Down we descend, fifty-pound packs shifting with each step. The canyon landscape is as desolate as it is magnificent: the grey desert escarpment giving way to maroon cliffs carved like red-velvet cake—a welcome serving to my starving soul...
In high school, books by John Steinbeck were assigned reading: The Grapes of Wrath, Of Mice and Men, The Pearl and The Red Pony. I loved those books. Now that I’m getting ready to retire, it’s time to read Travels with Charley: In Search of America...
The Road, a film based on a novel by Cormac McCarthy, unfolds in a devastated world where every city lies in ruins, animals no longer exist, all plant life is destroyed and bands of cannibals roam the country. At the center of the story, a father and young son journey toward the ocean...
The kid slouches over a plate of stew, eyes glued to a phone, a storm of red hair billows beneath his cap. I unfold my napkin and glance at his dad. “Zeke,” he says. “Put the phone away.”
I have a great-nephew who bears my name. When I get a chance to introduce him to someone, I always point out that he is the “new and improved model.” And I’m sincere about that...
I can almost see him as a little boy, clothes stained with dirt and sweat from working in the fields with his dad sewing beans and corn. He drops his bicycle on the cobblestone, then scuffles up the steps to the front door of the church...
I am helping a parishioner pour a concrete driveway. He points to the wooden form at the edge of the dugout pad. “I paid eight bucks for that 8-foot 2x4.” He shakes his head, “Last year, the same size board cost two bucks..."
An emaciated child from the other side of the world stares through the camera lens, over the ocean, across the desert, and from the cardboard to my soul: half-naked, hand extended, hollowed eyes pleading for charity...
I envy pilots, bronc riders and quarter-backs. Their jobs require grit and fortitude and they earn the respect they receive. Some professions, by their nature, elicit admiration and high regard. These days, priesthood is not one of them...
I have often heard fathers speak about—or at least try to articulate—the experience of seeing their child’s face for the first time. Some shake their heads in gratitude, while some look down to hide their tears, but almost all will say, in effect, that they never thought they could love anyone so much...
A short story by Tim O’Brien, “The Things They Carried,” centers on items that soldiers in Viet Nam stuffed into their pockets while on patrol: Bibles, cigarettes, tooth picks, letters from home. Sometimes, something as simple as a pack of Planters Peanuts helped those grunts remember where they came from and who they were...
The morning drive to my mission church is treacherous. The snow-packed road points a narrow path up a steep hill. I chide myself for not cancelling Mass. Nevertheless, my truck crunches ice beneath its wheels like a dog gnawing a bone...
The cold wind swirls snowflakes, freshly fallen in their incalculable number and uniqueness. No two the same, though they are billions. And yet, they form a single mass of beauty...
As a priest, celibacy is nothing less than a lifelong Search and Rescue mission. With no family at home, there is nothing to hold me back. So, I give my all...
The priesthood is equally entertaining as it is intense. Your people are amazed, for example, to discover you in ordinary places, as if they had discovered a fish swimming in the desert sand...
I gas up my truck on weekends. That’s because I carry a Toot-N-Totum card that awards ten cents off a gallon on Sundays, which is twice the weekday discount. Filling up on the Lord’s Day also re-enforces the fact that truck stops are holy places, at least according to St. Catherine of Siena...
The pager of the hospital chaplain buzzes on the glass tabletop of his desk, rattling the pennies that lay beside it. He picks it up and squints at the screen. “Code Blue in the surgical waiting room. We need to go.” He stands and throws on his blue sports coat, then tugs on the bottom hem, “Follow me.”
