Passion Week ~

The violets at my window are the same color as the veil that covers the cross above the altar in church.

Not Knowing ~

The old monk said: It is not what we know but what we don't know . . . that effects our life most.

Rome from Afar ~

We catch ourselves saying: it was 2, 3, 4 weeks ago today that we were here/there in Rome . . . The memory lingers; we still savor the days.

Farewell, Rome ~

It was my fifth visit. I leave you now, Rome, attached to you in a new and different way. I have your geography in my mind, your streets in my feet. And beauty of your jewels, seen with older hankering eyes, sparkle in my memory.

Fontana di Trevi ~

We threw the coins with the right hand over the left shoulder into the fountain hoping for something. . .

Roman Ruins ~

I am fascinated more with the thought of ruins than with the ruins themselves. I keep repeating to myself the words: See what wonders can blossom on ruins!

Roman Remains ~

We passed up going into the Colosseum, instead went to the Baths of Caracalla on a beautiful Saturday morning, sat on a bench silently looking out at the colossal ruins and the umbrella pines and our imagination ran wild in the ancient past.

Scenery in Rome ~

From the embankment near Castel Sant’Angelo I looked down and saw a man in a boat with a long pole in the middle of the Tiber, fishing.

Roman Street Café ~

It was the most expensive piece of cake I ever had, dainty and cut thin. But delicious. It was my birthday and I was ready to splurge. $8.82 apiece.

Dining in Rome ~

The savor of the food was heightened by the suave manner of male waiters who always seemed to be letting us know that we were someone special.

Via Appia ~

We saw Vespas scooting along the Via Appia, and just when I stopped to take a picture of them, an elderly couple walked past us, holding hands.

Forum Romanum ~

While looking out over the Roman Forum it was as if a tidal wave of history was looming out behind the columns and about to flood over me before I could comprehend what I saw.

Inside St. Peter's Basilica ~

Martin Luther stood here amidst the opulent grandeur mulling over that fact that to pay for it indulgences were being marketed feverishly all over Europe.

Piazza del Popolo ~

It was in a small church. Two young girls with knapsacks walked up the aisle, genuflected, entered the pew. Bowing their heads they knelt before the Sacramant in motionless prayer. Seeing them doing that made me feel closer to You there than anywhere else in all of Rome.

Inside St. Peter's Basilica ~ Pietà

Her head bent, looking at her misery she holds on her lap. She is composed. She accepts, she consents. It seems as if she has breathed out, her heartbeat diastolic. She is all inward, she is weightless. Michaelangelo has focused all her sorrow in her face. In capturing her suffering he has made a universal image of the noble beauty that only suffering can bring about.

Inside St. Peter's Basilica ~ Papal Monuments

It was a lavish sculpture, four persons depicted: Jesus Christ at the back, St. Peter and St. Paul in front of Him, then the Pope whose monument it was out in front, kneeling, facing me. I stood there for a long while pondering what that monument was trying to say.

Inside St. Peter's Basilica ~

. . . and the three old nuns wearing wimples, bent over with age, tilting their heads to the side, painfully, trying to look up.

Inside St. Peter's Basilica ~

Entering in on this space literally took my breath away. Utterly amazed at the magnitude of the proportions, the lavish extravagance of this church. It is the work of men's hands: a Michelangelo, a Raphael, a Bernini, a Bramante. The overwhelming power of their art shook me as I stood there, just another spectator, on a small square of marble.

A Trip to Rome ~ The Eternal City

As we were approaching the airport I looked off the my left and saw a miniature Rome lying there in the distance, stretched out in the evening sunlight like pebbles on the beach.

Prolonging Christmas ~

And still, in my memory Christmas lingers on. The lights, the fire, the smiles, the glistening eyes, candlelight, the letter. I hold on still.

Exercise in Dying ~

Lying down at night and falling off to sleep is my exercise for my own death. . . I mean — the letting go that is involved . . . and the trust.

Christmas ~ 2007

Christmas was. . . that one searing moment as I stood with 70 other choristers singing, with the heart of a little boy. . . or the heart of the old shepherd that I am, from Bach's Christmas Oratorio:

Here I stand at Your crib
I give you all I have:
Take all of me, I have no more to give.

