During the first few years I spent in the choir of St. Mary’s Orthodox Church, I wrestled mightily with the intricacies of Byzantine chant. When I had a couple of other basses surrounding me I could follow along all right, but when I had to hold up the part on my own it was usually a disaster.

Our neighborhood on the west side of San Antonio was an impenetrable Tex-Mex barrioisolated by culture, religion, language and educationuntil Old Doc Stein came along. He was a feisty, stocky man with dark, compassionate eyes, thick lips, wiry white hair, and he spoke massacred Spanish. Ambling into

It is Friday, 9:15 p.m. Bruce backs the outreach van out of the parking area of Boston’s Pine Street Inn. It’s well packed with blankets, various articles of clothing, sandwiches, hot and cold water, instant hot chocolate and soup packets, some crackers and a case of oranges. Sean and I

Kathleen and I make all the arrangements mothers have to make to spend a day away from their childrenbefore-school care, after-school care, instructions and emergency information. Everything is in order for us to be gone from early morning to late afternoon. We have 100 miles to go each way. She ins

Monday NightThere is a storm outside. Very unusual for September in the Bay Area. My 20-month-old son and I are watching the lights in the sky and mimicking the sounds of the stormhis first experience of lightning and thunder. At first he is fascinated and roars with the thunder, but he quickly beco

It was a dark and stormy night. Really. I parked in the lower lot and came through the parish center entrance. Taking the stairs two at a time because I was on the edge of being late, I hurried toward the church, thinking about all the other things I needed to do before Christmas. The communal penan