Articles

  • Jan 13, 2025 | christiancentury.org | Mac Loftin |Phil Christman |Wendell Berry |Rachel Mann

    If you have been paying even the lightest attention to public discourse, you will know that trans people are hurting right now. When I transitioned back in 1993, the traditional media in both the United Kingdom and the United States barely mentioned us, except for occasional mockery. We were just too hidden. Then trans people grew in confidence, and things got better for us. I thought it would just keep going that way. It has not.

  • Jul 31, 2024 | christiancentury.org | Claire Giangrave |Brandon Ambrosino |Rachel Mann

    (Illustration: Studio M1 / iStock / Getty) What role does friendship play in a flourishing community? I ask this as a person who was raised to believe that, as the title of a Kacey Musgraves song has it, family is family—that it is the primary set of relationships that won’t let you down. Even if this simply reveals the extent to which I grew up in the UK equivalent of the boondocks, I still hold a hunch that family units (in their wonderfully rich varieties) trump friendships.

  • Apr 17, 2024 | thetablet.co.uk | Rachel Mann

    An Anglican priest and poet explores poetry of faith, ghosts and the fragility of being human in a fickle world. Seamus Heaney said that poetry has never been fully secularised. I read this as meaning it is haunted by the ghosts of faith. Some poets embrace these spectres. Consider Camille Ralphs’ disconcertingly accomplished debut, After You Were, I Am (Faber, £12.99; Tablet price £11.69).

  • Mar 13, 2024 | christiancentury.org | Amy Frykholm |Yolanda Pierce |E. Heath |Rachel Mann

    Skip to main content Since 1900, the Christian Century has published reporting, commentary, poetry, and essays on the role of faith in a pluralistic society. © 2023 The Christian Century.

  • Mar 12, 2024 | christiancentury.org | Yolanda Pierce |E. Heath |Rachel Mann |Amy Frykholm

    My cat, who’s kept inside all day, got bored, somehow slipped into my attached garage, cornered and caught a little mouse, and gored  that creature’s little heart. My quick triage assigned him good as dead. I pulled off Cat, put Cat inside, returned to Mouse, then toed him, twitching still, onto my Welcome Mat, flicking him in the ditch across the road. All day, as if in pain, my old cat yowled, glaring at me with flat, accusing eyes. “Our bond,” he seemed to say, “is badly fouled.

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