It was Good Friday 1998. I had concluded that a missionary’s life (even for a Jesuit novice) was miserably difficult. Homesick and exhausted from endless walking, sunburn, lack of food and complete powerlessness, I desperately sought a break from my work as a teacher in the ghettoes of Kingsto

Small art galleries abound in Manhattan, and one of them—the AXA Gallery—is only a few blocks from America House. During the summer it featured an exhibit called “Testimony: Vernacular Art of the African American South.” I stopped by to see it several times, drawn by the work

William Lloyd Garrison—when I first saw that name on a headstone in the Forest Hills Cemetery near Boston last year, it struck only a small note of recognition. But this past June, I again visited the area and once more stood before the two-tiered but simple monument. This time, though, it wa

For many years I have thought that the book that begs to be written is a book of Jesuit stories. Now, I’m not talking about a compendium of the holy lives of Jesuit saints and martyrs: for this see a fine book by Joseph Tylenda, S.J., entitled, not surprisingly, Jesuit Saints and Martyrs. And

Oct. 16 is World Food Day—the founding date over half a century ago of the Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations. But in view of the starvation that is claiming many lives in the poorest countries, Oct. 16 might more appropriately be called World Hunger Day. During a late-sum

Henry James named one of his novels Washington Square, after a formerly fashionable area in Lower Manhattan known for its handsome row of mid-19th century houses on the square’s north side. Most of the houses are now owned by New York University, but one belongs to the Sisters of Charity. It i