Hopewit

Weighed in the balance, and found wanting. “I’m not homophobic! I love everyone, but that doesn’t change the fact that homosexual activity is clearly sinful according to the Bible and I’m not about to condone persistent, sinful activity. And now you’re suggesting I should endorse it . . . in the church!”       I’m sure this argument is familiar to all Christians who have lived through the stresses in their congregation as a result of the same-sex “debate,” for lack of a better word. It’s a valid argument if one lives by the premise that “the book” is the only legitimate moral authority for all time and that God himself is its author.       It may be true that an individual can be both loving in the best sense of the Biblical record, and intolerant of same-sex unions in the church. At the same time its impossible, then, to escape the judgment that—generous and loving as an individual might be—the religion he/she clings to IS homophobic. It’s a point Neil McDonald makes

The word great is lodged in my head this morning. Perhaps it was put there by the reruns of quotations of Muhammed Ali including, “I am the greatest.” Maybe it was reinforced by the words of a commentator regarding the 90 th birthday of Her Majesty, Elizabeth II, “She’s the greatest monarch the world has ever seen.” Perhaps it was the outpouring of accolades for the late Gordie Howe who, for some, was the greatest hockey player ever to have played the game.       It’s been a week for the word great .       Don’t get me wrong; all three of them lived lives (one still living a life) from which the people who knew (and know) them drew courage and hope, and each served as a role model to which others directed their children. Ali was reported also to have said, “Service to others is the rent we pay for our place on this earth.” Gordie Howe was loved for his humility and his generosity to his fans and Elizabeth must be admired for her fortitude and courage in the face of her

Not satisfied, but yet, content Muhammad Ali has died. A few weeks younger than I, it’s a reminder that the vulnerable, old-age portion of life is inevitable and that our loves, likes and obsessions will all reach their waning, crescent moon-phase. But that’s not what this is about. Ali was known first and foremost as a boxer, a group that only grudgingly wins respect from me. The point of professional boxing has always been to inflict a concussion on your opponent. It’s a studied, deliberate skill whose goal is the causing of injury, the humiliation of all other boxers if possible. The greatest. World champion. But this is not about that either. I have known men who considered boxing to be the epitome of athletic endeavour, who followed boxing news religiously, who could sit around talking boxing for hours. Perhaps they were right about the athleticism of successful boxers; I’ve no basis for commenting on that either way, or of comparin