Archive
Author: Alasdair Renwick-Hale
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Most Regret Comes From Sentences, Not Actions
I remember sitting in a cramped, dimly lit hospice room during my third year as a chaplain, watching a man try to bridge a…
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Mercy Is Not the Absence of Judgement
I remember sitting in a cramped, linoleum-floored consultation room during my third year as a chaplain, listening to a surgeon explain why a particular…
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Assumed Norms Are Invisible to Those Who Hold Them
I remember sitting in a cramped hospital waiting room decades ago, watching a group of families from three different continents try to navigate a…
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Four Different Purposes Often Confused
I remember sitting in a sterile, fluorescent-lit waiting room during my final year as a chaplain, listening to a man weep because his son…
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Collecting Verses Is Not Building an Argument
I remember sitting in a sterile hospital room in the late nineties, the scent of antiseptic heavy in the air, listening to a young…
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Self Deception Is the Cheapest Comfort Available
I remember sitting in a dim hospital corridor late one Tuesday, the smell of floor wax and stale coffee heavy in the air, listening…
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Public Opinion Became a Force That Could Be Measured
I remember sitting in the quiet, antiseptic dimness of a hospice ward, watching a man trace the ink of a morning broadsheet with a…
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Ask What Is Needed Before Deciding What to Give
I remember sitting in a cramped, fluorescent-lit hospital corridor at three in the morning, listening to a man weep—not because of a spiritual crisis,…
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Private Reading Needs Public Correction
I remember sitting in a drafty hospital chapel many years ago, the smell of floor wax and old hymnals hanging heavy in the air,…
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Pamphlets Were the Argument of Their Age
I remember sitting in the back of a drafty parish hall years ago, watching a young organizer hand out a stack of flyers that…