For the world-weary, cynicism may feel safe. But, in our efforts toward self-protection, what might we be missing? A Millennial reflects on the doubt and distrust he sees in his generation, and suggests a courageous counterpoint: sincere and hopeful optimism.
Our readers and our columnists explore Vincent Harding's question in light of the Charleston tragedy — and how we can reclaim our fears and our hopes in this great experiment. Plus, some things I've been reading this week (for your eyes only).
The fear inside us presents itself in the most unlikely and perhaps unexpected ways. But how do we engage that feeling and let go?
So much can terrify us in the world today. Fear is a natural response. But the path of love, Omid Safi writes, is not the absence of fear but a notion made possible through vulnerability.
A powerful commentary from the mother of a black teenage son who says we need to stop talking around the edges of race and address the systemic problem itself: that we see black men as less than human.
Some good humor on forgetfulness and poignant verse from the poet Billy Collins to sweeten the swallow.
In a 1919 letter to Gandhi, the Nobel laureate offers these words of advice on planting the seeds of intolerance.
Krista dishes on cooking with the BBC. We remember Roger Ebert's smile. And thoughts on fear and grieving, the coming spring, and a culture of advocacy.
Our weekly capsule of Krista Tippett's tweets, Instagram pairings, and strange bits of ephemera observed online.
In response to Speaking of Faith’s show about the brutality of regimes around the world and the question of the people who disappear — and their children — I thought I would share with you a scene from my childhood in Portugal during the country’s fascist regime that lasted for almost 40 years and ended in 1974.
I wake up in the middle of the night, as I often do, and walk slowly down the steps of the long staircase. I am eight years old. I come to join my father, who sits in his office listening to a small voice coming from a small radio. The sound is muffled; the words sound detached. I do not understand what it says.
He smiles at the sight of my face peering through the crack of the door.
“So, you’re up,” he says.