Last week, the Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary (SWBTS) board fired Paige Patterson from his position as president following revelations of his history of statements and decisions many people say were dismissive and demeaning to women. 

Every morning, Brian Kelly woke up along the Santa Ana River with one thought in his mind: Where to get his next meth fix? He would walk and walk along the river trail, wandering from city to city, tent to tent, looking for the next “friend” who would invite him into his tent to P&P (“party and play”)—street lingo for getting high and trading sex.

Ever since I began reporting on homelessness, I’ve been going to the Venice Beach Boardwalk almost every Thursday evening to volunteer for a nonprofit that passes out burritos to the homeless.

I thought volunteering would be a good way to stay in touch with the homeless realm—not just from interviews with nonprofit CEOs and government officials, but from people actually on the streets who are still fighting their vices or hustling to beat the system, people who have become hopeless and live each day for no better reason than that their hearts are still beating.

Ever since I started working on a feature article on domestic abuse, I have been mulling over the topic of repentance: What does it mean? How does it look? In a situation as destructive as spousal abuse, should the abuser refuse to repent, is that grounds for divorce in God’s eyes? 

On Jan. 27, 2015, T—to protect privacy we are using only an initial—emailed leaders of her nondenominational church in western Washington state: “I’m asking for HELP! I’m desperately asking for help.” She said her husband had abused her with threats, lies, blame-shifting, and manipulation throughout 24 years of their marriage. She felt lost, afraid, broken.

Last week I had the pleasure of smoking cigars with radio talk show host Dennis Prager in his library. There we were, a 69-year-old Jew from Brooklyn and a 30-year-old Christian from South Korea, pontificating about God and country, surrounded by rosewood bookshelves and thick cigar smoke that we blew in circles to the ceiling.

As Tass Saada charged with his Simonov rifle into the Battle of Karameh, he had one mission in mind: obliterate as many Jews as he could. From the battlefield of spurting blood and shredded limbs, the 17-year-old Palestinian and trained sniper spotted the ancient city of Jericho lying beyond the Jordan River. One day, he swore, he would win back his people’s homeland.