My belief is "faith without works is dead." For me, it's how you live — deeds, not creeds. I believe doing good is its own reward.
There is no slow way to do it. When you learn to swim, you must push back from shallow water and dare to go into the deep. No matter how much you practice and anticipate, the moment comes and there is no substitute.
One of the benefits of going to seminary (and surprisingly, this isn't in their recruitment package) is that you end up with a host of theologians as Facebook friends.
Judge congregation by its actions, not just its words
Nobody had ever asked me if my faith in God meant that I believe in angels.
EDITOR'S NOTE: Russell V. Palmore Jr., a Richmond attorney and chancellor of the Episcopal Diocese of Virginia, died unexpectedly this month at 64. He wrote this piece last year for the newsletter of his church, St. Paul's Episcopal Church, and his family gave The Times-Dispatch permission to republish it.
If there's one thing I hate about my job, it's dealing with prejudice — especially when that prejudice is mine.
About a year ago, one of my childhood friends invited me to her family's newly built home in Chesterfield County.
Without warning, two friends had a dispute. It concerned changes one made to his yard without consulting local regulation.
For me, faith is not found in a single action or prayer. Rather, it is a way of challenging oneself to interact with life while searching for the divine.
At the beginning and end of each academic year, I load up my schedule with student appointments.
Thinking about texts and what they tell us is critical to understanding them because almost any important text can have multiple meanings.
Some years ago, a national magazine called WORK conducted a survey of Americans to determine which professions are considered to have the highest levels of honesty and integrity.
I grew up in a family with a strong sense of faith, and as children, we attended church and vacation Bible school. We lived in a rural area where service was held monthly, so weekly church attendance was not an option.
Faith gives me the tools to overcome daily unexpected struggles.
I am afraid to die. But the reason why is not what you may think. It's because I have a son with multiple special needs — including a type of autism and life-threatening allergies to almost every single food — that require my constant and daily care.
Imagine that someone very close to you has died -- a parent, child, sibling or close friend. Think about the pain and grief you would feel. Now imagine that parent, child, sibling or close friend didn't die from an illness or accident -- they were murdered. Another person deliberately caused the death of someone you loved. How would you deal with that kind of loss?
As a sixth-grader, I heard the Wadesboro (N.C.) High School band play. The sound, the sparkling instruments were totally captivating to me. I remember having tears in my eyes wanting to be with them. But you had to have a horn! Al Paling, our band director, started a beginners group that was open to sixth-graders. Trouble was, I had no horn and knew my family could not afford one.
With in-laws in Connecticut and our son participating in an internship in Washington, my wife and I have made quite a few trips during the past several months to the Amtrak Staples Mill Station in Henrico County. Even if the train is on time, I dread going to this station to pick up our family members for one simple reason: the parking lot. It's a nightmare.
Iam a mother of three little boys (just don't call them that). "Little" will not apply for long, so I'll use it while I can. So far, parenting has been a per ilous and joyful journey. As a new mom, I was like a student driver, with sweaty hands gripping the wheel of my new responsibility.
The question was stunning. "Oh -- is he going to survive this?" Thus began my journey into the world of pediatric cancer when my 3-year-old godson was diagnosed with Stage IV neuroblastoma, a cancer of the sympathetic nervous system, in 2007. My response was, "Yes, he is!" But sadly, for children and families facing this challenge, it is a legitimate and wrenching question.
My grandfather was born just over 100 years ago. He grew up in Connecticut as a first-generation Italian-American, one of 10 siblings. His first job was helping his father deliver blocks of ice to people's iceboxes on a horse-drawn wagon.
My business partner Sam and I are on a plane to Dallas. Our Cowboys are playing the Eagles in a playoff game, and we have tickets. I have my iPod ready to go with "The Hangover" and "District 9" queued up, just waiting for the captain to say, "You may now use all approved electronic devices." So I grab the Delta magazine and start to thumb through it.
We demand experience in almost every field of service except the field of service that seeks to solve the problem of poverty. Many people act as though being poor carries with it implicit stupidity. I disagree. Poverty exists because opportunities are missed or denied. When opportunities are missed, it usually happens because of individual shortcomings and/or failures. When opportunities are denied, that happens because of deliberate actions and/or system failures.
Iknew things were different when I said goodbye to my two sons on the Tuesday morning after Labor Day. They left for school and I was at home with seemingly nothing to do. It was the first time in 28 years that I was not working a full-time job. My job was eliminated when my employer of 25 years reorganized my department. Thankfully, I was eligible for unemployment compensation.
Get all your Rams' gear right here.
Calais - Powered by Thomson Reuters