The Bird at the Window
Sunday Night as our weekly Holy Hour started, when I was kneeling to chant O Salutaris Hostia, I could see a bird flying around the window above the sanctuary.
Faith, family, work, and life - all intertwined.
Permanent deacon of the Diocese of Springfield in Illinois. Husband, father of four sons, builder of Catholic technology, and writer of essays, fiction, and homilies.
Sunday Night as our weekly Holy Hour started, when I was kneeling to chant O Salutaris Hostia, I could see a bird flying around the window above the sanctuary.
He had not planned to tell Ambrose about Tuesday morning.
What follows is drawn from two sources: a parish register from Saint-Laurent-sur-Sèvre, and a deposition taken in 1796 from one Marie-Anne Forestier, widow, of the commune of Mauléon.
He had been putting it off for three weeks, which was long enough that he had stopped pretending it was anything other than avoidance.
"What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from." - T.S. Eliot, Little Gidding
Pere Camprubí received the package on a Tuesday in June of 1891 and set it aside until Thursday.
He had been sitting on it for two weeks, which was long enough that bringing it up felt like a confession.
Thomas asks a perfectly reasonable question. Jesus has just said, "Where I am going, you know the way." And Thomas responds: "Master, we do not know where you