Some may remember the homily I preached three years ago, on the 100th anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic, relating the story of the priest who was on board, Fr. Thomas Byles: Exactly 100 years ago, Sunday, April 14th, 1912, Fr. Byles celebrated Mass. It was “Low Sunday” for the first Sunday after Easter. He read the exact same readings we just heard, and those who were on board said he preached a homily about using prayer as your... Read more
After spending a half hour or so at the local Roman Catholic church, we hopped into our van and drove a few minutes away to join the liturgy at the St. Peter and St. Paul Melkite Catholic Church in Amman. This tiny parish of about 400 families is presided over by Fr. Nabil Haddad, a charismatic and disarming man who is clearly much beloved by his people. Wikipedia describes him: Nabil Haddad was born in a town near Irbid, Jordan. For... Read more
After spending a half hour or so at the local Roman Catholic church, we hopped into our van and drove a few minutes away to join the liturgy at the St. Peter and St. Paul Melkite Catholic Church in Amman. This tiny parish of about 400 families is presided over by Fr. Nabil Haddad, a charismatic and disarming man who is clearly much beloved by his people. Wikipedia describes him: Nabil Haddad was born in a town near Irbid, Jordan.... Read more
Some may remember the homily I preached three years ago, on the 100th anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic, relating the story of the priest who was on board, Fr. Thomas Byles: Exactly 100 years ago, Sunday, April 14th, 1912, Fr. Byles celebrated Mass. It was “Low Sunday” for the first Sunday after Easter. He read the exact same readings we just heard, and those who were on board said he preached a homily about using prayer as your... Read more
We spent the afternoon visiting a souk (open air marketplace) in downtown Amman. Amid the blocks and blocks of winding streets, meandering alleys and open storefronts, you can buy anything and everything. The shopkeepers were uniformly friendly and helpful (and, it should be noted, willing to barter). It gave us a chance to sample a little local culture, and wander around some of old downtown Amman—seeing, among other things, a famous citadel and an ancient amphitheater, now located in a... Read more
The word is: incredible. You have to read Max’s account of loaves and fishes from yesterday. But back at the hotel? Like I said: incredible. Especially the desserts. But wait, there’s more to whet your appetite, with some tasty food for thought from other Patheos bloggers. Diana von Glahn has the first account of our visit to the Melkite church for their vigil. The intrepid Marge Fenelon finally arrived to join our merry band, and describes battling Forces of Nature to... Read more
On a cold and drizzly Saturday night, I found myself standing in a small, crowded Catholic church 6,000 miles away from my home parish in Queens, and I couldn’t help but weep. Dozens of people were holding candles. Incense filled the air. And a deacon climbed into the pulpit and began the familiar chant that I myself had sung just a week earlier in New York City. The notes were the same. The rolling rhythm was the same. But this... Read more
After yesterday’s long plane ride, I slept fitfully but somewhere around 5 a.m. found myself hearing the not-too-distant call to Muslim prayer—a sound both mournful and humbling. I figured it was a good time to get up and pray, anyway, so climbed out of bed and did Morning Prayer. “All you heavens, bless the Lord,” I prayed, along with countless other Christians around the world—but now, with Muslim cries echoing a few blocks away. As daylight broke, I got a first look... Read more
After yesterday’s long plane ride, I slept fitfully but somewhere around 5 a.m. found myself hearing the not-too-distant call to Muslim prayer—a sound both mournful and humbling. I figured it was a good time to get up and pray, anyway, so climbed out of bed and did Morning Prayer. “All you heavens, bless the Lord,” I prayed, along with countless other Christians around the world—but now, with Muslim cries echoing a few blocks away. As daylight broke, I got a... Read more
On a cold and drizzly Saturday night, I found myself standing in a small, crowded Catholic church 6,000 miles away from my home parish in Queens, and I couldn’t help but weep. Dozens of people were holding candles. Incense filled the air. And a deacon climbed into the pulpit and began the familiar chant that I myself had sung just a week earlier in New York City. The notes were the same. The rolling rhythm was the same. But this... Read more
The Deacon's Bench
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