N.Y. Times plays politics with Dorothy Day

Icon hanging over my office computer

I was happy to see a front page New Times story on Dorothy Day this morning when I came down for coffee. Of course, I began reading with trepidation, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Didn't take long. By the first line of the second paragraph, I was annoyed by the lack of understanding of all things Catholic.

"But Day has found a seemingly unlikely champion in New York's conservative archbishop, Cardinal Timothy M. Dolan, who has breathed new life into an effort to declare the Brooklyn native a saint." 

"Unlikely champion?" Really? Dorothy Day lived what our Church teaches, and although Cardinal Dolan may make headlines for his statements on abortion and contraception and other "conservative" issues, he also preaches on the rest of Catholic teaching, which isn't flashy enough to make the front page -- things like poverty and immigration and war, things that Dorothy Day made the center of her life's work.

I find it funny that the Times, with all its great authority, still doesn't understand some of the most basic things about Catholicism and about the people we call saints. My goodness, they don't come more radical than Francis of Assisi and look how popular and beloved his is. He stripped himself naked in the middle of town when he renounced his family's fortune. He was, like Day, radical about poverty and yet firmly entrenched in Catholic teaching and faith. Let's face it: All saints are radical. You don't get to be a saint by being lukewarm about anything.

Then we get a little deeper into the story where the Times talks about Day's canonization "even though, as some bishops noted, she had an abortion as a young woman and at one point flirted with joining the Communist Party." Yeah, okay, please see above paragraph. Of course she can be a saint even though she had an abortion. We are a faith of forgiveness. St. Augustine, anyone? That's what makes her story so powerful. Conversion to Christ transformed her life.  (P.S. When I was young I once went to a Cesar Chavez boycott-grapes rally in Austin sponsored by the Communist Party, so if I'm up for sainthood at any point, please be aware of this skeleton in my closet.)

Here's a fun sentence from the New York Times story:

"Cardinal Dolan is often depicted as one of the most visible symbols of the rightward shift of America's Catholic bishops."

Depicted by whom? The Times, I guess. If they think Cardinal Dolan is a symbol of the "rightward shift," clearly they need to meet some other American bishops. Give me a call; I have a list of names.

Finally, if you make it to the jump of the story, there's what may be my favorite part, where the Times says that promoting Day's sainthood "is politically useful" for Cardinal Dolan. Sigh. Cardinal Dolan is the third Archbishop of New York to promote Day's cause for canonization. Cardinal John O'Connor and Cardinal Edward Egan also promoted Day's cause. Three very different men in three very different times. Sometimes a cause is just a cause.

Here's a snippet of what Cardinal Egan said back in 2005:

...the parish priest who had encouraged me to enter the seminary gave me a copy of "The Long Loneliness" and told me to read it and tell him what I thought of it. I do not recall exactly what I told him, but I know what was in my head: "This is a saint if ever there was one."

Here's what Cardinal O'Connor told the New York Times in 1997:

The Cardinal first raised the idea of sainthood for Dorothy Day a decade ago, but at the time he went only so far as to ask for comment from parishioners and others. In his homily yesterday, the Cardinal said he had received many letters as the centennial of Miss Day's birth drew near, one from a supporter who called her ''the Mother Teresa of Mott Street.''

''And the more reading I've done, the more saintly a woman she seems to me,'' the Cardinal said.

So Cardinal O'Connor -- who was also "depicted" as a conservative -- began the first steps toward Day's canonization 25 years ago, during very different political times. So much for that argument.

Regardless of whether you agree with the push for Day's sainthood -- and there are many among her followers who are uncomfortable with the idea -- these basic misunderstandings on the part of the Times about simple Catholic thought and teaching take what should be a story of faith and Gospel teaching and turn it into politics and calculation.

Praying in the company of Brother Sun and Sister Moon

Earlier today, I was out in our sun porch doing some gentle yoga in hopes of loosening up a nagging back muscle problem. As I stretched upward to begin a basic sun salutation, I realized I was looking up at my beautiful clay crescent moon, given to me by a good friend many years ago. Then later, as I turned to do a warrior pose, I noticed the clay sun hanging directly opposite. Suddenly all felt right with the world on this Feast of St. Francis of Assisi.

