There used to be an old woman who stood every day in the center of the sidewalk on the north side of 42nd Street west of Grand Central in New York City.
Most of us contributed to how we got here: we came up with a subpar password and we used it over and over again. Do I admit I used the same “secure” password for almost two decades?
Heat is awful, humidity makes it worse, and deathly stillness renders it just about insufferable.
The other night my neighbor was standing on his porch. He blew a smoke ring. Next morning, it was still there, though the morning fog had made it soggy so it had sunk to the ground.
I didn’t know him personally. He was never my senator. But the passing of Lindsey Graham really has struck me. The more I think about his passing — and the responses from those who long worked with him — the more I think I know why.
When one of my sisters phoned the other day, we got to talking about the church in which we grew up.
We were raised high-church Episcopalian. When you went to church there was no other place it could possibly be and nothing but worship could have possibly been going on. As the priest consecrated the body and blood for communion, he — yes, he — faced the altar and crucifix. We received communion on the tongue while we knelt at the communion rail. The lay readers — those who read the Epistle at each service — were enrobed, as were we acolytes.
Pastor Tim turns to 1 Chronicles to think about how the “dry” genealog is actually there to offer incredible assurance to us.
| This Week at Little Hills - Joel (June 21, 2026) |
| In Whom Do We Trust? (May 18, 2026) |
| This Week at Little Hills - Malachi (May 15, 2026) |
