News

I am writing this from a noisy coffee shop and if what I am about to say makes little sense, let’s blame it on that. I usually write in the quiet of my breakfast nook, but that was not the will of the universe for today. Somewhere around five in the morning a big tree fell a couple of houses down the street from us and knocked out our power line. The good news is that I didn’t even notice till six-thirty when I woke up and couldn’t find the bathroom. (Like where did it disappear to? Isn’t there usually a nightlight?) More good news: the tree did not fall on our house.

It was really an honor to be interviewed by Fr. Jim Martin for The Spiritual Life. It was also slightly intimidating. He asks good and interesting questions, but BIG ones. Ones that are hard to give clear answers to.

One of the great gifts in my life as a Christian has been to have so many friends and colleagues who are Jewish and who have taught me about the beauty of the holy days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur each September. Rosh Hashanah celebrates the creation of the first human beings and marks the beginning of the Jewish New Year. The Book of Life opened.

I have 1,262 pictures of Montana. And that is not the whole of Montana. Just the northwest quarter of this vast state with Havre, Glacier National Park, Missoula, and Helena standing in as my corners. What may sound especially strange is that I have 497 pictures of a town called Big Sandy in the middle of this square—a town that (according to the last census) only has 10 more residents than I have pictures.

Who here gets disturbed by the story of the rich young man? It was the Gospel reading this past Monday again and I’ve found myself thinking about it for a week now—both before and since. The man wants to know what to do to gain eternal life, but it turns how he doesn’t need to add anything more to his task list. Rather, Jesus tells him to get rid of some things... like all his possessions and give his resources to the poor. Then he can come and follow as a disciple.

It is a surprise to me and to all my siblings to find the next generation in our family so engaged in the science and art of food preparation. When the eight of us were growing up, we ate largely for the sake of survival rather than pleasure. Given our family size, meals tended to be noisy and chaotic and involve things like canned asparagus, spaghetti, and, on occasion, something my dad called “Valentine burgers,” which meant that the Weber kettle had burnt the outside of the hamburger black while the inside was still red.

Here we are in the peak of summer heat when Jeremiah often chooses to visit the lectionary and then linger longer than you hope he will stay around because he is whiny and dour and always comes bearing bad news. Who really wants him as a spiritual houseguest?

Yesterday, I glued my fingertips together with Krazy Glue and I am going to blame it on Fr. Greg Boyle, SJ. I have heard Fr. Greg speak at a couple of conferences now. Read a couple of his books. And was delighted recently to be given one of his quotes:

“I always talk about ‘cherishing’ because the word ‘love’ sort of gets lost. Cherishing is love with its sleeves rolled up.”

This past Sunday featured one of my favorite Gospel readings: the parable of the Sower and the Seed. It didn’t used to be one of my favorite readings. For a long time, I found it a bit boring. I mean, how many times can one hear the same passage year after year and find something new in it? There is some seed, a path, birds, gravel, thorns. Finally good soil. Be good soil. What more is there to say?

For my 7th birthday, thousands of people gathered on the National Mall in D.C. and Johnny Cash led a parade in my honor. Queen Elizabeth II stopped by with her husband Prince Philip to wish me well and the Fords paused their daily goings on to set off fireworks for a full 30 minutes. The U.S. Archivist Dr. James B. Rhoads cut into a giant white cake covered in red and blue stars and stripes. I had a matching sundress. It was fabulous and it was all about me. My parents and grandparents told me so. The people at Sunday Mass told me so. Neighbors told me so. And I believed them.