Issue 265 | The Sun Magazine

January 1998

Readers Write


An Easter-bonnet contest, a bright green baker’s hat, a naughty hat

By Our Readers
Sy Safransky's Notebook

January 1998

Jesus stands at the end of the sentence. He extends his hand. I make my offering: something I can easily afford.

By Sy Safransky


This kind of split makes me crazy, this territorializing of the holy. Here God may dwell. Here God may not dwell. It contradicts everything in my experience, which says: God dwells where I dwell. Period.

Nancy Mairs

Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

In Defense Of Original Sin

The Neglected Genius Of American Spirituality

Schooling was to be about the creation of loyalty to a principle of abstract central authority, and no serious rival — whether parents, tribe, tradition, self, or God — would be welcome in school. Corporate economics and the developing modern culture eliminated the other rivals, but it took the highest court in the land to bar God.

By John Taylor Gatto
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Breathing Into Silence

Silence, as I use the term, is a dimension of existence. You can live in it. It is what spiritual life is all about. It is unfathomable, limitless space permeated by a vast stillness. In a way, it is inside of us — because that is where we seek it — though, ultimately, spatial terms like “inside” and “outside” don’t mean a thing.

By Larry Rosenberg With David Guy
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

The Search

A swarm of state aircraft were flying grids over the rugged valley where I live, looking for signs of Larry’s downed plane: broken trees, an oil slick in a lake, a signal fire. Like most others, I went about my work, expecting the search planes to find Larry and the children soon, refusing to indulge bad thoughts while there was still hope for good news.

By Winston Smith
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Confessions Of A Lifelong Therapy Addict

Thrown into a new environment by a disorienting job relocation, I found myself among people who were, mysteriously for this health-conscious age, smoking. Equally mysteriously, I began to join them, at first not inhaling at all, but then, before I knew it, escalating to two fully inhaled packs a day.

By Fred Wistow

Sunday Driving

My mother thinks her boyfriend is a father figure for me. I think he’s a derelict. His name is David. I call him the Big D — D for Derelict. He’s always trying to help me with things.

By Lolly Winston

Some Keep The Sabbath

I stopped going to church the night Diane Pearson announced God filled her cavities. That same night, in the spring of 1973, the police arrested my sister, Sheila.

By Janis Bultman

Photographs By Marvin W. Schwartz

The photographs from this selection are available as a PDF only. Click here to download.

By Marvin W. Schwartz