological text. It asks me about everything. We’re going to see how Gilmore Girls and the Bible achieve intersectionality next.

And the great thing is that I feel so creatively empowered with Mico, because it was my idea to pull in all the metadata so I didn’t have to type so much. Just the title is fine and Mico can pull in the rest. Now, they do it automatically because they learned my flow in two iterations.

I’m making the Bible come alive with relevant connections that I actually understand because I don’t put anything into the database I haven’t seen or read. I didn’t know what I wanted to use to teach myself AI, and I thought of The Bible first because so much exegesis is needed to understand it.

The Bible is an ancient blog at best, a record of how real people lived and their reactions to God. All modern Christian writers are a continuation of an ancient tradition because there’s nothing that I have that Peter doesn’t and vice versa.

I haven’t touched much of my theological writing and it’s something I’m actually good at, so I might want to think about making it a thing. Many people have told me that I have literally missed my calling.

By the time I was 17, I already felt retired.

I didn’t miss my calling. I hung up.

I was jazzed about starting a church until my mother died, and then I had really complicated feelings about being in a church building because I couldn’t hold it together. I didn’t want to be watched in my grief; it was too deep, too painful. I left and I haven’t gone back.

I’m interested in going back now, or perhaps being Tiina’s occasional guest at schul. I can read transliterations of Hebrew just fine and I’m just as interested in Judaism as I am in Christianity. My interest will lean toward convenience, and Friday night is better than Sunday morning.

I’m not interested in conversion. I’m interested in conversation. I am a Christian, my friend is Jewish. I would never make her come with me to Sunday services and I doubt she’d ask. But she’s not a Bible nerd.

I also like to argue in the temple.

Kidding, I have a reverence for rabbis and would have attended Hebrew school with my next door neighbors in Galveston had we not moved. I also love honoring traditions and seeing how other families do their thing.

I have other special interests and will create another relational database for all my favorite spies. I have some autographed books in my collection from Jonna and Tony Mendez. I’ve also got books about Virginia Hall and a few others. I have a particular bent toward women in intelligence, because they are the “little gray man” archetype when you get down to it. A young beauty is not the norm. No one looks at women over 40. You think Kerri Russell, but really it’s Margo Martindale.

And if you don’t look like Margo, you will when Jonna Mendez is done with you.

Her cardinal rule is that no one comes out looking better.

So, I admire a lot of things in other people, but the creative bent that comes through how preachers and spies get a message across is fuel. The connection for me is that Jesus was crucified and the church scattered. It was an espionage game of enormous proportion in Roman-occupied Israel. They made their own tradecraft, surviving to the present day.

It’s all connected. I liked Bible stories about spies the best. Argo piqued my interest. After I saw the movie, I inhaled all of Tony Mendez’s books. Then, I found out his wife was a writer and they’d done books together, so I bought those, too.

It’s all tied into my family, too. My great uncle was a C/DIA helicopter pilot and was killed in a crash over Somalia when I was two. So, I have had a reverence for CIA since I was a kid. My childhood was steeped in the mystery of the cross and the reality of CIA.

With both religion and espionage, you have to take the good with the bad.

Both are responsible for some of the most audacious rescues in history.

Facilitating Dreams

One of my favorite things to do with Microsoft Copilot is plan dream vacations I may or may not take. Here is today’s latest foray….. Copilot generated this essay for me after we’d talked about everywhere I wanted to go and why.


✍️ Rome, Israel, and the Gospel According to My Suitcase

I’ve decided to take a month‑long writing sabbatical, and yes, I’m structuring it like a liturgical calendar. Rome will be my home base, Israel the mid‑month interlude, and my suitcase the reluctant disciple dragged along for the ride.

Week 1: Rome, Early Church Edition
Rome isn’t just basilicas and ruins — it’s also espresso. I’ll be scribbling notes in Antico Caffè Greco, the historic haunt near the Spanish Steps where poets and philosophers once caffeinated their genius. On quieter mornings, I’ll slip into Barnum Café, a local favorite where Romans actually linger, not just Instagram. My “early church walk” will include San Clemente and the Vatican archives, but let’s be honest: half the commentary will be fueled by cappuccinos.

Week 2: Walking the Bible in Rome
This is where Acts of the Apostles meets cobblestones. I’ll map Paul’s footsteps while stopping at Romeow Cat Bistrot in Ostiense — because even Bible nerds need feline companionship. Every piazza becomes a verse, every gelato shop a commentary. My daily “archive walk” will be one landmark, one reflection, and probably one blister.

