This one’s been a struggle, strangely. Hence the delay. I keep returning to the fact that Lewis’ original essay is entirely sufficient on the matter.
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This is the 6th post in a short series trying to grapple with today’s sense of malaise in British evangelicalism. One of my favourite novels
This is the 5th post in a short series trying to grapple with today’s sense of malaise in British evangelicalism. We’re all aware of body
“He’s BEHIND you!” resound the shrill cries of 500 families. All part of the Christmas ritual of that peculiar British staple; undoubtedly one of the
This is Holy Saturday. It’s an in-between day, a limbo. It is deeply unsettling, especially if you need your world to be categorisable, identifiable, graspable.
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…?