I haven't taken time for homegrown yoga or silent prayer lately -- for too many reasons to list, none of them good enough -- so it seemed especially coincidental that I was raising my arms in praise of God's creation under the watchful eyes of Brother Sun and Sister Moon on the feast of the saint who made them famous in poem and prayer.

Even my sun porch sacred space -- a simple wooden tray with a battery-powered candle, incense burner, and a single holy image (rotating depending on my mood or the day) amid dried sunflowers, seeds, and pine cones -- seemed in sync with the feast day. And as I sat down on my meditation cushion in silence, the rain tapping on the roof overhead provided the perfect soundtrack and the towering oaks and pines outside a glorious backdrop.

I found myself smiling, aware that my decision to put aside piles of work for a rare session of yoga and meditation when I really didn't have a minute to spare, must have been a little nudge from the Spirit. Everything in me had been fighting against this yoga prayer practice today, and yet I threw down my mat, lit my incense, shrugged off my back pain, and entered into that beautiful silent space that occurs when mindful physical motion gives way to the stillness of spiritual contemplation.

On top of that, my back is feeling much better, so it was a win-win.

Here's St. Francis' Canticle of Brother Sun and Sister Moon for a little inspiration on this fall night. Why not read it outside under the stars, or clouds?

Most High, all-powerful, all-good Lord, All praise is Yours, all glory, all honour and all blessings.

To you alone, Most High, do they belong, and no mortal lips are worthy to pronounce Your Name.

Praised be You my Lord with all Your creatures,
especially Sir Brother Sun,
Who is the day through whom You give us light.
And he is beautiful and radiant with great splendour,
Of You Most High, he bears the likeness.

Praised be You, my Lord, through Sister Moon and the stars,
In the heavens you have made them bright, precious and fair.

Praised be You, my Lord, through Brothers Wind and Air,
And fair and stormy, all weather's moods,
by which You cherish all that You have made.

Praised be You my Lord through Sister Water,
So useful, humble, precious and pure.

Praised be You my Lord through Brother Fire,
through whom You light the night and he is beautiful and playful and robust and strong.

Praised be You my Lord through our Sister,
Mother Earth
who sustains and governs us,
producing varied fruits with colored flowers and herbs.
Praise be You my Lord through those who grant pardon for love of You and bear sickness and trial.

Blessed are those who endure in peace, By You Most High, they will be crowned.

Praised be You, my Lord through Sister Death,
from whom no-one living can escape. Woe to those who die in mortal sin! Blessed are they whom death will find doing Your most holy will, for the second death shall do them no harm.

Praise and bless my Lord and give Him thanks,
And serve Him with great humility.
-- St. Francis of Assisi

Weather not fit for squirrels nor statues

I don't know what Our Lady of Guadalupe did to deserve such treatment. Normally she winters inside with St. Francis of Assisi. But this year, while St. Francis is snug and dry and relatively warm in our garage, Our Lady has been left to fend for herself in the backyard. And she's not used to this kind of weather where she comes from.

It is snowing like crazy here, but the kids are at school and Dennis is on the way to work. Things promise to get worse by tomorrow. I thought we could use Our Lady of Guadalupe as a barometer of the storm here. We'll check back in tomorrow to see if she's up to her ears yet.

Here's the long view of her location:


Here's one of her backyard partners, digging out acorns from a snowbank on our deck:



Here are the pines behind our house. Let's hope the storm doesn't break their branches, which hang precariously over our power lines.

A saint for all seasons

In honor of the Feast of St. Francis of Assisi, I thought I'd re-run a column I wrote about one of my favorite saints:

Out in my perennial garden, nestled among the stonecrop and candytuft, stands a well-worn clay statue of St. Francis of Assisi made by an artisan in Mexico. The unusual characteristics of the statue make it a conversation piece as well as a spiritual touchstone that helps keep me centered as I dig and weed and plant.

Of course, I’m not alone. Drive down any street and you’re likely to find St. Francis peeking out from both well-manicured lawns and wildflower gardens run amuck. He is just as likely to share a garden with a statue of Buddha as he is to share one with a statue of the Blessed Mother. He is a saint of the people – all people, Catholics and non-Catholics alike. His broad appeal is fascinating, but at the same time it begs the question: Do those of us who plant St. Francis in our gardens really know what the medieval saint was all about?

Today Francis’ concerns are often compartmentalized by well-meaning folks who want to claim him for their own. And who can blame them? He is certainly a challenging but endearing saint for the ages.

