Connor Gwin is an Episcopal priest serving as the Associate Rector for Family Ministry at Christ Episcopal Church, Charlotte. He is a lover of poetry, bluegrass, and 90's hip-hop. Connor is married to Emma. They make a home in the Queen City of Charlotte with their daughter.
About Connor Gwin
-
What to Do on the Worst Day of Your Life
Sit down (or fall down). Anywhere will do. Wherever you are, stop. Breathe. Cry. There is no quick fix or easy path, no way out but through, so sit. Take these words (or don’t). Take nothing but that which holds or calms or joins this pit you find yourself in. Here, in this place, even […]
Heaven Is a 12-Step Meeting
A Person in Recovery is under No Illusions about their Ability to Control their Life
Performative Podcast Subscriptions (and Other Attempts at Justification)
Here Is A Confession: I Often Don’t Like These Podcasts. So What Gives?
Faith, Love, and Boring Narratives: “I’m All Your’n”
“There Ain’t Two Ways Around It / There Ain’t No Trying ‘Bout It”
Mindful of Hope: O God, Our Help in Ages Past
In My Push to be Present, I Can Lose Sight of the God Who Acts in that Long Arc of Time
The Blessing (in which I begrudgingly admit everything will be alright)
Confessions of a Certified Catastrophizer
How to Do Less for Lent: A Triptych
My Lenten Discipline Brought to You by Paul Rudd in Forgetting Sarah Marshall
On the shortness and uncertainty of life
“O God, whose days are without end, and whose mercies cannot be numbered: Make us, we pray, deeply aware of the shortness and uncertainty of human life…” (Book of Common Prayer, pg. 504)
There are no good words for
our collective destination. Apart
from tragic, untimely, too soon.
The wound at the heart of the world.
Another angel added; a road well walked.
Words won’t do now, not for this.
The living bear all the grief of those who
were and are and will one day die.
Our plans, kingdoms, minds fall flat
before the period at the end of each line.
We don’t hold the pen, our days will end.
Where then is mercy? Whither hope?
In the beginning was the Word
and the Word wept
for the world, for you, for untimely,
and too soon. The Word weeps still
with sea-born tears that wash over
again, again with each new sentence end.
The mercy is presence not relief.
Hope is a face, two hands, scarred feet.
A quiet stand at the doorway and entry in
to a place where to end is only to begin.
The Parable of the Pop Quiz
There once was a Chaplain who worked at a school in Virginia. As part of his work, he taught a course in Comparative Religion to high school seniors. His class was made up of students from around the world with varying religious and non-religious backgrounds. Given one semester to cover the major world religions, he had […]
Contact
