I’m not sure how I got here, into these pages. Lately I’ve found myself in a lot of unfamiliar places: in conversation with Orthodox Christians, buying old Chesterton and Scruton books, wandering into chapels and churches, stumbling into a world I have never known. There is something hopeful, comforting, and strangely familiar about it, like coming home to a place I had forgotten, a place for which I always felt homesick but could never find. Growing up I never prayed, never went to church, never had political or theological discussions around the dinner table. I grew up in a place where Christianity—and conservatism—were seen as not only backward and archaic, but cringeworthy, embarrassing, belonging to another world.
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