Environmentalists tune into Francis’ love for creation, his “Canticle of Brother Sun,” his diligence in protecting trees and even “brother” fire, and find in him a kindred spirit. Animal lovers hear stories of him preaching to birds and taming a wolf and see in Francis the kind of saint who has rightly earned his status as patron of animals. His popularity comes into full view every year at this time, when adults and children alike line up outside churches with everything from goldfish swimming in glass bowls to German shepherds straining at leather leashes just for a chance to get their pets a blessing on Francis’ feast day.

Peace activists, interreligious leaders, social justice organizers -- the St. Francis fan club goes on and on. It seems everyone can find a piece of Francis to suit their cause. But, if you put all of those individual causes into the Gospel context that was at the heart of Francis’ rule and spirituality, you come away with a very different picture of our lovable saint, one that is not so easily shaped and molded by the latest trends or causes.

Would those St. Francis lawn statues be as popular if we really stopped to reflect on what they stand for? Francis’ life was one centered on his love of Christ, his commitment to a radical living out of the Gospel, and his “marriage” to the bride he dubbed “Lady Poverty”? The path that St. Francis chose was not an easy one. He was ridiculed and mocked as a madman during his own lifetime for what appeared to be an extreme response to his conversion experience.

He renounced his family’s fortune, fasted for days on end, heard the Lord speak to him from a cross in San Damiano, bore the stigmata. He lived and died for Christ. It would be a disservice to him and all he stood for to try to slip a politically correct mask over the spiritually devout saint who did not do anything halfway.

Sometimes I wonder how I can possibly weave Francis’ difficult and often uncomfortable lessons into my exceedingly comfortable existence. How do those of us with warm homes and busy jobs and nice clothes make St. Francis into something more than a decoration or a mascot? It’s not easy, but maybe, just maybe, seeing St. Francis from the kitchen window as we wash dishes or raking leaves from around his feet as we clean the yard will call us back to our spiritual center and remind us that what we do here on this earth cannot be separated from what we long for in heaven.

My two favorite Chiaras

When I became pregnant with my youngest, I immediately honed in on the name "Chiara." At the time, I will admit, it had nothing to do with the most famous Chiara, St. Clare of Assisi, or, as they say in Italy, Santa Chiara di Assisi, whose feast day is today.

No, my fascination with this beautiful name started in college, when I was on a trip to China and spent three weeks traveling with a young woman named Chiara, who was part of our university group. The name struck me as the most beautiful name I'd ever heard, but that may have had something to do with my being named Mary, which, as they sing in the old-time classic, "there is something there that sounds so square." Chiara (the name, not the person) was about as opposite of "square" as I could imagine.

For more than twenty years, the name Chiara lingered in the back of my brain. I never really considered it when I was pregnant with Olivia. Not sure why not. But when I became pregnant just about six years ago, this name was my clear favorite. I loved the sound of it. I loved the fact that it reflected my Italian heritage. (Although we did at one point consider its Gaelic cousin, "Ciara," which also means Clare but is pronounced KEER-ah, as opposed to key-AR-ah.)

So Chiara Elizabeth was born on July 21, and her Italian name seems perfectly suited to her. Of all my children, she is the one that will settle down with a stuffed artichoke and pull the leaves through her little white teeth as if she's been doing it for a lifetime in Naples, hometown of her great-grandpa. She will go to a deli and request provolone and dried Italian sausage for lunch when the others are getting standard turkey sandwiches. She will scarf down fried calmari and pesto with sausage any chance she gets. (Note that she's rolling out pizza dough in the photo above.) So the name was definitely a good call.

Surprisingly enough, however, this name has led me further along my own spiritual journey. Knowing my daughter shared a name with St. Clare of Assisi made me want to explore this holy woman in more depth. I'd always been a fan of Francis, her spiritual mentor and friend, but Clare was a spiritual footnote for me.

As my own Chiara has grown over the past five years, so has my love of Santa Chiara. Her courage, her faith, her strength were remarkable, especially in light of the fact that she did what she did as a woman in medieval times. Next month, when I finally get to Italy, I'm hoping to find a way to get to Assisi for one day, so I can walk in the footsteps of Francis and Clare. And then some day I'll take Chiara back to do the same.

Today, when I opened my "Word of God Everyday" daily email, it included a quote from St. Clare: "Look into that mirror daily, always study your face in it, so that within and without you may adorn yourself with all manner of virtue."

