What Christianity has called sin can now be named more precisely as trauma, developmental wounds, and disconnection from our true selves—a shift from moral failure to existential brokenness. Greg Boyle's work at Homeboy Industries, grounded in the conviction that there are no bad people but only wounded ones, suggests that redemption means being reminded of our inherent goodness rather than being saved from inherent badness.

The universe operates on a rhythm of order and creative disruption, from the primordial soup to scattered toys on a living room floor. God doesn't sterilize our chaos—whether the playful mess of children at creative play or the painful mess of suffering and brokenness—but enters into it, revealing even disorder as holy ground where grace emerges.

We live in an age of instant information where every question can be answered with a quick search, but this efficiency kills the wonder that questions are meant to inspire. The spiritual life requires us to be comfortable with mystery and unknowing, trusting that faith lives not in certainty but in the gap between "I don't know" and "yet."

Hastiness reveals the spirit that treats even sacred practices as achievements to be completed rather than journeys to be trusted. The labyrinth teaches us that God's path is inefficient by the world's standards, winding away from the center just when we think we're getting close, requiring patient trust rather than strategic speed.

On a recent pilgrimage to Spain visiting Ignatian sites, I wrestled with how ornate decoration and costly adornments often obscure St. Ignatius's radical journey from opulence to simplicity. The sacred exists not in elaborate structures but in the simple, authentic presence that connects us to the God who dwells in living stones rather than buildings.

Charlie Kirk's assassination and the contrasting responses at his memorial service—his widow's radical forgiveness versus calls for political warfare—reveal the collision between authentic Gospel witness and civil religion in American Christianity. Our culture's addiction to immediate mobilisation after tragedy robs us of the contemplative space necessary for genuine transformation, replacing the narrow path of forgiveness with the broad highway of tribal retaliation.

The recent proposal to rename the Department of Defense to the Department of War represents more than a simple change in terminology—it reveals a fundamental shift from defensive protection to aggressive warfare as a primary orientation. This linguistic change challenges Christians to examine whether our ultimate trust lies in military might or in the God who calls us to be peacemakers and transforms symbols of violence into instruments of redemption.

Christian hope is a steady posture of the heart that joins human longing to God’s greater plan. It endures with patience, recognising that the ultimate promise transcends individual lifetimes.