I think of God every time I read a book, watch a movie or sitcom, or listen to a song. I see the Spirit’s subtle hand everywhere. I marvel. Seldom do I see writers treat religion as much more than a cardboard cut-out. The life of faith, which I find fascinating and rich, is often the subject of a joke, and people of faith (regardless of their religion) are cast as simpletons, backwards fundamentalists, terrorists, quaint bumpkins—you get the idea. This gets me sick.
The Admiral told everybody to take what he called their pier assignments and Charles Wesley Bartlett and eleven other members of the family sat down at their places at the dining room table. Charles’ grandfather remained standing and intoned a prayer in a deeper than usual voice, as if to say, “Listen up, God, this is the Admiral speaking.”
I was born and raised in the sight of water in Hampton, Virginia. I was baptized and nurtured in the Presbyterian church. There was never a time when weekly worship attendance, the giving of ...