The Frick Collection ~

This must have been one of Henry C. Frick's favorite paintings. He had it hanging in the hallway leading to his library. Just what did he see when he looked up at her?

Boat Tour ~

Friday morning to the pier on 42nd Street. A three hour boat tour around the island of Manhattan. Our guide, Tom Wurl, was extraordinary. Non-stop interesting information about what we were seeing, what buildings we were looking at, who lived there, history, architecture of New York, baseball-football stories, quoted poetry and sayings of important personages.When I later moved up to the front of the boat to look out, I saw him standing in a corner with a mike in his hand talking, inconspicuous.

Nine-Eleven, 2008 ~

Standing at Ground Zero before the huge empty abyss. I look up at the buildings edging the crater. They seem to be standing silent on this Nine-Eleven, still in mourning.

With Friends ~

What a pleasure: to get an invitation to have supper with friends in New York. Poured down rain, caught a taxi to 114th Street near Columbia, had the best corn I've eaten in ages and spent the evening mainly in heated political discussion about the presidential candidates. I noticed a marked difference in my perception as to what was being said, hearing it coming from Americans. Coming from a living source, thus carrying more meaningful weight. From the distance, in Europe, all talk about America seems speculative and groping.

With New York Friends ~ Books

An interesting comment made about books: America doesn't have a national literary culture. About the only book that we have in common is the Bible and we use it as the key to all literature, art, to living. It is the book that offers us vision of the whole.

Breakfast ~ Central Park West

You went down five steps into a little shop run by an Turkish-American who had just bought the place. So polite and friendly. He would be toasting bagels and making pancakes for us for the rest of the week. Sat right by the counter and watched all types of people come in, most of whom just wanted the morning paper.

Central Park ~ The Great Hill

Just had to cross the street from our hotel and walk up the stairway entrance and I was in Central Park at the so-called Great Hill. On the flat circle at the top that Sunday morning at half past seven there were at least 50 people with their dogs and they had them chasing balls thrown in all directions.

What a spectacle: the sight of those dogs, legs extended, in flight . . . in the morning sunlight.

Central Park ~

The really forward looking men of New York were the ones who conceived of the idea to build Central Park. It is a veritable refuge, an escape into nature right there in the heart of New York.

Arrival ~ New York

It was at sunset as we winged into New York flying in from the tip of Manhattan, up along Central Park and out to La Guardia.The sky was all ablaze in fiery red, and there were the tall buildings, lit up, as if they had come out to greet us.

Home Again ~

I first saw my country from the porthole of an airplane. Down where the ocean touches the land. . . and out beyond, the great expanse.

Autumn Leaves ~

Today I saw a cherry tree, almost bare already, as if daring winter to come, and coaxing it in.

Trust ~

Does the pilot who loses control of his aircraft remain calm until it crashes?

Grandchild ~

He sits beside me when I play. Then makes his first attempts. Perhaps these little fingers will soon be substituting mine . . .

Holy Old Monk ~

I said: I never see anything without seeing God in it.

He said: I never see anything but God.

Easing Pain ~

He was old and bent over so badly that all he could see on his walks were the flowers along the path.

Music ~ The Accidentals

As long as I am involved in the externals like tempo, rhythm, intonation, fingering etc. I am still miles away from the music itself.

Weed among the Roses ~

In the middle of our roses a weed has grown tall and exotic to become my most prized flower.

Indirect Speech ~

In I Kings 3 I read that Samuel thought he was hearing the priest's voice when the Lord was calling to him. After hearing the voice a second time the priest told Samuel, if he would hear the it again, to say: speak on Lord for Thy servant is listening. What struck me was the indirect way the Lord took when He spoke. It is not dangerous, perhaps fatal, to think that the Lord might speak to me directly? How often I wait for His direct way and overlook the indirect completely.

The Search ~

Oh God, my God — I come closer to You when I search with my heart rather than with my intellect. Oh, strengthen my heart.

A Day in July ~

You burn Your beauty into me. . .

My Self ~

Why was I wearing a shirt, tie and jacket in the heat last Sunday when our choir was invited to sing in the cathedral in Freiburg, Germany. The others were in sport shirts, some in shorts. . . I wonder why I did that. I think Dad would have been dressed like that, and Grandpa and some people I looked up to and respected when I was a child. Now somehow it is in me, that bit of formality, that respect for our traditions, that wanting to carry on in the old footsteps.

European Soccer Championship ~

It is different than the World's Series or the Super Bowl. Every four years a whole nation gets caught up in the European Soccer Championship and fevers through it, day after day,
for three whole weeks of spectacular, exciting sport. And in Germany where they still refrain from flying their colors, flags start to apprear everywhere. The spirit churns and overflows. It were almost as if Pentecost were happening all over again.

Paradox ~

The old monk was telling me how bright light and complete darkness can exist simultaneously . . . and somehow I understood.

Waiting ~

During the year I look at this tree every time I pass remembering how it once blossomed. But now, for this sight I have learned to wait, one full year.

Mother Theresa ~ Love Affair

She carried on a love affair with Christ. Later she complained that He had forgotten her completely. But she went on loving . . .

Before Class ~

Oftentimes when I meet former students of mine they insist on reciting the prayer for me that we used to say in the morning before class:


Father, we thank Thee for the night,
and for the blessed morning light,
for rest and food and loving care,
and all that makes the world so fair.


Help us to do the things we should,
to be to others kind and good.
In all we do, in all we say,
to grow more loving every day.

Wonder ~

Why did this beautiful, single red poppy blossom right in front of my study window without my planting it there?

To be a Carthusian Monk ~

Watched a film entitled The Great Silence about Carthusian monks. I had once wanted to be one of them. All through the film I noticed that not one of them ever smiled.

With all that happiness inside, how can one help but smile?

Sounds from on High ~

This morning as I walked across the fields I heard a lark up high, trilling. . . or was it Him?

Love Affair ~

Glory be to the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost . . . words I prayed on the morning walk. I stopped and thought for a moment. Why, why all that formality? Aren't we on a much more intimate basis? It was like pushing Him off into the distance, losing Him in mystery.

Chance Meeting ~

A BMW sport convertible pulled up beside me and one of my old students jumped out. We chatted. He lit a cigarette. Yah, it was nice in your class, all those stories about Pennsylvania. And you really went light on us when passing out the grades. Yah, thanks. Leaving, he tossed off a wave and stepped hard on the gas.

What words ~

What words are needed— to strike the chord? To say the meaningful?

From Whence? ~

Without even thinking I took my pen and circled a notice for my wife to read . . . and when I looked, there was this perfect ellipse. I was dumbstruck. Was that I?

Class of '82

Nikolaus Markus Mechthild

We were there when Nikolaus appeared alone onstage as cabaret artist and kept the crowd on the edge of their seats for an hour and a half.

Deus Obscurus ~

I spend so much time praying to You, telling you my innermost secrets, begging for help . . . but often times I stop and ask myself if I have any idea Who You are.