Sacking the Quarterback

Sometimes they text me. Sometimes they call. The particulars are different, but the impact on these pastors’ wives is strikingly similar. They are hurt, frustrated, or angry at the fusillade of criticism leveled at their husbands. They see their husband’s pain, but because they can’t address the disgruntled church leader or member directly, they feel…Continue Reading

The Urbanite’s Refrain after a Smash-and-Grab: It Was Just a Purse

My purse was stolen this morning. After two laps around a well-traveled reservoir in Baltimore with my friend Debbie, I returned to see my Honda’s side window smashed out, and crumbled shards of glass littering my grandson’s car seat. A smash and grab. He didn’t even have to open the door—not that Baltimore City police…Continue Reading

Looting vs. Loving Baltimore

“If you want peace, work for justice.” I’ve never been especially fond of this saying. It seems too simplistic, too clichéd. It’s sometimes used to excuse bad behavior, as in, “Because there is no justice, you will get no peace.” But this pithy bon mot was among other thoughts slamming through my head all night…Continue Reading

“What Will You Give Me If I Deliver Him Over to You?”

“What Will You Give Me If I Deliver Him Over to You?”

“Then one of the Twelve—the one called Judas Iscariot—went to the chief priests  and asked, ‘What are you willing to give me if I deliver him over to you?’ So they counted out for him thirty pieces of silver.” Matthew 26:14-16   I’ve worked—and worshipped—under many different leaders. While most of the time I’ve been content…Continue Reading

McKenzie Elliott and Other Crossfire Children

McKenzie Elliott and Other Crossfire Children

Six months ago, three-year-old McKenzie Elliott was killed by a stray bullet while playing on her front porch. The bullet wasn’t meant for McKenzie, of course. But that is small consolation to her family. Two men were also injured in the gun battle that erupted outside her home in Waverly, and police identified a “person…Continue Reading