In the early eighties, when I was in my early twenties, I drove a church van on Sunday mornings. As the city woke I'd drive around picking up people for worship, listening to black gospel music on the radio, and soaking in the sights, smells, and ...

From his perch at the end of the bar, he called me over. He was a captain of industry, a delightful raconteur, and a non-practicing Jew; he peered over the top of his reading glasses, stirred his gin and tonic, and said, All this religious stuff ...

Most mornings I wake to chaos. Most mornings I get up early, watch the news, and wake to the chaos of tweets, leaks, talking heads, and images of terror. Most mornings when I’m longing for a sign of shalom I wake to chaos.