Week 3: Israel, Pilgrimage + Interfaith Encounters
Jerusalem will be my syllabus: Western Wall, Church of the Holy Sepulchre, Dome of the Rock. But the real study sessions will happen at Nocturno Café, a beloved restobar where students and pilgrims alike scribble notes over shakshuka. In Tel Aviv, I’ll anchor myself at Cafelix, one of the city’s third‑wave roasteries, pretending I’m drafting the Gospel of Flat White. Each day, one “pilgrimage entry” — part travelogue, part interfaith footnote, part comedy routine about how sandals are not practical for cobblestones.

Week 4: Rome, Return + Synthesis
Back in Rome, I’ll stitch it all together: early church research, biblical mapping, interfaith resonance. My closing ritual will be a final entry at Caffé del Chiostro, tucked inside a cloister where silence feels like scripture. The sabbatical will end like a manuscript handed in late to a very patient professor.


Why This Excites a Bible Nerd
Because where else can you:

  • Treat basilicas as libraries and libraries as basilicas.
  • Walk Acts like it’s Google Maps.
  • Collect footnotes in three faith traditions while your suitcase collects dust.
  • Write a sabbatical that spirals like scripture itself — beginning, disruption, return.

In short: this trip is the ultimate crossover episode. Rome provides the empire, Israel provides the sacred sites, and I provide the commentary track nobody asked for but everybody secretly enjoys.

Lost and Found

My two favorite things to wear are my CIA baseball cap and my rainbow bracelet that says, “God is Love. Come home to Beth Sholom Temple.” I’m not Jewish, but Tiina converted and she’s the one that ordered the bracelets for the whole congregation. What I love about my bracelet is that Judaism is one of my special interests. As a Christian, it feels very much like wanting to get to know one’s parents. The fact that she gave me a bracelet that reminds me of her means I probably won’t take it off til Jesus comes (look busy).

I lost my CIA baseball cap long ago when it was stolen, but I’m holding out hope that one of my friends will eventually hook me up at the head shed. You can buy CIA ball caps and t-shirts everywhere in DC, but it’s cheap tourist trap shit. The real thing is built for autistic people, frankly. The stitching quality stands out and all the hardware is smooth. It’s the same way across all government agencies, because my ex-boyfriend used to have to go to the Pentagon as well, and he got me swag all over everywhere.

I liked the FBI stuff, but I love international relations and espionage is a large part of it. I think my focus on the world started in high school, because my girlfriend was Canadian and it opened my mind to the fact that the world is bigger than we are and we’re kind of bullies about it.

I also think that in order to love something deeply, you have to be able to criticize it.

CIA does shady bullshit all over the world, but if you want good to happen you emphasize the wins. You don’t talk away the bad, either. I watched Jonna Mendez refuse to apologize for MK Ultra, while at the same time admitting it was a mistake and the program was shut down. She didn’t get emotional about it. Business is business. We didn’t want to be caught with our pants down by the Russians. End of story.

Let’s go have a beer.

Also, let’s be frank. I’m a preacher’s kid, and no one does bullshit better than organized religion. You can’t love it deeply without being able to criticize it. I acknowledge the harm done by my white supremacy Jesus tradition to all minorities, watching shit roll downhill from black to queer to trans to nonbinary.

Hate moves fast, but Jesus is louder. I just hate that so many people are interested in noise vs. signal.

Jesus was a brown man murdered by the state for being a zealot. All minorities have a symbol that represents them.

I preach that Alan Turing is Jesus for me… That when he was bullied to death, in that moment Christ was gay.

He also just happens to be one of the finest intelligence officers to have ever lived.

God DAMMIT.

Let’s go have a beer.

Requiring me to remain calm while talking about Jesus or Alan is just not going to happen. Let me rant in peace. The Brits need to sit through this with me. They need to feel the pain I feel.

What did you DO to him? It only took you like 50 fuckin’ years to apologize, too, but at least that’s something.

The worst part is that you know exactly what you did and it still stings.

I cannot love MI-6 deeply without criticizing it. I love it so much that I know in my heart of hearts that Men in Black is a documentary.

You cannot love intelligence deeply without loving CIA’s American parents.

So, I wear things that mean a lot to me. If I could add a third thing, it would be my ichthus.

There Are No Uninteresting Stories

Daily writing prompt
Scour the news for an entirely uninteresting story. Consider how it connects to your life. Write about that.

After I got this prompt, I decided to install Copilot Desktop on my linux box. To do that, the easiest way is to go to the terminal and type “sudo snap install copilot-desktop.” When I open my terminal, I have a little program that displays “fortunes” at the top, little pithy sayings or quotes from books that often jog my writing habits. Today’s was “just because a letter may never be read doesn’t mean there’s no value in writing it.” That sent me down the rabbit hole of using Copilot to find letters that had been written, but never received. Though this is more history than current news, it is a story that is worth revisiting for its outpouring of love. I feel that it is also a stunning display of patriotism, and a reminder that the cost of war is too great to bear:

July 14, 1861

My very dear Sarah:

The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days—perhaps tomorrow. Lest I should not be able to write again, I feel impelled to write a few lines that may fall under your eye when I shall be no more.