Berlin ~ Stuttgart ~ Black Forest

Late flight from Berlin, Schönefeld. Stuttgart airport brightly lit but hardly anyone inside. Short heartfelt goodbyes to Nikolaus, our gracious host, then walked away buoyed up. Mechtild and I headed for our Black Forest havens. Got into deep snow. Autobahn restaurant for coffee. Smoking forbidden. It was 3 a.m. when we finally arrived. Sat in the car and talked. What a trip! And there was still such a lot more to talk about.

Saturday Moning in Berlin ~

A Saturday morning. We breakfasted and went to the Sony Center, Berlin's spectacular new meeting place at Potsdamer Platz. Then for a change we all went our separate ways. I walked. And walked until I was out of the great city. Maybe it was too much for me, I thought. It felt good to be where kids were playing in the street. But I felt lonely. Like a stranger. All the pictures of Berlin in W.W.II came back, then the daring Airlift and the DC-3s flying overhead to keep the grandparents of these Berliners sustained. The Soviet presence so mightily stated in architecture and monuments. The Wall. The Reichstag and the shimmer of swastikas, the cafeteria where we had lunch, where outside in the courtyard the Graf Stauffenberg, after his unsuccessful attempt to assasinate Hitler, stood before a firing squad and was shot down. The bewildering burden of history during my own lifetime was suffocating.

I had walked so far that I had to hail a taxi and be driven back into the City Center where the group had planned to meet.

Markus ~ Heart of the Group

Markus was the instigator of our trip. He wanted to get us together again after that great weekend last May in that quaint Black Forest hotel. In Berlin he is looking out for us, finding restaurants, subway connections, sites. He is the heart of the group. A great conversationalist, always delving into a interesting subjects concerning old school days. Open and frank, genuine; not shying away when a matter gets delicate. I marvel at my old student . . . but think I saw the man he is today in the teenager of yesteryears.

His children were always calling on the cell phone. Can't wait till he gets home. I understand. . .
Christmas 2008

I hung the decorations that Markus's daughter Johanna made for me on our Christmas tree.

Stephanie ~ At Home in Berlin

Stephanie, our Black Forest girl who ended up living and working in Berlin, joined us at this restaurant that evening. We knew she was very busy and might not make it. She had just had the unsavory task of handing out 15 notices to employees where she works. That done, she came.

What a charming young woman she is! She attracted our attention with her stories about how she had tried to cushion the bad news and reach mutual settlements. While telling, all her old warmth and heart came back. . . just like in the old days in the Senior class when both Nikolaus and Markus had had a crush on her. . . Didn't I see some light sparkling in their eyes again?

Night at the Theater ~ Berlin

Approaching the theater Nikolaus extended his arm saying: This has been my living room ever since I've been in Berlin! We went in, had cocktails, saw a remarkable Brecht play. Appreciative applause, scene for scene.

Afterwards over wine, Nikolaus surprised us with news that he will be making his first appearance in a Berlin cabaret next month.

Next day he took me to Brecht's house in the Chauseesstrasse for a private guided tour by a charming actress who was on stage the night before. The cemetery was near the house and we stood for some minutes at Brechts's unpretentious grave.

Holocaust Memorial ~ Berlin

It was evening and dark when we walked through this field of granite slabs. Eventually we were submerged and could not see out over. It seemed as if there was only one orientation to get my bearings from: Auschwitz.

New National Gallery ~ Berlin

Next morning Mechtild and I headed for the National Gallery. We stood there looking at the sculptures outside around this building, especially this Henry Moore piece, for at least half an hour. Mechtild is a sculptress herself and it was wonderful to exchange views with her. Going inside, looking intently, we managed only four or five works, all sculptures.

Over coffee I leaned over, looked Mechtild in the eye told her how she could run rings around me as a teacher. What a smile she gave me!

Class of '82 ~ Berlin

. . . and you're coming with us, they said. So here we are catching the evening flight from Stuttgart to Berlin. Already Nikolaus is waiting for us at Schönefeld. When you get here I'm taking you up to the restaurant on top of the TV tower at Alexanderplatz, he says. The visibility is great. We're going make a toast to Berlin . . . and to you!

Venezuela ~

It must have been a bitter awakening for President Chávez to have to hear that his people didn't want a dictator. That they would prefer democracy to him.

Morning Prayer ~

I sit here thinking of the myriad possibilities of where I might be at this moment: in hospital bed or in a casino in Vegas, in a prison or in a shack on the Mexican border. But here I am in in this church rehearsing the sublime choral music of Johann Sebastian Bach for a Christmas concert.