I liked the quote, which was connected to an Old Testament verse about the Son being a reflection of God's glory. But something about the quote from Clare didn't sit right with me as it was. It was incomplete and could be confusing to those of us in the modern world. It almost sounded as though Clare were suggesting that we look into an actual mirror and study our own faces. So I searched for it and found the full quote from a letter she wrote to Blessed Agnes of Prague.

Happy indeed is she who is granted a place at the divine banquet, for she may cling with her inmost heart to him whose beauty eternally awes the blessed hosts of heaven; to him whose love inspires love, whose contemplation refreshes, whose generosity satisfies, whose gentleness delights, whose memory shines sweetly as the dawn; to him whose fragrance revives the dead, and whose glorious vision will bless all the citizens of that heavenly Jerusalem, for he is the splendor of eternal glory, the brightness of eternal light, and the mirror without cloud.

Queen and bride of Jesus Christ, look into that mirror daily and study well your reflection, that you may adorn yourself, mind and body, with an enveloping garment of every virtue...In this mirror blessed poverty, holy humility and ineffable love are also reflected. With the grace of God the whole mirror will be your source of contemplation.

Jesus is the mirror -- a mirror "without cloud." And we are meant to reflect him to the world. That's why I love St. Clare. Happy feast day to my baby Chiara.

Will the real St. Francis please stand up?

In honor of the Feast of St. Francis of Assisi, I thought I'd run a recent column I wrote about one of my favorite saints:

Out in my perennial garden, nestled among the stonecrop and candytuft, stands a well-worn clay statue of St. Francis of Assisi made by an artisan in Mexico. The unusual characteristics of the statue make it a conversation piece as well as a spiritual touchstone that helps keep me centered as I dig and weed and plant.

Of course, I’m not alone. Drive down any street and you’re likely to find St. Francis peeking out from both well-manicured lawns and wildflower gardens run amuck. He is just as likely to share a garden with a statue of Buddha as he is to share one with a statue of the Blessed Mother. He is a saint of the people – all people, Catholics and non-Catholics alike. His broad appeal is fascinating, but at the same time it begs the question: Do those of us who plant St. Francis in our gardens really know what the medieval saint was all about?

Today Francis’ concerns are often compartmentalized by well-meaning folks who want to claim him for their own. And who can blame them? He is certainly a challenging but endearing saint for the ages.

Environmentalists jump on Francis’ love for creation, his “Canticle of Brother Sun,” his diligence in protecting trees and even “brother” fire, and find in him a kindred spirit. Animal lovers hear stories of him preaching to birds and taming a wolf and see in Francis the kind of saint who has rightly earned his status as patron of animals. His popularity comes into full view every year at this time, when adults and children alike line up outside churches with everything from goldfish swimming in glass bowls to German shepherds straining at leather leashes just for a chance to get their pets a blessing on Francis’ feast day.

Peace activists, interreligious leaders, social justice organizers -- the St. Francis fan club goes on and on. It seems everyone can find a piece of Francis to suit their cause. But, if you put all of those individual causes into the Gospel context that was at the heart of Francis’ rule and spirituality, you come away with a very different picture of our lovable saint, one that is not so easily shaped and molded by the latest trends in activism.

Would those St. Francis lawn statues be as popular if we really stopped to reflect on what they stand for? Francis’ life was one centered on his love of Christ, his commitment to a radical living out of the Gospel, and his “marriage” to the bride he dubbed “Lady Poverty”? The path that St. Francis chose was not an easy one. He was ridiculed and mocked as a madman during his own lifetime for what appeared to be an extreme response to his conversion experience.

He renounced his family’s fortune, fasted for days on end, heard the Lord speak to him from a cross in San Damiano, bore the stigmata. He lived and died for Christ. It would be a disservice to him and all he stood for to try to slip a politically correct mask over the spiritually devout saint who did not do anything halfway.

Sometimes I wonder how I can possibly weave Francis’ difficult and often uncomfortable lessons into my exceedingly comfortable existence. How do those of us with warm homes and busy jobs and nice clothes make St. Francis into something more than a decoration or a mascot? It’s not easy, but maybe, just maybe, seeing St. Francis from the kitchen window as we wash dishes or raking leaves from around his feet as we clean the yard will call us back to our spiritual center and remind us that what we do here on this earth cannot be separated from what we long for in heaven.

