The Calling of St. Matthew by Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio When I was growing up, I was raised in a Lutheran home. My mother’s father was a gifted, but somewhat stern Lutheran pastor who informed my mother’s faith. We attended church regularly, prayed at meals, prayed before bedtime and read stories from “Hurlbut’s Story of the Bible”. I recall close friendships between my parents and our pastors. I remember walks with my dad down long train tracks, as our black lab... Read more

    I have to be honest. I was jarred when I first heard it. It was on a Tuesday night – a Lenten Reconciliation Service. The gorgeous sanctuary of our church was warmly lit and Richard, the music director, gingerly played beautiful, familiar, sweetened hymns on the piano. Lines were formed around the periphery of the sanctuary. Five priests were working overtime (as if there is a prescribed set of “working hours” in a priest’s life anyway) leaning in,... Read more

    I was only nine when I saw it. And it is strange that I still remember it. It was in the basement of my childhood home – my father’s office, to be exact. Unlike the house we lived in before, this basement had no natural light. Though light fixtures and lamps fought against the encroaching darkness, an older sister could devilishly switch the light off while you were down there and leave you instantly consumed by the inky... Read more

Let us imagine a Country with an inordinate hatred. A hatred of a People. Whenever words are used to describe the vilified People, they are filled with abject vitriol and fiery contempt. The “enemy” is described as Degenerate, Vermin & Criminal and are threatened with Destruction, Erasure & Annihilation. This creed of vengeance is not a peripheral matter for the country, but is a belief system deeply, deeply set in its marrow. It informs, invigorates, inspires the Country’s actions and, in some forms,... Read more

I. The Saint It was a warm August day in 1958 and the water was just right. The community of young kayakers were just beginning their river journey – a journey to be filled with paddling, riverbank soccer and deep discussions about family and faith under starlit skies. They were so excited he could be there. Wujek, they affectionately called him: Uncle. And he was thrilled to be there with them. My Srodowisko, he called them. His environment or milieu. But he wouldn’t... Read more

  It was a masterpiece and it was his secret. Until this moment. In the 1984 film Amadeus, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart found himself suddenly and unexpectedly in the presence of the Holy Roman Emperor Joseph II and his court. The Emperor leveled his eyes at the young composer and the following exchange ensued, EMPEROR JOSEPH II Mozart, are you aware I have declared the French play of Figaro unsuitable for our theatre? MOZART Yes, Sire. EMPEROR JOSEPH II Yet we hear... Read more

Lieutenant Ivan Martynushkin peered at what lay in front of him. On a bitter January morning in 1945, Martynushkin and the members of the Soviet Army’s 322nd Rifle Division found themselves warily dismounting from their horses and cautiously approaching the barbed wire surrounding a Polish camp perimeter. Just behind the sharp-pointed fences milled dazed human corpses. “We saw emaciated, tortured, impoverished people…Those were the people I first encountered…We could tell from their eyes that they were happy to be saved from this... Read more

Author’s Note: For Catholic Schools Week, I’ve been asked to speak to my parish congregation about why, as parents, we chose to send our kids to Catholic school. While my testimony spoke about our Catholic school specifically, I have changed the name to reflect what I think is common to most Catholic schools. Here was my answer.    It was years ago, but it seems as clear as if it were yesterday. I was talking with my dad when he... Read more