My cousin telephoned to say Aunt Bib is dead. The funeral is two days hence. No need to wait; at 94 she has outlived all her peers. The pastor will officiate. Of course, I reply. Will you sing, she asks? Of course. And you’ll come back to the house afterward? Of course. It will be good to have

I can’t remember exactly how old I was, but from what I have learned, that’s not unusual. I must have been 10 or 11, in the fourth or fifth grade at a small parochial school. I was an altar boy, and it was while serving at 6:30 Mass before school one morning that I first met him. He was

Raised Catholic, I went to church on Sundays and served as an altar boy. I was spiritual, but I sought an intensity of experience I did not find in the Catholic tradition. Communion was my main problem. If this wafer truly were the body and blood of God’s Son (so I reasoned), I would receive i

Money is a subject that has always held endless difficulty and fascination for me. At 20 I entered a convent, embracing a sacred vow of poverty and refusing to have anything to do with owning money. At 38, I left that order and had to face financial reality again. I worked in the service of the chur

I had been dreaming for some time of a winter wonderland, wrapping myself up in a warm blanket, reading a good book and admiring the snow outside the window, so I accepted the invitation of Brother Wolfgang to visit his abbey in Admont, Austria: the Benedictinerstift Admont. The impressive, fortress

I grew up as the third oldest of six children in a liberal Jewish home. My parents were atheists, and for most of my early life I believed (as did they) in social justice but had no belief in God. Although my life had many ups and downs, nothing could prepare me for the devastation I would feel afte