My best St. Francis impersonation

No, I didn't give away all of my possessions. But I did adopt not one but two cats from the Mohawk and Hudson River Humane Society last night. Crazy, I know. When our dog died last November, Dennis and I swore we'd never again have a pet (we've had two dogs and a cat prior to our newest additions). But Olivia began a cat campaign a while back and I guess she just wore us down. Every day she would come home from school and visit the MHRHS website and read me all the vital stats about every single cat awaiting adoption. Finally, she honed in on a cat named Fred (that's him with Chiara in the photo above). His rap sheet said he was friendly with people of all ages, mellow, a real buddy who would head butt you or even kiss you. We told her maybe after summer vacation, but we knew Fred would likely be long gone by then.

So late yesterday afternoon I took Noah and Olivia up to the Humane Society and asked to see Fred, who was curled up in bed under a shelf fast asleep. We couldn't even see his face. If Olivia hadn't spotted him on the website, we never would have picked him. But after about 10 seconds in the petting cage with the kids, they were begging to take Fred home. Then (because Dennis and I are insane) I asked them to put a two-month old kitten, Mirabella, in the cage with the kids. Of course, they loved her too. So I offered to get both Mirabella and Fred. Off we went with our two boxed up cats complete with microchips between their shoulder blades in case they get lost and turned in somewhere.

I wish we'd had the video camera rolling when Chiara first saw Mirabella in the bottom of her crate. She just started giggling and smiling. She could barely contain herself. Fred fell right in line chasing strings and balls, jumping on furniture and even knocking out a screen in a mad dash to chase down some critters in the backyard. Fortunately, I caught him before he could go not so gently into that good night.


Mirabella (that's her above with Olivia) spent the entire night until 5 a.m. sleeping curled up next to Olivia. Fred, on the other hand, prowled the house, crying now and then, walking across nightstands and pillows and anything else he could find. By 5 a.m. I was downstairs with him. That's when he jumped on top of the refrigerator and then attempted to jump on top of our cabinets. Except our cabinets don't have any open space on top, so Fred hit the ceiling full force, leaving a swath of black fur on the ceiling and falling to the counter top below. We'll see if this is just first-night jitters or if Fred is insane on a regular basis.

Now Fred is sleeping upstairs and Mirabella is sunbathing near an open family room window. I hope we all get some sleep tonight, but from the photo of Fred below it's pretty obvious that he's probably got other plans...

Speaking of books and Italy...

This book is perpetually on my nightstand, my kitchen table, my desk, my coffee table. Really, it seems I'm almost never without it. I read it constantly -- and over and over. The Sun & Moon Over Assisi: A Personal Encounter with Francis and Clare by Gerard Thomas Straub is not only the story of St. Francis and St. Clare of Assisi but the story of Straub's own spiritual transformation. This book is so full of spiritual gems that I use it more like a prayer book, often reading a passage just before bed so I have something to ponder as I drift off to sleep.

Interspersed with Straub's personal history and the lives of the two great saints of Assisi are journal entries and personal reflections on the experiences in Italy that led Straub from atheism to faith, from a secular world view to a decidedly Franciscan perspective on life. I find his writing and his observations inspiring and deeply touching, as if he is peering into my own soul and reminding me of what I need to hear.

Scattered throughout the 6oo-plus page tome are quotes from so many of the spiritual greats -- Thomas Merton, Francis de Sales, Teresa of Avila, Henri Nouwen, John of the Cross, Mother Teresa, and, of course, Francis and Clare. I picked up this book in hopes of gleaning some new information about the saints from Assisi, and I certainly have done that, but, even more importantly, I continue to uncover insights and inspirations that are aiding me in my own faith journey.

Repercussions and reflections

Before I get started on today's "official" post, let me first say how sorry I am that I disappeared for a few days. I have a huge work project that needs the bulk of my attention, and I had to give myself a few days of work time devoted to nothing but that. In fact, as soon as I'm done here, I'll be back at it, but I've decided to spend a few minutes with you while I wait for my tea water to reach a boil. How big of me. Anyway, on with the real post.