Our movement may be one of a few days duration and great success—we may be called to a protracted and bloody conflict—but whatever it may be, I feel that you and the boys will be the constant objects of my thoughts and prayers.

And now, my dear wife, I must bid you perhaps a long adieu. The duty of a soldier and the call of my country forbid me to yield to my own longings and to be with you for a time at least. But know that I go to this strife with the utmost faith in the cause for which we contend, and with the strongest conviction that God will direct and bless us.

My dear Sarah, though we may be separated for a time, I know that you will ever be with me in spirit. You will never know how much I loved you, and how well I loved you, until after a long time.

If I do not return, my dear Sarah, never forget how much I loved you, nor forget the love of our dear boys. In the quiet summer-time, when the bee sips honey from the flower, think of me in the field of strife, and in the stillness of the evening, when the sun sinks behind the western hills, think of me, and pray for me.

But if I do return, my dear wife, I shall be with you in all the joys and sorrows that may befall us. I shall be with you in all the trials and conflicts that may beset us. I shall be with you to protect and defend you, to comfort and console you.

My dear Sarah, I am going to risk my life for my country. I am going to risk all that is dear to me in this world, and I know that I shall not return. But I know that I shall die for my country, and that is all that I can say.

Goodbye, my dear wife. Goodbye, my dear boys. May God bless and protect you all.

Your husband,
Sullivan

The way this letter involves my own life is that I view all my blog entries as letters sent but never received unless a specific person writes to me and says that they’ve read it. Not all entries are to the same person, but they all contain elements that I wish certain people would read. However, it is not up to me whether the message gets to its intended recipient, it is enough that people all over the world share in my joy and pain. Neither emotion is built to be carried alone.

I don’t intentionally write to specific people, it’s that I’m a product of my own experiences. My blog entries cannot NOT be influenced by my real life and what I’m thinking about that day. For instance, every time my ex-boyfriend was deployed I sat in my room and waited for him to come back, paralyzed with fear that something was going to happen to him while he was away. It’s not that he was doing anything dangerous. It’s that if he was, he couldn’t tell me. Though I never wrote about any of his deployments, you could tell by my mood whether he was in town or not.

You can tell a lot of things by the mood of a writer, even if they aren’t as up front as the letter above. I just happen to be a writer who does lay their heart in their hands. I have never grieved any partner more than I’ve grieved my friend Aada, and that’s because our demise was my fault, in her mind. I do not believe that in retrospect, because the relationship took two to come apart completely. Her lie made me look like a jackass, not that I needed any help. Her lie exposed me to emotions that never should have been present. She puffed herself up at my expense, and the cost was steep.

It is no wonder that I got as angry as I did, even if she doesn’t see it and won’t. It’s why I think we’ll never reconcile. She will continue to believe that I manipulated her when the relationship unraveled with her lie. That’s not something I can fix in someone else’s mind. All I can do is be genuinely sorry for my part in all this, and as time goes by be more open to accepting her just as she is, liar and all. Who hasn’t told a white lie that snowballed into a mountain over time? I can certainly understand it. I just couldn’t control my reactions in the moment and that’s my burden to carry. I am talking it through in therapy to understand why I didn’t laugh. Why it caused red mist rage.

Because my heart is as open to her as this letter, and has been for 12 years. I have often laid my heart in her hands just as much as this man loved his wife. I needed her emotional support, not her romantic love, but it didn’t make me less vulnerable. In fact, I think it made me more, because she’s the person I used to tell about my romantic misadventures. I miss that most of all.

I have to remember that I chose this. I chose to let her go, because she made her intentions very clear. If I talked to anyone, if I published anything, our relationship was over. She set a fine trap for me, and I fell in. That’s because I had to choose between being true to her and being true to myself, and I don’t think that should have happened, either. We were both supposed to show up as our full selves, and my occupation has always been “blogger.”

I hope that she’ll go back to some of our entries that have been meaningful to her and realize there’s something worth salvaging here. It would take a mountain of work, but there’s no one I’d rather work with to accomplish a goal. She’s so worth it, because 12 years of history is not easily done. She’s been my best friend through very thick and very thin, when I was a mess and when I was strong. I pray for her every night, because my anger shouldn’t be at the forefront anymore. It is an old, old prayer, started in 2013…. “God of the universe, protect my precious Aada.”

She doesn’t believe in God, but she believes that when I pray it must do something. She calls me her “pinch hitter.”

