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.

The Will of God ~

How do I know what the Will of God is, other than by what is . . .

Thinking Back to Washington, D.C. ~

Lightheartedly I walked up to the Capitol from Union Station, singing, already seeing myself under the dome paying homage as I always did when there. . . but was stopped at the bottom of the stairs by two men armed with vicious looking rifles who, rudely, turned me away.

Friends ~

The crows have been following me around. They sit in the trees, swoop across my path. When I stand at my window they land on the roof next door and look down at me. I am not afaid. I have come to see them as friends.

Day Clock ~

Strange, but in the afternoon after lunch just at the instant when I set the espresso pot on the radiator to dry, I am suddenly fully aware that another day of my life has passed.

Unexpected Visit ~

It was an uncanny sight. From left to right they came -- eleven ducks flying low over our snowbound village landscape, V-shaped. I opened my window to greet them, heard the beat of their wings as they flew overhead.

Easter 2008 ~

The old monk told me: if you have made a mistake, admit it—correct it—and get on. That is what Resurrection means.

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.