Whenever I hear Austin Channing Brown interviewed about her book I’m Still Here: Black Dignity in a World Made for Whiteness, one of the first questions she is asked refers to the opening line of her book: “White people can be exhausting.” It’s more than just a provocative first line—it sets the tone of the book. It’s a signal to readers that Brown is not going to dance around the truth in this space.
Let the Trap Say Amen is relevant yet also prophetic. It is deeply grounded in the sounds and struggles of contemporary culture, yet the words urge listeners to seek a hope beyond one’s present circumstances.
’Tis the season to give thanks. It’s the time of year when we ask each other, “What are you thankful for?” And studies indicate that 78 percent of Americans say they felt strongly grateful in the past week.
A caveat: I know and adore the authors of Impossible Love. I used to work with Craig and Médine Keener when we were all associated with Eastern University near Philadelphia. So if you’re looking for an objective, dispassionate review of this book, then mine will likely not do much for you.
If you’ve participated in a leadership conference, team building event, or spiritual direction retreat in recent years, you’ve probably heard talk of the Enneagram. It’s a frequent topic among my friends and colleagues, both in casual conversation and in discussing our work in ministry.
Choose and Choose Again is a mosaic of personal stories collected by author and Covenant pastor J. Kevin Butcher, who founded Hope Community Church in Detroit, Michigan. The stories he shares (as well as his own testimony) display the complexities of people who live their lives as prisoners and prostitutes, as well as those who are lawyers and in business.
Musicians often experience some level of anxiety when they release new albums, but Jill Jones’s new record, “Perfectly Clear,” was uniquely born out of her struggles with post-partum anxiety. It’s also the result of her journey of healing.
A number of years ago I overheard an interesting conversation at my local Starbucks. From what I could gather, it seemed that a sincere Christian was struggling to field questions from an ardent atheist: How can you take the Bible seriously when there are inconsistencies within it? How can you trust a God that would command genocide? Partly I was tempted to chime in, but truthfully, I didn’t have great answers to the questions myself.
The book called out to me. That’s all I can say. I’d heard about it in passing, then one day I saw it on my colleague’s desk. Perhaps it was the phrase “I’m perfect” that was scribbled out and re-written “The Imperfect Pastor,” that struck me. But I still didn’t read it. Several years later, it sat languishing on my nightstand until I finally had enough wisdom (or desperation) to pick it up.