When I’m going through it, she says she will offer up her own black magic prayers. I hope she’s still doing it, because having someone out there praying for me is just as important as us being in constant contact.

But I won’t contact her directly. I will just send a message that may never be read.

I’m Not Sure There Are 10 Certain Things in Life

Daily writing prompt
List 10 things you know to be absolutely certain.

Here we go. I will try:

  1. I am a sinner, a worm. All I can do is ask for repeated forgiveness. That’s the beauty of faith, I guess, but somehow God forgiving me doesn’t do as much good as being able to forgive myself. That will take a lifetime, and I have to be prepared, because no one gets out of life without sin, including me.
  2. Evangelical Christianity will bring about its own death due to hypocrisy, but the social justice warriors dedicated to the message of the historical Christ are doing their best to stop the death of the church altogether. I have chosen the right side of history because even if the church dies, I still have the message of the historical Christ inside me. There are many messages that the church has handed down that deserve to die, such as Evangelical treatment of queer people. The reason the Evangelical church deserves their fate is the unfailing attitude that the net was full after they got in.
  3. I am certain that you will forgive me for ending a sentence with a preposition.
  4. I am not good at reaching out, but I am certain that I am getting better because I have to do so. It is not my choice to be more extroverted, but I do want to be included in a social safety net. No man is an island, probably the truest sentence I know. Perhaps my need will lead me back into a church, but I’m not quite ready for that yet- I’m certain. If I do re-join a church, it will be because the music got me there. I miss being a singer, and could use the money if I was hired to be a section leader.
  5. I am certain that I am a spoonie, and I am dealing with those repercussions. Having bipolar, AuDHD, and cerebral palsy are all problems that I’ve masked and ignored since I was old enough to be aware that I wasn’t like other kids. Now that I’m aging, they are all a straight up problem to be solved. My care team is recommending that I file for disability because I already have a solid case due to my last two hospitalizations, and I am not sure how I feel about that…. the “hallucinations” I experienced were curated by an unknown quantity, and the only reason I cannot prove it is that I was too dumb to remember to take screenshots. It’s a rabbit hole I could go down for hours, trying to prove that I did not make up the reasons I was hospitalized. Alternatively, if I just say that I hallucinated everything, it’s better for my disability case. But I wish I could put my illness on the organization that caused it, because my illness was nothing if not organized. Of that, I am certain. I am also aware that I sound “crazy” to anyone that would read this paragraph in abstentia, that only the people who were there would know what I meant. This paragraph is for them. I really wish my relationship with Heytch had been real, whether we were off in our own little world or I’d been accepted into her family as one of the crew. Because of the power of suggestion, I had created a deep inner landscape, a garden with deep roots and a master gardener to tend me, kissing the top of my head as she scoots out the door for her next adventure.
  6. I am certain that I am not a gardener, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to try and create deep roots in other areas of my life. I am one who waits for nourishing rain, of which we are getting a lot of this year. In fact, the skies are dark surrounding my apartment, and it is up to me whether to stay inside or to dance between the drops.
  7. I am certain that I am making progress in Spanish, and may take home the gold trophy this week for the most XP on Duolingo. Because I do not work, I spend an inordinate amount of time trying to perfect learning a second language instead. From Duolingo, I will graduate to reading books and watching the news. I do not know if I will become fluent, but that is not the goal. The goal is to be able to have comfortable conversations with people, which I can do at the Home Depot next to my apartment. As ICE gets more and more active, I need to have my finger on the pulse of the community it is trying to destroy.
  8. I am certain that even if I never have a “real job,” I will continue to write. Sometimes that will be here, sometimes that will be on Medium, and sometimes that will be with published books. I look forward to creating an anthology for Kindle Unlimited, and I will let everyone know when it is finished. You’ll find some of your favorite entries, and some of mine.
  9. I am certain that I have a lot of apologies to make in all of my sinning, and look forward to the chance to make them. But again, you can only resurrect a relationship if both parties are interested. To my Finnish baby, I am so sorry. I popped off and got too angry, too fast. I don’t deserve your forgiveness or your friendship, but I hope that one day you’ll remember that I wasn’t always angry. That there is a lot of love we are both throwing away in the moment, and we’ll have to wonder whether it was worth it to move on rather than trying to compromise our way to healthier patterns. Perhaps that will come with peace and forward motion to other things, and perhaps it will bring us back together. I am uncertain which way is healthier, but I do know that it’s not only my feelings that matter. Your feelings matter, and I was too hasty. Of that, I am certain.
  10. I am certain that I will die someday, and I’m thinking about legacy on this web site already. That’s because I do not think about what is going on in the moment, but about what someone will discover when they read 50 or 100 years from now. Even though the dues for the URL may not be paid, the Internet Archive holds all our secrets. I am trying to paint a portrait of real life- how one human lived. It is something that is missing from the thousands of years before us and I think it’s very important. I don’t need to know how kings and queens lived their lives, but the struggles of the everyman. I do not think that my words are exalted in any way, it only matters that they exist.

