Archive
Author: Alasdair Renwick-Hale
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Delay Turns Reaction Into Response
I remember sitting in a cramped, sterile consultation room during my third year as a chaplain, watching a man try to “breathe through” a…
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Describing Is Not the Same as Endorsing
I remember sitting in a dim hospital corridor during a particularly long night shift, holding the hand of a man who had just lost…
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Difficult Passages Deserve Engagement, Not Avoidance
I remember sitting in a dim hospital corridor late one Tuesday, clutching a worn copy of Augustine, trying to find some semblance of logic…
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Gossip Feels Like Concern and Functions Like Harm
I remember sitting in a cramped, fluorescent-lit breakroom during my third year as a chaplain, the air thick with the smell of burnt coffee…
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Television Changed What Counted as Public
I remember sitting in a cramped, dimly lit hospice room during my final year of chaplaincy, watching a family try to find common ground…
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A Society Is Measured at Its Edges
I remember the sterile, heavy scent of floor wax and industrial lilies in the oncology ward, a smell that always seemed to signal the…
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Accessibility Is Designed in or Bolted on Badly
I remember sitting in a sterile hospital corridor back in the late nineties, watching a well-meaning administrator proudly point out a brand-new, heavy steel…
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Translation Is Hospitality
I remember sitting in a small, sterile consultation room during my final years as a chaplain, watching a doctor attempt to explain a terminal…
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Broadcasting Removed the Need for a Building
I remember sitting in a cramped, dimly lit hospital waiting room years ago, the only sound the low, rhythmic hum of a transistor radio…
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The Passages You Skip Are Informative
I remember sitting in a cramped, fluorescent-lit hospital waiting room years ago, clutching a heavy volume of 17th-century theological tracts that I absolutely detested.…