Current homilies

Friday was one of those days that has made our common life together so challenging. I know it was riveting television, but I chose not to watch the unfolding testimony that went on for hours. 

I wonder what Jeff Bezos is doing right now. He is the guy, of course, who founded Amazon about 25 years ago, and he is presently worth about 151 billion dollars, making him the richest person on earth.

So the school year is about to begin!  This coming week all the kids at schools in Manhattan will once again be spending their days inside a building that was designed to help them learn, filled with lots of people who want to help them grow up, teaching them practical information about themselves and about the world. 

There was an article in the New York Times yesterday, written by a parishioner of a Catholic parish in Atlanta.  Last Sunday he received national media attention when he stood up in the middle of the homily, as the priest was speaking about the sexual abuse report from Pennsylvania, saying that the Church had to change. 

I got home Wednesday night from a short vacation with my sister and her family in a remote mountain lodge in Vermont.  We were blessed--and I do mean blessed-- to be without any phone or internet service. 

The other day I turned on my phone and started to dial and didn’t realize that I had actually answered an incoming call—which I don’t usually do if I don’t recognize the number.

Last weekend was Labor Day, summer's last hurrah, a few days for one more hot dog, another beer, a ride on a roller coaster, a walk on the beach.

I crossed the new Tappan Zee bridge that spans the Hudson River 15 miles north of Manhattan. If they hadn’t replaced it, the old bridge would have fallen into the river, it’s steel exhausted and worn out.

I was alone on July 4th—the pastor was away, the staff was on vacation. It was the first time I was king of the rectory and the church, reigning over the whole empty building. But that wasn’t much fun, so I decided to take a walk over to the west side of the island, to the mighty Hudson river.

When they get a chance, my sister and her three daughters love to treat themselves to a trip to ‘the spa’.

You have seen him in layers of rags, his face creased and darkened by dirt and beating sun. You have seen him walking the streets at all hours, in all weather. You have heard him howling like thunder on street corners and public squares.

As you may have heard, there’s a new documentary out about Fred Rogers, the ordained Presbyterian minister who had a secular TV show for kids that lasted 33 years, called Mister Rogers Neighborhood.

On Memorial Day I was walking in the city all by my lonesome.  It was a beautiful day and everyone was out—the streets were crowded, the parks were filled, café tables on the sidewalks were all occupied. 

There is one window in the room where I write my homilies and screenplays on my computer, and where I read and pray and reflect. Pigeons alight upon the sill outside the window, and when they purr and coo it’s a soothing sound. 

I was in Connecticut on Friday, visiting a friend who had experienced a tornado in his neighborhood.

Years ago I used to visit someone in a nursing home, a young man who was 102 years old.  His body was only then beginning to break down—he had finally required a wheel chair to get around---but his mind survived a century of wear and tear.

Who do you love?  How do you love? 

A few years ago I was in Manhattan to meet an actor to talk about a film project I was working on. 

For you dog owners out there, I read about a recent scientific discovery that your personal smelly scent activates the pleasure centers in your dog’s brain, in the same way that the human brain responds to the perfume or cologne of someone you love.

I was at Eisenberg’s the other day.  You know Eisenberg’s Sandwich Shop, on 5th Ave and 22nd street, which claims to be open since 1929?  Their motto is "Raising New York's Cholesterol since 1929".