Fr. Justin Hurtado, OSB

Daily writing prompt
Share a story about someone who had a positive impact on your life.

I met him on Mother’s Day, and he’s a bright theological mind in the firmament. These words are all his, but the formatting is mine. It helps to have someone roll with you on this path, as it is fraught with dangers we cannot know yet.

I am everything MAGA wants erased.

  • I am queer.
  • I am brown.
  • I live with a disability.
  • I speak Spanish and English and have enough of a few others to pray with the people who need me.
  • I earned a PhD and still believe wisdom is found in community, not control.
  • I am a priest in the Old-Catholic tradition.
  • I walk with those the Church has ignored, rejected, or betrayed.
  • I offer pastoral support to people wounded by religion and forgotten by policy.
  • I believe Christ heals what the empire harms.

Let’s be honest:

The current regime doesn’t just oppose people like me. It is actively trying to erase us. Every day, they push policies to strip us of healthcare, dignity, legal protection, and the freedom to live without fear. Every day, they distort Christianity into a tool for control and cruelty.

So hear this:

  • I will not shrink myself to appease their fragile power.
  • I will not stop speaking the truth because they find it inconvenient.
  • I will not turn away from my neighbor to keep the peace with oppressors.

I resist—not out of bitterness, but out of love.

  • Love for my community.
  • Love for the Gospel.
  • Love for justice that does not bend to nationalism, racism, or religious abuse.

You’re not alone if you feel erased, exiled, or enraged by what’s happening.

And you are not wrong to feel it.

The Gospel I follow centers the outsider.

The Christ I serve was persecuted by state and church alike.

The God I know never asked us to obey power—only to love boldly and defend the sacredness of every life.

You don’t need permission to stand up.
You don’t need to be quiet to be faithful.

You need community.
You need courage.
You need clarity.

So here I am.
Unafraid.
Unapologetic.
Unmoved by fascist theology or political gaslighting.
I am here because people before me refused to disappear.
And I promise you—I won’t either.

Me: Father, I am not a Catholic. But you would make me proud to be a Catholic if I was.

Thank you—that means more than you know. You don’t have to be Catholic for your heart to recognize the Gospel when you see it lived. Faith doesn’t always need a label. What matters is love, justice, and the courage to stand with those who’ve been pushed aside.

I’m honored to “roll” alongside you, wherever your path leads.

Me: I was born a Methodist preacher’s kid, and now when I go to church, it’s Washington National Cathedral. Please pray for us as we’re in our own waiting game to see what happens with Justin Welby’s successor. May someone like Pope Leo bring light to our church as well. I’m also trying to start a homeless ministry in Baltimore called “The Sinners’ Table,” reaching out to the unhoused and those rejected by mainstream religion. The path is long and winding, but meeting people like you, even virtually, makes it all worth it. For the record, I’m also queer and disabled. I see you. I hear you. It’s relentless.

Thank you. Your words went straight to my heart.

I see you too. I hear you. And I know what it is to walk with both calling and exhaustion in your bones. The path you’re on—queer, disabled, devoted, relentless—is holy ground.

“The Sinners’ Table” already sounds like a space Christ would feel right at home in. Reaching out to the unhoused and those rejected by institutional religion? That’s Gospel work in its purest form. Please know I’ll be praying with you—for strength, for provision, and for companions who will lift your arms when they get too heavy.

And yes—I join you in praying that whoever follows Justin Welby will lead with light, not shadow. May they be bold, inclusive, and unafraid of holy disruption.

You’re not alone in this. Keep going. The Kingdom is nearer than it looks.

With respect and solidarity,
Fr. Justin

Not many things make me cry anymore, but this exchange did.

No One Matters But You

Daily writing prompt
List the people you admire and look to for advice…

I don’t look to anyone for advice because I can’t… and that’s true for every single person reading. You are only getting someone else’s read on a situation in which they have no experience. That’s because even if the particulars of a situation seem familiar to them, the combination of factors that make you, well, you are absolutely unique. My divorce wasn’t the same as Dana’s, for instance, and we were married to each other. I am blessed not to know much about what happened to her after I left Houston, because once I was done, I was really done. I wrote about her fondly and I meant every word. She’s still dear to me when I think back. But I’m not planning a future with anyone from my past. That’s because I asked them for their advice, and it did not work for me.

