In this two-part essay, Andrew Krinks explains that to be human on Tennessee’s death row demands being more than just a body; it demands soulfulness.
I don’t mind getting older, I just don’t want to get old.
Grant us, O merciful God, protection in our weakness,
that we, who keep the Memorial of the Immaculate Mother of God,
may, with the help of her intercession,
rise up from our iniquities.
— The collect of the Mass for the Memorial of Our Lady of Lourdes and an appropriate closing prayer for today’s Office. (via laudsandvespers)
But Christianity’s most offensive tenet by far has nothing to do with the virgin birth or the resurrection of the dead, but the first half of John 3:16: For God so loved the world. There will never be proof of that, though some see it in trees.
How can we know this God exists? We cannot. Only that sometimes, some days, some of us sense an absence, which feels very much like presence. It stings the eyes, we blink, and see lights and heroes all around us.
— Megan Hustad, More Than Conquerers (via invisibleforeigner)
For us, you see, the church is not just another institution. It’s a failing but never quite failed attempt, by limited people, to perpetuate the unlimited generosity of God in the world … it exists, like Christ, in order to be a channel by which mending enters the world; a mending which, thank God, does not depend on the success of human virtue, individual or collective, but on what breathes and shines through us if we let it.
— Francis Spufford, Unapologetic: Why, Despite Everything, Christianity Can Still Make Surprising Emotional Sense (via melissamoorestuff)
I watched all this in good company, sitting in the press box next to Bill Veeck, the White Sox president, who acquired the venerable but shaky franchise last year, by dint of some hairbreadth last-minute financing, and then kept it alive, mostly on his own enthusiasm, through a dreary, losing, last-place first summer. Chicago is probably a Cubs town at heart, but the startling White Sox outdrew the surprising Cubs this summer, and everyone in town was happy for Bill Veeck. On this evening, he drank six glasses of iced tea and smoked two packs of Salems and incessantly praised his lightly talented players (‘A good kid, a wonderful kid …. No one takes more pleasure in the game than he does’), while admitting their failings (‘We can’t catch the ball very well. We hit a little. We *get* hit a lot. They’ve been killing us in the late innings’). Veeck seemed awed by the crowd (‘They cheer for *everything*—we’re leading the league in standing ovations’), and when it was over at last, and the Sox had won, he stood up and coughed happily and murmured what I had come to recognize as his own baseball credo: ‘Well, that was fun, wasn’t it? It’s meant to be fun, you know.’
Roger Angell, The New Yorker (November 14, 1977)
via @BonomoJoe(via mightyflynn)
To compare baseball with other team games is to say the Hope Diamond is a nice chunk of carbon. The endless variety of physical and mental skills demanded by baseball is both uncomparable and incomparable.
— Bill Veeck (via mightyflynn)