It’s Palm Sunday 2017. The sun is shining, the skies are blue, and Chris and Lucy are on the piano duelling (or possibly even duetting) with a music which swings from modern pop to a Tallis fourparter. Rachel is upstairs working on her meditations for the stations of the cross on the morrow.
I’m on the sofa, laptop on, and conflicted about the first section of this fourth chapter: there are some bits where I go “yes, exactly” and some bits where I go “um Rowan, it seems like you’ve split the trinity up a bit here”.
Yes exactly bits: We are where Jesus happens in the world. If Rowan…
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