Photo: Rebecca Tirrell Talbot; Graphic design: Chris Ware
In Chicago, a glimmer of the world that ought to be, in our midst:
Elementary-age kids chatter, laugh, and hunch over their latest writing
projects,
“Iam a link in a chain,” John Henry Cardinal Newman famously mused, “a bond of
connection between persons.” His meditation explores the idea that even in the
midst of obscurity, insecurity, or even
Two hundred people fill a sparsely furnished sanctuary, singing at the top of
their lungs. They are untrained singers with plenty of vocal eccentricities. No
instruments give the right key or take the
“Shoot,” I mutter, looking at the clock on my computer. It’s 4:30 p.m. in Oak
Park, Illinois where I’ve just finished teaching, and that slates me for a 5:
Rita, a student of mine, came to my office last week to discuss an upcoming
paper. “How’s your research going?” I asked.
“I am a bad writer,” she said.
At the start
