Even though I am Navajo, I didn’t grow up in a household that practiced the traditional ways. I was raised believing in God and going to church every Sunday, but I never took any of it to heart.
For a long time I thought that the point of Lent was fasting. But once I actually began to practice fasting during Lent, I came to understand a wonderful paradox.
My first encounter with racial reconciliation occurred at Duke University. Black students coordinated a sit-in at the administrative building to encourage dialogue around racial issues on campus.
“Papa, can you tell me that story again about the big ships?” Maya is four years old, and she loves to hear stories. They can be about the gospel. They can be historical. They can be made up. They can be completely outrageous.
When you hear the word multiethnicity, what comes to mind? Your childhood neighborhood? Your college circle of friends? The ethnic sections of the grocery store?
Recently I’ve had a hard time praying with words. It’s been one of those seasons when words just aren’t enough—they seem trite and uninspired, and they just don’t get at the heart of what I’m trying to say to the Lord.
It wasn’t so much that I was opposed to longstanding traditions in the church when I was younger. It’s just that they were never talked about. Ever. I hardly knew they existed.
This week, news broke about a fraternity at Duke University who hosted a racist theme party. When I read the article from Duke and the subsequent blogs and comments, many emotions ran through me...
