Whoever is going to listen to the philosophers needs a considerable practice in listening.
It is less important to ask a Christian what he or she believes about the Bible than it is to inquire what he or she does with it.
Mission begins with a kind of explosion of joy. The news that the rejected and crucified Jesus is alive is something that cannot possibly be suppressed. It must be told. Who could be silent about such a fact? The mission of the Church in the pages of the New Testament is like the fallout from a vast explosion, a radioactive fallout which is not lethal but life-giving.
Live in the kingdom of God in such a way that it provokes questions for which the gospel is the answer.
I am neither an optimist nor a pessimist. Jesus Christ is risen from the dead.
The church is not meant to call men and women out of the world into a safe religious enclave but to call them out in order to send them back as agents of God's kingship.
How can this strange story of God made flesh, of a crucified Savior, of resurrection and new creation become credible for those whose entire mental training has conditioned them to believe that the real world is the world which can be satisfactorily explained and managed without the hypothesis of God? I know of only one clue to the answering of that question, only one real hermeneutic of the gospel: a congregation which believes it.
I'm not a very big fan of 'Slumdog Millionaire. ' I think it's visually brilliant. But I have problems with the story line. I find the storyline unconvincing.
Renounce and give up. What did Christ say? "He that loseth his life for my sake shall find it. " Again and again did he preach renunciation as the only way to perfection. There comes a time when the mind awakes from this long and dreary dream-the child gives up its play and wants to go back to its mother. Renunciation is not asceticism. Are all beggars Christ? Poverty is not a synonym for holiness; often the reverse.
but art is not relative to perfection in any tangible sense. It is our coarse antennae trembling blindly as it traces the form of Origin, tastes the ephemeral glue welding us, yearning after the secret of ineluctable evolution, and wonders what this transformation will mean. In my mind, here was the best kind of art-the kind hoarded by rich and jealous collectors in their locked galleries; hidden from the eyes of the heathen masses, waiting to be shared with the ripe few
This is what happens. You tell your friends your most personal secrets, and they use them against you.