Wait
Sunday blew through the doors of St. John’s, a whirling flurry of white surplices and giggling children. After the last notes of the oboe floated
Sunday blew through the doors of St. John’s, a whirling flurry of white surplices and giggling children. After the last notes of the oboe floated
Creation continues to unfold before our eyes. More evidence of God’s artistic handiwork from Sunday’s Star-Tribune: “Researchers stumbled upon a new species of monkey in
“You are kidding me!” “No sh–!” “Get out!” Every age has its ways of expressing amazement, pleasure, and elation, when the heart can’t contain
I filled up the yellow watering pitcher yet again and lugged it out to the deck to restore the potted plants. The morning glory vines
The empty lot next to our modest hostel accommodations was on fire. Or, more accurately, the large industrial excavator in the middle of that empty
“The real world isn’t like college. It’s a lot more like high school.” ” Meryl Streep It was a tough evening, the reunion
The Church, like all institutions, has it’s problems. Even St. John’s – vibrant and healthy though it is – has it’s problems. It can be
Ever since he was the vicar at a Twin Cities parish, I have admired The Rev. Steve Charleston. A member of the Choctaw nation in
Every Memorial Day, my parents took flowers to decorate the graves of their parents. They didn’t talk about why; they just did it in a
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St. John the Evangelist Episcopal Church
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60 Kent St N, St. Paul, MN 55102-2232
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