Jo Page

Somebody asked me what I thought about the fire that very nearly destroyed Notre Dame Cathedral, but there is no easy answer. Because onc...

Women's History Month has concluded (with the same small fanfare that inaugurated it) and you'll get no flack from me about that. It's no...

I stood in front of my newly cleaned refrigerator a few nights ago admiring the gleaming shelves emptied now of past-due holiday detritus...

The other day I was talking to a retired pastor who sings in the same chorus I do. “Remember the weird things you used to get in your off...

I In a church I once served, we held a Sunday evening service that looked nothing like a regular church service and during it we also did...

Story from the first church I served. The parish register: The parish register is an enormous book in which church membership, weddings, ...

If you were to come to the church I serve, you would find that it is not a quiet place. There are several reasons for this. Two years ago...

A sestina is a mad-crazy French poetic form--thirty lines with six repeated words that end each line. Makes no sense. I love it. It's a p...

A few weeks ago I colored my hair red. I had always loved my mother’s and my sister’s red hair and my other sister’s ashy blonde. As the ...

A dozen years ago or so it was well-known that the Albany, New York Episcopal Diocese tended not to ordain women. But I was scheduled to ...

The very first Thanksgiving I spent away from my family, I was living in Kurt Cobain’s home-town of Aberdeen, Washington. It was not a pr...

I hope and I pray that the majority of Christian pastors who put their well-crafted sermons to bed on Wednesday or Thursday afternoon or ...

Nearly a dozen years ago, the mother of the man I was seeing died pretty suddenly. We made haste for Pittsburgh, booking plane tickets ri...

The day before Christine Blasey Ford and Brett Kavenaugh went before the Senate Judicial Committee, I went to meet a friend for coffee. O...

The thing about getting older is that you rue the return of the weird things. Such as: I remember when macramé plant hangers and table sk...

Seventh grade was a formative time in my development. In addition to the fact that my mother used to make me drink hot prune juice as a r...

In Abraham Verghese’s novel, Cutting for Stone, the miserly, mythical Baghad merchant, Abu Kassem, wore tattered and torn slippers—object...

I think I don't vacation well. At least, not here. Not where I am now. Which is, ostensibly, on vacation. I think I know why. I've been h...

Several years ago on successive Thursdays I congregated, along with other clergy and other supporters of their services, in front of Plan...

Please. If you want to show how holy you are or impress people with the sincerity and fidelity of your faith, just—please—stop peppering ...