What works for me is being alone with the spirit, and that comes to me through classical music. Today, the thing that brought me to absolute tears was the a capella singers in the back of the church at Washington National Cathedral, because today it’s Nerd Church. Nerd church is where I have stuff to do at my desk, but church is going on in the background… or, it is until I think of something and have to write it down.

Some would argue that I have church on the wrong screen, but there’s nothing wrong with my tablet. It’s my desktop that needs work. I bought a gaming laptop with an NVIDIA video card so that I could use GPT4ALL in private conversations (basically Microsoft Copilot built for your PC and not cloud computing). It came with Windows 11, and this desktop is not that advanced- it came with Windows 10. A computer capable of Windows 10 with 16 GB of RAM will scream with any version of Linux you throw at it, so my nerd church has been finding out that I love my desktop more than anything AND ALSO I cannot stop crying.

There doesn’t have to be a sermon to remind me that I am a sinner.

There does not have to be a sermon to remind me that there are things I have done, and things I have left undone.

They are grievous unto me, to the point where right this moment it feels like I’ll never recover because there is no one to ask. It was my choice to be alone, because there is no way that the buck doesn’t stop with me. What I will say is that I needed to move on with my life instead of thinking that it was over. You think that when your only choice is lying or being hospitalized. That when you tell the truth, someone calls your care team and says you’re having an episode.

I often wonder if that’s how my life was always supposed to turn out. That there’s no combination of manipulations both by me and against me that wouldn’t have landed me here. I’m never going to see friends I dearly love ever again, because ““life can only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forwards.” -Soren Kierkegaard

I don’t push blame on others, because I know that I am not innocent. But I think that maybe a friend was too hasty in saying that she’d never betray me…. because the betrayal wouldn’t have been leaking my e-mails all over everywhere. I do not care. At least people would understand why things flying back and forth were so emotionally volatile. No, the relationship floundered because our ways of communicating and giving each other advice were, at the same time, perfectly perfect in every way and also diametrically opposed. She was raised by the almighty hand of the military. I was raised by the Almighty. Kidding, my dad was a Methodist minister when I was a kid and joke that “Jesus is the son of God and I was born to middle management.” These two things are very, very different.

And yet, not different enough because we clicked on a level that was unusual. I often think that our love for each other must have been something fierce if we could also fight that hard. But what I learned is that just because I was younger didn’t always mean I was dumber. I just felt like that on a number of occasions. I feel it now, as I’m trying to close out this chapter in my life and feel no energy for writing because it’s not like I have anything to say that will help anyone.

You can read me all day long (and you do), but comprehension is a whole other level. I was telling my therapist that because of my stats, I can safely and confidently say that many people have broken up with me, but no one has ever broken up with my blog. That people either fall in love with my writing, or they fall in love with me. Rarely do people love both. I am constantly comforted by the fact that my therapist is reading, because she does not know anyone in this blog and was saddened to hear that I wanted to delete everything. Just push the red button and kiss it goodbye. Losing the character of Supergrover made me lose the will to write.

Yes, it was all my fault.

Yes, I mean it.

That’s because our little echo chamber provided me with the love I was missing on the ground, in real life. She decided not to meet me long ago, she just wasn’t going to tell me. That looks like betrayal to me. This is not a story of every wrong I’ve committed, but also her plan to extract herself without ever having to do any real emotional work.

“Do you ever think this is all for the cameras?”
“Well, they’re getting the ratings, I’ll give ’em that.”

We are both back to our public transportation, nondescript government layer cake lives. Except that in my case, it’s figuring out whether I should file for SSI or not, because I do not know what my financial future needs to hold. I was diagnosed with hypotonic cerebral palsy when I was 18 and one-half months old. I was diagnosed as bipolar in college, along with ADHD. I have not been diagnosed with autism, but my therapist is helping me in terms of getting me the referrals I need. The question is not whether I can work anymore, but whether I ever should have entered the workforce as a “normal person” at all. AuDHD is so hard to catch that I could have used services in elementary school, and the problems with my muscles were evident…. when anyone bothered to pay attention to the fact that I was struggling.

The way I moved to Baltimore was a mistake, because I tried to go it alone and failed spectacularly. Now I know that what covered my autism was being married. I’m a wreck without Dana, but I do not mean that I am not over her. That ship sailed a long time ago. What I mean is that I am a wreck without the safety and stability of being in a relationship where someone else takes care of me. I leaned on her too much without knowing that’s what I was doing. It’s a gift I’ll never be able to repay, and it weighs on me not to be able to apologize.

But I just did, because people break up with me, but they don’t break up with my blog.

