What do people know about the Bible, and how much do they know? The media often discusses the worrying 'decline' in biblical literacy, but what does this really mean, and how can we measure this assumed 'decline'? How can we go about teaching 'biblical literacy', and about teaching teachers how to teach it? Rethinking Biblical Literacy explores the question of biblical literacy, examining the Bible's use, influence and impact in advertising, street art, poetry, popular erotic literature, Irish and UK secondary education, stand-up comedy and The Simpsons TV series to display the different types of literacy and knowledge of the Bible. Katie B. Edwards brings together several specialists in the cultural use, impact and influence of the Bible to examine the contested nature of biblical literacy and to explore the variety of ways of 'knowing' about the Bible. The picture created is one of a broad range and at times surprising depth of knowledge about what remains arguably the most influential collection of texts ever to be published.

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The mental health consequences of pandemic isolation have been well documented extending from psychological conditions such as anxiety and depression to increased falls risk, medication errors and delirium. Whilst risk factors associated with isolation are known, there remains a gap in the guidance for healthcare staff on how to assess for these risks and develop effective management plans. Using a structured professional judgement (SPJ) approach and the author's recent experience providing consultation and leadership to clinical staff working with at‐risk patients during the pandemic, an isolation risk assessment and management guideline was developed. SPJ is an evidenced‐based analytical method used to understand and mitigate risk that was primarily developed for the assessment and management of aggression and violence. This paper discusses an evidenced‐based process used to develop the guideline and the application of its use from the author's clinical experience.

EVERY EVENING I WALR HOME through these narrow village streets. They twist and turn, curve around houses, duck under train tracks, meander between low walls that are sometimes overhung with flowers. This is Odawara, an industrious port town an hour south of Tokyo, and lately the nights have been filled with light rain, precipitation so delicate that it is almost mist, floating up beneath my umbrella. People here have told me that these are the plum rains, though no one can tell me exactly what that means. The plum blossoms have already come and gone, a week of floating petals and a clean fragrance that broke through the city smells at unexpected moments. This rain is connected with those blossoms, but whether it is rain that carries away the last remnants of the flowers, or rain that will bring the fruit to ripeness, I'm not sure. I do know that it's a rain of transition, a steady, misty weather that carries us from one season to another. Because it is late evening, the streets of my neighborhood are nearly silent. People here rise early, up with the sun at 5:00 a.m., when it is fully daylight. Many of them are farmers. The rustle of their morning rituals fil ters through my half-sleep. I hear them opening shutters, beating futons,