Sometimes the advent of death is like a thief in the night, too. Though we are surrounded by its presence daily, on the mean streets of our cities and in the countryside of the imperial peripheries, though we so often have skirmished publicly with its political accessories, still, when it comes for one of our own, we are stunned. We who labor to confront reality with the gospel’s dreams of justice and peace have often had our dreams pulled up short by the reality of death. But never more rudely, more intrusively, than when it invades our circle, especially in a manner sudden and senseless.
So with the abrupt and profoundly untimely departure of Elizabeth Anne Radcliffe. It haunts, like an unresolved chord in an unfinished symphony. She was surely among the finest people ever to identify herself with “radical Christianity”; not a saint, but bloody faithful.
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by Ched Myers
All articles on this site were written by Ched Myers unless otherwise specified.