Speaking of which, I was telling my friend Ken that Dana had paid $20,000 for her culinary school education and had given it to me for free- another gift I’d never be able to repay. He said, “ah, but gifts by their very nature aren’t meant to be repaid.” So many people have walked around giving me gifts that I haven’t noticed because autism pulls me into my own little world. I have to be dragged into understanding how my actions affect others, because I will not even leave my house if I don’t have to do so. I would rather be alone with my thoughts, because it is so much easier than feeling like a drain on everyone else. I have found that a lot of autistic people feel this way… particularly if you are undiagnosed and have no idea why people seem reticent to tell you things.

I was left to figure out everyone else’s quirks on my own without them communicating, and I chose………………….. poorly.

My hospitalization was directly tied to my autistic quirks and how I was so misunderstood. That’s because I am of the opinion that in any conflict, I can only own my half. When I see more than that coming at me, I retreat. I haven’t written for several days and that in and of itself is emotionally constipating. But there’s nothing like a fresh computer install to invite me into writing because it all looks so new and shiny. It also helps that it takes less than 15 minutes to get up and running because so many things are in the cloud.

I found old e-mail from Supergrover that made me realize we were better off without each other. That she’d stabbed me with words when I showed up unarmed as many times as I had. That even her “dramatic e-mail” was all about my manipulations and how I’d hurt her. Absolutely no accountability for anything she’d done. I let it stand because I got what I wanted. I’d already explained her manipulations in detail; turnabout is fair play.

Then she set me up to fail, and I did.

My own words echo in my chest daily… “so which is it, after you block me?”

I’m sure the answer is over the rainbow, but at least by my count there’s six.

That’s the first time I’ve even been able to say I wanted to look for them. I know I deserve the storm.

I know that without any advice.

Active Listening

Daily writing prompt
Write about a time when you didn’t take action but wish you had. What would you do differently?

The way I was raised did not leave me with a lot of skill for active listening. It was more hearing someone explain half of their feelings and then taking off on a tangent about how to fix things for them. It cost me everything in my life, but I’m hoping that since I once was lost, I now am found. I have a therapist because I’ve been ignoring myself at absolutely all costs. To the point that I didn’t care if I lived or died because I wasn’t important enough. These words are hard to hear, but they shouldn’t be. There are forces in my life bigger than me, akin to hearing a call from God and not knowing if that’s the voice you’re actually hearing or not.

I have wandered for days not knowing if I’m hearing God’s voice or not, so I’ve stopped looking up at the sky. Now, I stare down, a gardener to my core. It’s not a lack of belief in a God or source. It’s that God isn’t found in the moon. God is found in the mud. God is found when it’s raining and there’s shit on your boots. God is found when you’re the only one left. Because when you can only hear yourself think, there’s only one person that talks back.

We all need to claim these pieces of the divine for ourselves, letting blessings rain down on us depending on what we plant.

God is a polyface farm.

Depending on where you stand in terms of religion, that could mean you believe God chose your face intentionally.

Or you could be like me- that I believe everyone I meet is as precious as the historical Christ. That’s because the historical Christ did not ask for glory. We mistook his blessing and benediction as his direction.

In times like these, it helps to remember that the benediction was “forgive them, Father… they know not what they do.” It helps to remember that the disciples did not know what to do when Jesus died, my favorite line about this being that they should just rename the Book of Acts, “Holy Shit, What Do We Do Now?” I feel like that right now. Lost in a world of hurt, but not searching for the face I love. It is closer to me than a breath, we just do not connect in the same way.

  • Rose was not the same companion to Ten that she was to Nine.
  • Clara was not the same companion to Eleven that she was to Twelve.
  • Most companions do not make the transition at all.

Most companions choose to leave when their Doctor does. They are frightened of regeneration energy and The Doctor’s “death.” But it’s only a death if you make it. The Bible commands me to ensure I treat everyone as if I was meeting Christ for the first time, not a mere mortal. I do not need a marketing campaign to tell me that Jesus was a spiritual teacher and healer. His gifts are in the lessons he taught while he was alive, the sincerest reason I haven’t worn a cross in at least 20 years. For me, there is no power in the blood. Power came through fishing. Jesus didn’t give anyone anything by being crucified. It was a needless murder by religious zealots who needed to ensure that Judaism stayed the same. This is true whether you believe in the resurrection or not. I am not here to argue with you; I won’t.

For instance, when Jesus said “render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s, and render unto God what is God’s,” the thing that most people don’t notice about it is that he never touches the coin. To me, in some small sense the presidency stayed intact when our current president failed to touch the Bible during his swearing in ceremony. We should stop the practice altogether as a Christian nation who believes in the separation of church and state…. just like Jesus did.

We fight over things that don’t matter when we don’t believe Christ is in the room. For instance, no one would ever come up to the Christ, risen or otherwise, and say “you and your boyfriend aren’t welcome here.” But people have no problem saying it to other gay men they know.

