Today, I shook Jesus’ hand. Well, kind of…

Ever try to convince someone that they are an important when they’re convinced they aren’t worth the time of day?

His songs swirl with dust, blizzards and the rugged life of ordinary ranch hands.

"I like my parish.” “What do you like about it?” “The men’s group.” "What do you do?” “We drink beer.”

It is late when I put the novel aside, but tiredness is not the reason that I close the book. I stop reading because the kid in the story is getting to me.

Whenever I contemplate the hands of Our Lady of Guadalupe, I think of the hands of my sister.

The park rangers asked if I would help vaccinate their herd of buffalo. “You bet!” I said.

I received a call to visit a mother and infant in a neo-natal intensive care unit. When I arrived at the desk, the nurse directed me to the wrong room.

The rector at the local cathedral is on a pilgrimage in the Holy Land. I covered his weekend Masses and experienced a pilgrimage of my own.

Most of my friends are hunters. But bagging game isn’t the main reason they hunt.

Her eyes were tired. “I’ll never be ready for Christmas,” she said.

Every defensive line has a weak player or two. Mine is a wide receiver who runs for the sideline to avoid getting tackled. I’m referring to my tendency to avoid conflict at all costs.

Mid-November finds me in the Midwest. Hunkered inside a cabin , I watch hickory boughs outside the window sway in the wind. Flurries swirl. Swaths of snow, thin as muslin, drape the ground.

We live in a time of division and the priesthood is not exempt: young vs. old; tradition vs. innovation; social justice vs. prayer and fasting.

Mighty grain elevators once stood guard over Texas farm towns. Today, less than a third of the aged watchmen report for duty.

For this priest, the ill-defined term, “retirement,” has come to mean a well-chiseled silence in which to hear the whispering of God.

I loaded up my mare and hit the road before dawn, my dog, Guapo, in the cab next to me. It had been a while since I helped work cattle. Today’s job would take me to the Lazy J. We’d wrap up by Noon and a grilled steak would be our payment. Guapo could hardly wait.

If we neighborhood kids were lucky, we’d be playing ball when Fr. Clem’s plane would swoop low over the pitcher’s mound and land in the outfield.

Sure enough, silhouetted against the wall—above a hunting bow and a bovine skull—loomed the shadow of a robed figure flanked by two wings.

Adam was created in the outback, whereas Eve was created in the garden. It’s the Bible’s way of explaining a man’s innate drive to explore the wild, swim the rivers and climb the mountains.