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The language I formerly used as freely as the air I breath to discuss that which is ineffable is no longer appropriate. The religious categories of my youth no longer hold water. The sacred and the profane are always in question. Perhaps God IS dead. I don't know. My feet are firmly planted on the ground, but still I seek the divine. beneath it all I am sustained by the Metaphysics of Hope.
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Books you might consider reading
- Bluebeard by Kurt Vonnegut
- Anything by Richard Rorty
- How (not) to speak of God by Peter Rollins
1 comment:
Cf. twitter matrixson
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