Picking up Carlo Rovelli’s The Order of Time in an Oxford bookshop this past May was a surreal moment. After all, it was C. S. Lewis—who taught at Oxford’s Magdalen … Continue reading Time is Ignorance: From C. S. Lewis to Carlo Rovelli
I’m no scientist, but I’ve been reading a lot of science lately. My reasons are threefold: I’m writing a science fiction manuscript that is in no small part influenced by … Continue reading Three Lightning Rods: or, What the Universe Tells Me About God
I’ve adopted a new morning prayer. I wholeheartedly recommend it, despite the fact that (warning) it’s terribly effective at sabotaging my ego throughout the day. It goes like this: Dear God, … Continue reading Learning How to Embrace Being Wrong
You do not have to sit outside in the dark. If, however, you want to look at the stars, you will find that darkness is necessary. But the stars neither … Continue reading Peace in the Dark
I am still every age that I have been. Because I was once a child, I am always a child. Because I was once a searching adolescent, given to moods … Continue reading All the Ages I’ve Ever Been
My self-shadow has grown pretty large, lately. I go through most days like a well-oiled machine (well, okay – some days I’m more like a rusty, broken-down machine). I divide up the hours with unnerving precision …
One of my favorite modern parables is G.K. Chesterton’s Tremendous Trifles. It’s short and sweet – just over a thousand words – but it’s become something of a touchstone for me in the years since I first read it …
With all the hoopla surrounding the new Star Wars trilogy, I’ve fallen back into an old habit that once came quite naturally: navigating towering expectations and crackpot speculation about the future of the galaxy far, far away …
The other night, I finally watched Of Gods and Men (Des hommes et des dieux) – a French film based on the true story of seven Trappist monks who lived in the Algerian mountains in 1996, when religious violence was overtaking the country.
When I was growing up, the “Christmas spirit” meant something very specific to me. Sure, I believed in Santa like most kids, but that part of the holiday was never the source of my enchantment with it; when I learned that St. Nick was really my parents (gasp!), I didn’t feel any real sense of loss.