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The Church has always confessed that Christ entered a world ruled by revenge and answered it with something entirely different. When Peter reached for a sword, Jesus told him to put it away. When crowds demanded blood, Jesus stood in silence. While nails were being driven through his hands, he prayed, "Father, forgive them." The crowd that day was certain its violence was holy. Crowds usually are. That is the oldest lie in human history, and the cross dragged it into the l

The same Christ who preached peace to those far off and those near. The same Christ who makes strangers into citizens. The same Christ who takes living stones and builds a dwelling place for God. The same Christ who looks at the weary and says, “Come.” So come, beloved. Come as clergy and laity. Come as local parish and wider Communion. Come as longtime believer and cautious visitor. Come with your joy. Come with your burden. Come with your small faithfulness. Come to the One

Pride Month has always held both celebration and memory. It is a season of joy, but not shallow joy. It carries the testimony of those who survived rejection, violence, silence, disease, exile, and spiritual abuse. It remembers those who fought when visibility came at a cost. It honors those whose names were never written into the official histories, but whose courage made room for others to live.

The upcoming “Rededicate 250: A National Jubilee of Prayer, Praise & Thanksgiving” is being promoted as a spiritual renewal for the nation ahead of the United States’ 250th anniversary. Organizers describe it as a moment to “rededicate our country as One Nation under God,” featuring political leaders, military symbolism, evangelical celebrity pastors, and public calls to restore America’s “Christian foundations.” (freedom250.org) But Christians must ask a deeper question: Whi

Some relationships do not get the years we wish they had. Some healing comes late. Some grace arrives quietly, almost at the edge of goodbye.

There are some wounds the Church gives that do not heal quickly. They follow you into adulthood. They sit beside you in prayer. They whisper through hymns you used to love. They rise up at the altar, not because God is absent, but because the soul remembers what it cost to keep believing.

Pope Leo XIV’s Magnifica Humanitas arrives at a moment when humanity stands in a kind of digital wilderness. We are surrounded by astonishing technological advancement, yet at the same time many people feel more isolated, disposable, manipulated, and spiritually exhausted than ever before. The Roman Pontiff recognizes something the mystics, prophets, and saints have always known: the greatest danger to humanity is not technology itself, but the loss of our ability to see one

With profound sorrow, the Office of the Canon to the Ordinary announces the passing of The Rt. Rev. Bishop William Gameson, who departed this earthly life in the peace of Christ and in the hope of the Resurrection.

Today, I stand as a priest who has walked through multiple expressions of the Christian faith and found them converging into one coherent calling. I am fully sacramental, fully charismatic, and fully committed to the transforming power of the Gospel. I honor the ancient Church while remaining open to the new things the Spirit is doing. This is my journey. This is my convergence. This is the river God has led me into. I am convergent.

But let us not confuse statements for faithfulness. Let our churches become the statement. Let our tables become the statement. Let our ministries become the statement. Let our lives become the statement. And when words are finally needed, let them rise from a witness already visible. Let them point not to our importance, but to Christ. Let them call attention not to the size of our communion, but to the suffering of God’s beloved. Let them serve the wounded, n

The Church does not need less mystery. It needs less exclusion. It does not need less sacrament. It needs more compassion. It does not need more certainty. It needs more love. And I believe Convergent Catholicism, imperfect though any movement may be, points toward that future with courage, beauty, and hope.

Every church tradition also has places where it forgets something. Some churches have sacraments but little fire. Some have fire but little structure. Some have Scripture but little mystery. Some have mystery but little mission. Some have justice language but little sacramental depth. Some have beautiful worship but little concern for the wounded outside their doors. This is why I am Convergent.

The Church does not move randomly through time. The liturgical year is formation. It teaches us how to see. How to pray. How to live. And nowhere is this more visible than the journey from Easter through Ascension, Pentecost, and into what the Convergent Lectionary names the Season of Metanoia.

In the light of the Resurrection, I write to you at a time when the world feels burdened by uncertainty, division, and grief. The proclamation of Pascha comes to us not as sentiment, but as truth spoken into a wounded world. We do not proclaim resurrection because life is easy. We proclaim it because life is difficult, and because the Gospel insists that suffering and death do not have the final word.

Holy Saturday is the most uncomfortable day in the Christian calendar. Because nothing happens. No miracles. No teaching. No resurrection. Just silence.

Good Friday The Day Religion Killed God Good Friday confronts us with an uncomfortable truth. Jesus was not killed by criminals. He was not killed by pagans alone. He was not killed by outsiders. Jesus was killed by a collaboration of religion, politics, and public opinion. That is what makes Good Friday so dangerous.

Maundy Thursday is the night everything changes. No miracles. No crowds. No confrontation. Just a table. A basin. A towel. And a command. But what happens in that upper room is not gentle spirituality. It is a complete dismantling of how religion usually works.

Holy Wednesday is quiet. No crowds. No palm branches. No loud confrontation. Only a deal being made in the dark.

I am Convergent because my faith grew through fire and silence. Through altar calls and incense. Through certainty and doubt. Through triumph and repentance.

Grace and peace to you in a season that feels anything but peaceful. We gather today under the shadow of yet another death. Another name. Another body placed on the altar of what our nation dares to call “order.” The execution of Alex Pretti is not merely a tragedy. It is a mirror. And what it reflects back to us is a society that has grown dangerously comfortable with brutality.