'His grave is out past the cedar tree," says the woman in the abbey gift shop. It is an icy Monday morning on the back roads of Kentucky's bluegrass country.
The Hungry Spirit
When I want to see live gospel stories, I go to the Amoco station at 14th and Euclid in my Washington, D.C. neighborhood.
"Do you believe in hell?" a friend asked.
What follows is an imprecise, and likely inaccurate, interpretation of the prologue to the gospel of Mark.
At the corner of 14th and Euclid Streets NW in Washington, D.C., many evenings at sunset, the Domino's deliveryman kneels down to pray.
Is breaking the silence always a good thing?