It has been about one and a half weeks since I returned from my silent retreat, and I wanted to share what I've been noticing in the wake of that experience. Obviously, a silent retreat is not "normal" in the sense that it's not supposed to be a lesson in how to live everyday life. I'm not a hermit or a monk, so my life is not silent. I would say it is the complete opposite of silent, especially based on this morning's chaotic scene before school. However, the silent retreat was meant to show me how important silence is, even if it's just a few minutes interspersed in an otherwise busy day. And from that perspective, the retreat was definitely a success. I am noticing in the most unexpected places a craving for silence and a willingness and ability to try to find even just a small piece of what I experienced on retreat as I go about my day.

I find that when I am eating, especially when I am eating lunch by myself or with Chiara and am prone to work on a crossword puzzle or read a newspaper at the same time, that I suddenly become aware of how mindlessly I'm eating my food. Chiara has even become a help by asking me to light the "prayer candle" when we eat lunch. The prayer candle is actually something called a "Peace Pot" that I bought when I was on retreat. My original plan was to have one meal a week where we light the candle and do a special prayer in addition to our nightly grace, but that hasn't happened so far. Still, the fact that Chiara -- who has an ulterior motive in that she likes to blow out the candle and "make a wish" -- has managed to help me keep a little piece of my prayerful silence is pretty impressive.

The silence shows up in other ways as well, like when I'm driving and would normally have the radio blasting. Now I find I drive in silence much of the time, sometimes just thinking and sometimes trying to make a God connection even as I drive. And, perhaps most noticeably, I find I am much more able to settle into the silence of yoga now that I have the experience of total retreat silence as a guide. When I go to my meditative yoga class at the YMCA, which is really very spiritual despite the fact that right outside the door is a room full of elliptical machines and weightlifters, I find the silence comes naturally. In fact, last night, as we prepared for a flow of yoga poses in honor of the Harvest Moon, which was magnificent as I drove home and it hovered behind some black rimmed clouds like something out of an El Greco painting, I felt almost as prayerful as I did on my retreat. As we finished our class with a relaxation pose and deep breathing, I was very conscious of the inhalations and exhalations, imagining that I was breathing in peace and compassion, love and understanding and breathing out anxiety and greed, jealousy and indifference. None of that would have happened, I don't think, without my silent retreat experience to fall back on.

And for those of you who are still hung up on the line where I mentioned that we did our yoga practice in honor of the Harvest Moon, thinking that perhaps that sounds too New Age-y, let me just remind you that it was our own St. Francis of Assisi who wrote the Canticle of Brother Sun and Sister Moon, and so I will close with a reflection on the very beautiful words written by St. Francis, who was an environmentalist before that word was even invented:

Most High, all-powerful, all-good Lord, All praise is Yours, all glory, all honour and all blessings.

To you alone, Most High, do they belong, and no mortal lips are worthy to pronounce Your Name.

Praised be You my Lord with all Your creatures,
especially Sir Brother Sun,
Who is the day through whom You give us light.
And he is beautiful and radiant with great splendour,
Of You Most High, he bears the likeness.

Praised be You, my Lord, through Sister Moon and the stars,
In the heavens you have made them bright, precious and fair.

Praised be You, my Lord, through Brothers Wind and Air,
And fair and stormy, all weather's moods,
by which You cherish all that You have made.

Praised be You my Lord through Sister Water,
So useful, humble, precious and pure.

Praised be You my Lord through Brother Fire,
through whom You light the night and he is beautiful and playful and robust and strong.

Praised be You my Lord through our Sister,
Mother Earth
who sustains and governs us,
producing varied fruits with colored flowers and herbs.
Praise be You my Lord through those who grant pardon for love of You and bear sickness and trial.

Blessed are those who endure in peace, By You Most High, they will be crowned.

Praised be You, my Lord through Sister Death,
from whom no-one living can escape. Woe to those who die in mortal sin! Blessed are they whom death will find doing Your most holy will, for the second death shall do them no harm.

Praise and bless my Lord and give Him thanks,
And serve Him with great humility.
-- St. Francis of Assisi

Finding St. Francis in a parking lot

Now that my blog is here and my website is over there, I tend not to link to my Life Lines columns each month, which is just silly isn't it? I mean, a link is a link. So, please click HERE if you would like to read my column on the connection between St. Francis and my minivan. Intrigued? I hope so. The column has been getting some good feedback. In fact, it has led to an invitation to speak at Saratoga Central Catholic High School in the near future. An auditorium full of teen-agers -- how scary is that? I figure if I survived high school the first time around, I can make it through one more hour, right? RIGHT?!?