by Ken Sehested
Sisters and brothers, these are among the convictions that we harbor and herald:
Faith is not belief in spite of the evidence. Faith is life lived in scorn of the consequences.*
Read more ›Author: ppadmin
News, views, notes and quotes
A note from Gerald,
prayer&politiks’ guardian angel
“Signs of the Times” is on vacation this week, but we’ve posted two election reflection pieces you will enjoy.
The first, “O Shizzle! Electoral season parable,” is a first-person story about a happenstance conversation across party affiliation lines, “in this age of un-friending, of only seeking news outlets that contribute to opinions we already hold.”
Read more ›O Shizzle!
An electoral season parable
by Thom Fogarty and Micah Bucey
We learned of the following anecdote by way of friends at Judson Memorial Church in
New York City, involving Micah Bucey, Judson’s associate minister, and Judson
member Thom Fogarty, Artistic Director of 360 Repertory Theatre Company.
Thom tells the story, and Micah adds commentary at the end.
Micah met me for lunch today to debrief on the fabulous reading of Alyson Mead’s “The Quality of Mercy” and talk back we had at Judson last Saturday.
Read more ›News, views, notes and quotes
A note from Gerald,
prayer&politiks' guardian angel.
“Signs of the Times” is on vacation this week.
But two new poems have been posted. (See below.)
Turn off (what passes for) the news.
Boycott the season’s electoral charades.
Don’t give in to Pokémon’s promise of
“augmented reality.” Attend instead to
unmitigated reality: bloodied, stricken
and strewn. Offer grief the hearing it
demands, the voice it obliges, and
the risk it assumes.
—continue reading Ken Sehested's "Lamentations' call to arms: A poem inspired by the Book of Lamentations"
Magdalene’s recovery
The church’s first evangelist joins an elite group of saints
by Ken Sehested
Hillary Clinton’s election this week as the Democratic Party’s presidential nominee surely knocks another hole in the “glass ceiling” obstructing women’s full inclusion into the human enterprise. [1]
It should go without saying that the struggle for gender justice is far from over; but every advance should be permitted its celebration—even for those who, like me, maintain profound 
concerns about Clinton’s entanglement with Wall Street’s domination of our economy along with her militarized foreign policy instincts.
Most ordinary of days
A prose poem for "Ordinary Time"
by Ken Sehested
There are, to be sure, moments of high drama in the work of holy obedience:
marches to be made, confrontations to be staged, dangers to be endured,
corruption to be exposed, trips made to distant or unfamiliar places,
occasional rackets to be raised, maybe even jail cells to be filled.
On rare occasions, the whole world is watching.
Read more ›Lamentations’ call to arms
A poem inspired by the book of Lamentations (especially chapter three)
by Ken Sehested
Turn off (what passes for) the news.
Boycott the season’s electoral charades.
Don’t give in to Pokémon’s promise of
“augmented reality.” Attend instead to
unmitigated reality: bloodied, stricken
and strewn. Offer grief the hearing it
demands, the voice it obliges, and
the risk it assumes.
When not even Wendell Berry’s “peace
of wild things” will suffice—the wilderness
itself being salted and assaulted—turn to
the Lamentator’s naked confession for
uttering the heart’s howling confusion
amid terror’s ambush.
News, views, notes, and quotes
Signs of the Times • 13 July 2016 • No. 81
¶ Processional. “Ella’s Song,” Sweet Honey in the Rock.
Justice and peace will kiss
A litany for worship, inspired by Psalm 85
by Ken Sehested
All glory to you, Gracious One, who smiles on the earth, restoring the fortunes of our ancestors.
In your presence, the weight of shame is lifted, and we are drenched in pardon.
Read more ›Prayers while throwing stuff
Pondering grief from Baghdad to Baton Rouge, Medina to Minneapolis, Dhaka to Dallas (and points in between)
by Ken Sehested
We each pray for different
reasons in different seasons,
too often steady-headed,
manners-minded, when
indelicacy is now needed
—prayers while throwing
stuff against the wall—
whether in rapture or in rage,
banging against the cage of
knock-off propriety,
boorish pleasantries,
self-referencing piety
when it is precisely this
self-bordered life
that must be breached
if blood-soaked streets
are to stand a chance
in the light of
Judgment Day’s inquest,
crippled heart recoiling
from what it fears,
jaundiced against all
it cannot control,
cheered by death’s leer
and sacred call to arms—
lest justice be denied!—
but brutal arms they be,
assaulting arms, separating
tissue from bone,
breath from lung,
hands from caress,
babies from breasts,
words from truth,
hopes from healing,
vision from revealing
the ties that bind
but do not strangle,
the lover’s reach which
does not entangle,
the wing that shadows
but never wrangles.
Dare to rave within
Heaven’s hearing!
Scorch the roof of your
mouth with incantation.
Hurl your disquieted heart
at every tranquil caution.
Risk unpleasantry in the
company of angels.
Demand a hearing with
the Most High.
Journey with Job into
the whirlwind’s gale.
Demand an answer: