Theologians

In a recent issue of New York Magazine, I came across one of those articles where something in your brain clicks and a long-missing Tetris block falls into place. The subcultural locus of my bleak theology is somewhat grounded, aesthetically, in the (then-called) "alternative", post-punk music I discovered in high school in the late 80s/early

The heaviest burden: “What, if some day or night, a demon were to steal after you into your loneliest loneliness and say to you: ‘This life, as you now live it and have lived it, you will have to live once more and innumerable times more; and there will be nothing new in it, but

This Martin Luther King, Jr., Day should unsettle us more than usual. It's not because President Obama is celebrating his inauguration today. It's because, almost fifty years since the composition of King's Letter from a Birmingham Jail, his greatest epistle to the Church, we risk more than ever before being the people he accuses of

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The humanities' Fallen (read: academics who aren't actively in a college or university department), like myself, tend to preen themselves, in order to prop up their self esteem, with their personal libraries. I obsess over my academic bookcase. Every few months, I'll make sure the books are in a particular order: chronological? alphabetical? thematic? Must... re-sort... them!