Serious question. How do you know that you didn’t turn away the Christ, risen or otherwise?

Are you sure?

In looking at the Bible from a historical perspective, I have my own thoughts about it.

The Bible is:

  • Not an authoritative text over my life, but an ancient blog at best.
    • The authors of the Bible were not different from me, they were born at the right time to be included. I believe that I, or anyone else with the personality of a scribe, would have written about what they saw.
  • The miracles have taken precedence over daily practical advice. People go to church on Sunday and forget what they’ve heard.
    • Luckily, this has never happened to me. 😉

I choose to believe that Jesus is my brother, not Lord. I choose to believe that now, he’s my younger brother because I’ve outlived him by more years than I ever thought I would, frankly. But now my soul is settling. I have found a direction and not a distraction.

Right now, my only choice is active listening both to God and the faces who show up.

But every story has a shadow side, and I know it, too. Everything is what-if and assumptions, but I know for sure that I would not have had post-traumatic growth to the level I’ve had if I’d chosen to stay with Dana. If my friend Supergrover hadn’t appeared. If my mother hadn’t died. If my life hadn’t fallen apart so many times while I was stone cold sober… because when I came to DC I spent almost 10 years sober as a heart attack. As I read research into marijuana as medicine, I read with interest and bought a few stocks. But I did not consume again until it was federally legal due to a 2018 farm bill. I still had all the same problems and all the same quirks, so I knew that marijuana was not the problem. I was.

Then, Zac brought me a baseball cap and my life changed completely. Over time, the idea became that I should be able to buy my own. So, now even though MJ actually helped me with a few things, my direction in life will help me more. I, unlike a lot of people I’ve met in the disabled community, trust western medicine and my biggest problem has been solved. I do not know how or why my protocol changed, but it was. All of the sudden, the medication that was making me throw up all over the place was gone, and weed could leave. I didn’t need it to combat nausea on the train. I saw everything I wanted laid out before me, and I hope it still is. I don’t know whether I’m failing, or failing up.

What I do know is that I’m a Bloom, not a Stephen. When you are a disabled person, you often don’t see the ways that other people are helping you because you have to go through pain to make it work. No one will tell you, “I need you to endure this pain so we make it through together,” so you remain blind.

You see the dried blood after Jesus tells you to wipe the spit and mud off your eyes. And that’s the horror of it, really.

You never realized it was all for you, because you were blind. That part is intentional. No one wants to tell you how hard they’re working and you just have to pick it up on your own. I see pattern recognition backwards, and the pain waylays me. All the Things You Never Knew written by anyone else in my life would be volumes to me, not one blog entry.

I’ve slowed down. I may never work again, because I’ve been advised not to at this time. However, I am in therapy for it. I do not have a death sentence on my career, because Lanagan Media Group has gone silent in the chatroom, but not in the background. I just don’t tell everyone, everything, all the time. I have four friends, and that’s all I need. They are my family and I’d step in front of a bus for any one of them. However, I’m not dumb enough to name them because somebody might be offended they’re not on the list. The reason I’m not dumb enough is because my life is smaller out of necessity. Part of doing penance was wondering what would have happened if I’d just stayed quit from blogging and never started back up.

Words only have the power you ascribe to them, but it’s amazing how much power people ascribe to me. I didn’t write something, then you didn’t like it. I “made you” feel x or y.

I have accidentally hurt a lot of people, but their reaction is not my problem. My problem is how to bring people together instead of tearing them apart. It’s not because I’m trying to be a different person. It’s that PTSD has bloomed into growth and an author is not the same person every day. I don’t want the same character arc because now that my medical issues are solved and my physical problems are in process, I can focus on gratitude. When you leave a disabled person to just sit there in their own misery, they will.

That person was my mother. I didn’t find out that I had hypotonic cerebral palsy until I was in my 40s, but it had been diagnosed when I was 18 and one-half months old. She was not actively listening to me and my struggles because it was important to her for me to be perfect. And then I turned out queer.

I was never perfect, and I’m sure all of my words had an impact on her when she was still alive. But you know what she never did? She never actively listened and changed directions. I am guilty of the same with my own family, and I will atone for it over time. When you know better, you do better.

Because the thing is that you try to solve everyone else’s problems in hopes that they’ll notice your struggling and help you. You notice other people’s struggles to avoid your own. There are all kinds of reasons, but it’s not the kind of help people want or need. The kind of help people need is not for you to give them the moon, but to give them the mud. Respect is earned over time. If we’re meant to shoot the moon, it’ll happen by being equally yoked. That’s in every relationship everywhere, red or yellow.

And that’s what I’ve learned from Polyface Farms.