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The Passionate Jesus

Day1 host Peter Wallace's new book on the emotions of Jesus is, according to Marcus Borg, “An illuminating and powerful personal meditation." Ideal for personal or group study.

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The Rev. Jonathan Currier

The late Rev. Jonathan Currier was the rector of St. Thomas Episcopal Church in Lancaster, PA.

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St. Thomas Episcopal Church, Lancaster, PA

The Rev. Jonathan Currier

The Episcopal Church

St. Thomas Episcopal Church, Lancaster, PA

The Rev. Jonathan Currier was rector of St. Thomas' Episcopal Church in Lancaster, Penn, until his death in 2014.

Ordained an Episcopal priest in 1990, he served parishes in Albany NY, and New Carrollton, MD, before coming to St. Thomas' in 2009.

A graduate of Harvard University, Jonathan earned his master of divinity degree at Union Theological Seminary in New York City. 


Latest Content by The Rev. Jonathan Currier

The Rev. Jonathan Currier

God's Joke Book

Genesis 18:1-15

9th Sunday after Pentecost - Year C

July 21, 2013

The Rev. Jonathan Currier (TEC)

 

The Bible is God's joke book.  We don't often think of the Bible as a funny book, probably because it has for so long been read to us in such pompous, stentorian tones:  "And he said unto him...."  (Snore!)  Now, admittedly, the Bible does deal with a lot of very serious human issues: sex and violence, love and longing, death and human destiny.  But if you read it with the eye of a comic, you will have to admit it is filled with some sublimely ridiculous moments.

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The Rev. Jonathan Currier

"Yeah, I Know--I'm Just a Drunk"

Luke 10:25-37

8th Sunday after Pentecost - Year C

July 14, 2013

The Rev. Jonathan Currier (TEC)

 

I went to seminary at Union in New York City, uptown, across from Columbia University.  My parish at the time was St. Luke-in-the-Fields down in Greenwich Village, so I spent a lot of time underground, sitting inside the IRT subway train, shuttling up and down Manhattan. At first, I hated the hellish, metallic din of the thing, but eventually I learned to appreciate it: it helped me to blot out my surroundings. Like every other transplant in the city, I found myself overwhelmed by the ongoing assault that is life in New York. I learned to avoid eye contact, to cultivate a demeanor of stoical self-containment: remote, cold, preoccupied. I wanted to appear tough, to make people think twice before messing with me, but I consciously avoided any look of hostility so as not to provoke anyone. I found one of the best ways to keep people at arm's length was to mutter to oneself incessantly; it was guaranteed to generate a wide berth of at least two or three feet to either side. When someone would approach me for a contribution or to proselytize for a cause, I would tell him--in German--that I could not speak English! Always my aim was defensive: to insure I got from one end of the island to the other without being robbed, punched, stabbed, molested, cheated, or conned. To avoid making myself vulnerable, I sealed myself off from all unnecessary human interaction. To every neighbor I made myself a stranger.

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