I had to accept that it’s possible that there is no God. Or that there is, but he is a stranger. Instead of choosing to trust the church because trust was where I wanted to be, I deliberately stepped out, off the safety of the shore, into doubt.

Can we imagine Daniel Berrigan’s portrait, all gussied up, unfurled above the high altar of St. Peter’s? I know I can; but on his centenary it is more than enough to envision this great American’s visage on view in a gallery in the nation’s capital.

Sometimes people can work for justice and they become so doggone serious that it is kind of heavy to be with them. It was never heavy to be with Dan.

Sex with someone you know and love is deeply satisfying. At our age it may not be as athletic or as frequent, but it is fulfilling. It is affirming. And it is fun.

On the fifth anniversary of the death of Daniel Berrigan, S.J., a close friend and colleague looks back on a poignant moment in their work together.

St. Joseph seems to keep appearing in my life.