How do you imagine the Holy Spirit? If you are anything like me, the picture that accompanies this posting is definitely NOT it. Dove. Fire. Wind. Breath. These I am all familiar with, but sister of “The Heat Miser” from my favorite Christmas cartoon?… That’s never been part of the litany. So imagine my surprise in looking up above the exit of the overwhelmingly Baroque Jesuitenkirche in Heildelberg, Germany a couple weeks ago and seeing this fiery sprite l
If all goes well, by the time you read this, I will be home in bed after a long flight back from Munich to Atlanta. But that is not where I am right now. Right now I am on a train to Zurich and then onward to Germany in search of that tiny town of Oberammergau. Everything that has been said about Swiss trains is totally true. You can set your watch by them. They tell me that the German trains have lots of problems and sometimes are very late. I ask them what “late” means in Germany and they say. “
If all goes well, by the time you read this, I will be in another country. No, I’m not fleeing the law or anything that exciting. Rather, my husband and I are attempting to finally do our 25th wedding anniversary trip. We’ve been trying for so long that we’ve now been married for 28 ½ years. But even as I have a hard time putting anything in print for fear of jinxing it, I do think that it will happen this time. We will be starting in Amsterdam and moving down the Rhine toward Oberammergau for the famed Pass
After several weeks on the road, I was eager to get back to Atlanta and sleep in my own bed… but my husband had other plans. “I think you should go to St. Louis for Easter,” he said.
Palm Sunday Mass this year at my parish had it all going on. Technical glitches so that you could only hear two of the three Passion readers. To my left, a duo of five year olds using their palm fronds to sword fight. To my right, a wailing infant. Me in the middle improvising the congregational responses within the Gospel as I had neglected to pick up the worship aid once I realized that Mass had started at 10:15, not 10:30.
Those of you who know me well know that I avoid the cold as much as possible. But of late, I’ve not been particularly successful in keeping the chill from my bones. Good morning from Contoocook, New Hampshire where it is about 5 degrees. Okay, I may be exaggerating, but not by much. The picture above is from Park City, Utah where I was earlier this month. The wind off Lake Michigan in Chicago mid-month was also pretty bitter. And next week I’ll be in London, Ontario.
This past Sunday, we read (as we always do the Second Sunday of Lent) the perplexing story of the Transfiguration where Jesus and three of his friends ascend an unnamed mountain and find themselves immersed in divine cloud. It’s such a mysterious episode that each time it pops up in the lectionary I find myself wondering: What really is trying to be communicated here? What are we supposed to take from this?
People sometimes are curious how as a Catholic woman I ended up in the field of preaching. That’s an interesting question. I started preaching….
This past Wednesday, February 16th, marked what would have been my mom’s 77th birthday. Since she slipped the bonds of time four years ago, I imagine she no longer counts the years in the same way. “A thousand years are but one day with God,” 2nd Peter claims. But we still count them! And each year in her memory, my family has been celebrating her birthday by baking pumpkin bread.
Growing up, I did not know much about King Solomon, but I did know that when he was anointed king of Israel, God invited him to ask for anything that he wanted and it would be granted to him. Sort of like a biblical version of the genie emerging from the lamp. I can picture my elementary school religion teacher in the front of the room laying out all the options: He could have asked for treasure chests full of gold or all the candy you could eat or a summer full of trips to the amusement park. But Solomon, she said, asked for wisdom, which