How fortunate I am. . . And my heart soars toward You in gratitude.

For Tamara ~

For Tamara

When the light breaks through,
when our hearts beat with yours
Tamara dear,
then we know that we too
have been refined by the fires
of Auschwitz you knew
for our lives have changed,
having learned from you
and your hands' work
what faith, hope and love
can do.

Tamara Deuel : Auschwitz Survivor, Poetess, Sculptress.

We corresponded, each encouraging the other to focus on Auschwitz in our art, to keep Auschwitz alive in people's memory, especially in the young. 
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+ June 26, 2007

Forlorn ~

Do the stars shine friendly down at me tonight blinking through such small radiant eyes, or are they cold? They seem to be holding back all the glory that is behind, dispensing of it in miserly measured portions.

Beauty ~

I look into faces and find that the most beautiful are those that have suffered most.

Christians ~

The Archbishop of Baltimore has ordered Father Ray Martin to resign as pastor of three churches and sign a statement apologizing for "bringing scandal to the church".




Father Martin was cited for the liturgical offence of celebrating a funeral Mass with several clergy including a very close friend of the deceased, Rev. Annette Chappell, pastor of the Episcopal Church of the Redemption. She read the Gospel.

He was also cited for the administrative offence of hiring a maintenance man who had criminal charges on his record.

My Lord! . . . we Catholics!

Compassionate Bomb ~

I heard on the radio that the Russians have developed the most potent bomb in existence. It spreads less pollution and does less damage to the environment. Did I hear that right?

Soothing Darkness ~

It was dark this morning and foggy. With my coat collar up around my ears I felt hugged and somehow protected. Walking across the fields I could see nothing but the path passing under my feet. In the distance the sound of cars rushing to their urgent destinations.
Oh darkness, stay! . . . How will I ever be able to face the bright, glaring days of spring when everyone is so happy and dancing blithely around the maypole?

The Never-Ending Search ~

Deus, deus meus est, sollicite te quaero. Te sitit anima mea, desiderat te caro mea . . . Ps. 62

God, my God, I search for You with a disquieted heart. My soul longs for You, my flesh yearns for You . . .

I went to the old monk and asked him where I should look for my obscure God Who is always hiding from me. He turned to me, smiled and said: Everywhere.

Night of Broken Glass - November 9, 1938 [Burning of the Synogogues]

I often wonder if I would have had the inner strength and courage, had I been here in Germany then, to stand up against the omnipresent subtle magic and brutal terror of Hitler's seduction. I wonder. . .

News Headline ~

With oil pushing $100 a barrel today, Love is still for free.

Bent on Winning ~

Never liked sports or games where the point was to triumph over the other person. But often I heard them saying there must be something wrong with me.

Listening ~ Hearing

It happened this evening. I was sitting in concert listening to a Haydn String Quartett when I felt the music changing everything around me, the sounds full of secrets and mystery. It was as if a door were opening into a white room and there was harmony and tranquility there and the feeling that everything I had ever hoped for had come true. And for a short moment I felt as if I were so much more than myself.

Acquiescence

In restaurants they took away all the ashtrays. And now even forbidden smoking in the bars. Have heard no complaints.

Gasoline sells for $7.10 a gallon. Everyone drives, and pays.

The railroads and subways go on strike once a week. Commuters take it in stride.

Envy

While driving this morning I listened to an inspired Clara Haskil play a Piano Concerto by Mozart and couldn't help but think how flabby my emotional equipage is in comparison with theirs.

First Illusion ~

Mama was still in bed. We gave him a picture of her but instead of eating his breakfast he spent the whole time kissing her behind the picture glass.

Morning Visit

The red ball of rising sun shone across our lawn this morning to a bowl of geraniums at the dining room window and lit them with a soft, heated glow. During breakfast we felt their warmth and couldn't help but marvel at their radiant beauty.

Letting Go of Summer ~

Where has the summer gone? I see it now in the brown fields . . and feel it as I walk on the carpet of damp leaves under my feet on my path.

God's Little Wonder

My son, Martin, and his Barbara just had a baby. We sped to them. I held the little fellow in the palm of my hand and fingered his black hair. Overwhelmed by the fresh arrival from heaven.

At the same moment I had to think of my father's head which I held for ten minutes in the palm of my hand until the heat had gone out . . .

St. Francis of Assisi ~

Francis, the man who wanted to possess nothing . . . so that he could better love.