Of Many Things

Walter M. Abbott, S.J., remembers the day in the early 1960’s. He was working in his room above the offices in the old America editors’ residence on West 108th Street in Manhattan, when a call came in from the real estate expert who had been looking for a more suitable building to house

Lent? Wasn’t it just Christmas? Catholics can be forgiven for sometimes scratching their heads over the liturgical calendar. While the liturgical year is designed to help Christians follow the life, death and resurrection of Jesus by meditating on the sequence of Gospel readings, sometimes it

Experts differ as to how the just war tradition should be applied to real-life conflicts. Hard as it may be to believe, some regard it as an academic exercise with no bearing on the real world. For others, it is a calculus for decision makers, with no relevance for others, whether other authorities

Books, like houses, can be remodeled. The house and garden sections of city newspapers often include articles about energetic people who have transformed a rundown farmhouse in the Catskills or a cabin in the Maine woods by knocking down walls between cramped rooms, installing new lighting and build

Nowadays when I read of Albania in the media, it is often in reference to Albanians who—desperate to escape their poverty-stricken country, where they are also beset by ethnic conflict—flee in rickety boats across the Adriatic Sea toward Italy. If they have not drowned or been intercepte

Pope Benedict XVI’s late November visit to Turkey showed how quickly and thoroughly he has grown into his new role. In particular, he demonstrated his determination to realize his potential as a peacemaker. That role seemed to be suggested by his adoption of the name Benedict, reminiscent of P

As poetry editor for America, I had occasion recently to view the Rev. John P. McNamee’s new book of poems, Donegal Suite (Dufour Editions, Chester Springs, Pa.). Father McNamee has been an inner-city priest for over 30 years in Philadelphia. His memoir of his time at Saint Malachy parish, ent

On Friday evenings in the early 1950’s, after the dinner dishes had been washed, dried and put away, our family would be joined by our friends and neighbors, the Scaras, in front of our 12-inch Crosley console to watch a couple of hours of television. The first program of the evening, and my f

"July," said my sister, Carolyn. And I was amazed. "This year we got our first Christmas catalogue in the mail in July," she said. It was from Lands’ End. Even though Carolyn was driving the car and I was sitting next to her, I knew without looking that we were rolling our

When I was a grumpy teenager in high school, I retreated one Advent to the calm of our cellar and allowed only my sister to visit for help. We had a project. It had been years since we had set up the “Christmas platform”; but that year we had a new baby, something of such cosmic signific