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My nephew Oliver has just started reading the Lord of the Rings series.  And reading with him on his front porch this past weekend called to mind one of my favorite lines from the mouth of the hobbit Frodo: “I wish it need not have happened in my time.”   Isn’t that what we have all thought when looking at the news of late? I wish it need not have happened in my time.  But whenever I have this thought, I stir courage in my soul by reciting the line that follows from the mouth of the wizard Gandolf: “So do

I have spent much of today thinking about the Parable of the Bramble.  “What is the Parable of the Bramble?” you ask. Understandably.  It is not one of Jesus’ parables found in the gospels, it is actually found in a lesser-known book of the Hebrew Scriptures called Judges (9:8-15 to be specific).  And technically speaking, it is not a parable at all.  It is a fable.  I’ll explain the difference in a footnote, because I’m guessing you don’t really care. 

Tis the last day of August and tomorrow morning when we wake up, we’ll be entering the “Season of Creation.”  It is a season that is only slowly beginning to get traction in the wider Catholic community.  Indeed, I did not know the history behind it myself until I looked it up when preparing tomorrow’s preaching for September 1.

Getting to L’Anse aux Meadows is a lot easier than getting to Iona.  At least in theory.  There are no busses involved, and no ferries.  No trains and no one lane roads.  There are not even any sheep to contend with.  You simply land in the airport at St.

This morning on my walk I met any number of school buses rolling through my neighborhood.  How could this be?!?!  It is still early August!  The Olympics aren’t even over yet.  In Atlanta, they must like to get the school year rolling early.  Even as I am just getting into summer, it has apparently ended already without anyone letting me know.   Sigh.

The family home on Walsh St.

What do Al Golden (American football player and coach), Todd Marinovich (American football player and coach), Wilfred Mugeyi (Zimbabwean footballer and coach), and I all share in common? 

So here is the way you get to Iona:  First you fly to Edinburgh and then you catch a train to Glasgow, which is only like an hour. And then you catch a train to Oban three hours away, except this one doesn’t run as often and yours has been cancelled, so you sit under a statue of Sir Walter Scott for four hours in the middle of St. George Square trying to avoid pigeon droppings, and then you catch a train to Oban. 

Maybe it surprises you to find out I’m in Scotland right now.  It rather surprises me.  I never had a particular desire to visit Scotland.  Nothing against the country, but I’d heard it was rainy and cold… and rainy and cold have never quite been my thing.  While working on Redeeming Power and considering the persons I wanted to profile at the end of each chapter, though, I got quite hooked on a Scottish saint: Margaret.

Last week my friend Fr. Pete took my son and I out after dinner for a drive into the hills behind Big Sandy, Montana approaching the Bear Paw Mountains.  We had our binoculars in hand looking for elk and antelope and white tail deer.  Happily saw all three!