Today’s reading is neither poetry nor fiction but is prose of a different sort. It is one of C. S. Lewis’s great essays, one which
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Despite the relative freedom that singleness brought him, John Stott would never have achieved everything he achieved in his 90-year life were it not for
There is an emotional complexity to this wonderful painting by Swiss artist Eugène Burnand. I know very little about him, apart from the usual resort of Wikipedia. But he manages to capture a moment of almost frantic inquisitiveness, as Peter and his young, fellow-disciple John rush in the golden sunrise light to the burial garden. Their faces seem filled with anxiety, confusion, hope, wonder, and longing all at once. Hoping against hope, but fearing a con, or something worse? Could Mary Magdalene, first to visit the tomb, possibly have been right…?