Morning Star

He stopped in mid-sentence. Not a child or adult stirred. His face was beet red. His voice was choked. No one had to search Fr. Peter Tân's face. We all knew he was crying. It was the way he was. A man of tears. It worried a lot of parishioners that a priest who could cry so frequently in front of his flock would not be able to lead a parish. They forgot that Jesus wept. (John 11:15) They forgot that Jesus never had a one-year, three-year, or five-year plan. They forgot that Jesus, the high priest, never built a multi-million dollar facility. Jesus came to sick people's houses. Jesus blessed and held little children. Jesus asked his friends and followers to have a little more faith. That is why tears flowed freely at St. Peter's Vietnamese Catholic Parish the past Sunday. They knew they were losing a good priest. Hours and weeks poured into the farewell Mass and reception. This week we're losing another good priest. One who told good stories. One who worked late and w

I bit into the soft chestnut-colored pit. An acrid bitter taste filled my mouth. "Thu, have you ever eaten a boiled avocado pit before," I asked her calmly. "Oh no! I just thought if we could eat a durian or a jackfruit pit, we could eat this too!" she replied enthusiastically. I continued to chew the avocado pit with relish, hiding my spontaneous distaste of its harsh aroma. "Wow! Well, when I was boiling it, the water turned a gorgeous burnt sienna color." "Let me cut off a little piece and enjoy it." Sr. Leslie Thu popped it in her mouth and I watched carefully. She wrinkled her face in horror and ran into the kitchen to grab a piece of chocolate to wipe out the avocado seed's pungent aftertaste. The other sisters at the table watched in surprise. I burst out laughing. "Oh, Thu!!! Gotcha!!! How could I let this opportunity go!" I cried out. "Geez Van, you look so calm eating that pit. Who would've guessed it was gr

Beep, beep, beep. Blinking red light. "Ma'am, please step aside." The airport security official motioned to me firmly. I smiled pleasantly and thought: who knows a terrorist might travel as a nun. It was curious how I would set off the metal detector because the other nuns in my community never had a problem. You know we wear the same thing! As I was waiting for a female officer to pat me down, my suitcase got nabbed too. I began to get worried. Sr. Irene Khanh had insisted that I bring back presents to Irving. It meant that besides my clothes, books, and laptop, I was also carrying two packages of American sharp cheddar cheese. The usual kind. The kind they sell at Walmart. One knows better than to argue with Sr. Irene. It's like arguing with your aunt when she knits you an orange and purple scarf. Sister Irene was adamant that it was just cheese and I would be fine. Why am I creating a fuss when I know my sisters in Irving would enjoy it? The officers dug dee

"I want communion." She looked at me steadily. "I wish I could, ma'am. But I didn't bring Jesus with me today," I said as steadily. "I've been here since March. I can't wait to get out of here," she continued. "I need communion too," her husband added. It had taken Trúc and I 30 minutes to get to the rehab center when it was usually only a 3 minute drive. We were about to give up on the confusing detour signs. Until we saw another car drive the wrong way down the street and decided upon the same risk. We were about to leave the center when I heard a distinct comment. "Look, some nuns are leaving." Doris Jahn was wrapped in a soft tan afghan and did not appear any less formidable for being wheelchair-bound. "One nun, ma'am. One nun. My sister here is still in training," I turned around and said pleasantly, pointing to my aspirant Trúc. Every resident we encountered at the rehab center was an enigma.

The magic of reaching for the sky is to wrap your pale green arm around this metal and here - a net of soft balance. You are a climber have some faith reach through the empty space. Photo from a budding loofah garden at the convent.

The hospital orderly I asked didn't look too happy when he handed over his iPhone for me to borrow. As I was on the phone, an older gentleman gently waved his badge at us: "Chaplain" "I am a Zen Buddhist, studying catechism with a Jesuit priest, and graduated with a masters of divinity from a Church of Christ seminary." "And I'm Sr. Janine," I smiled in return. "Do you know where you need to be?" he asked helpfully. "Yes, I am go to back to where I got off the train." "May I ask you where you are from?" "Oh, you mean my ethnicity? I'm Vietnamese!" "That's what I thought. I studied with Thích Nhất Hạnh. May I walk you back?" I was in Saint Louis for a training workshop and decided to take the train to our convent instead of having my sisters pick me up from the airport, saving them an hour of rush traffic. After 40 minutes of watching others getting picked up and dropped off, I decid

"On the first day of marriage prep, I would say: Welcome to class. You have chosen your cross." The fifty-plus audience members laughed appreciatively. We were at the Lynch Auditorium at the University of Dallas and Father John McDermott,SJ was invited to speak this year in the John Paul II lecture series. "Yes, men and women do think differently. And once, the romantic stage is passed, you will encounter problems." The topic was "Marriage as the Primordial Sacrament." "According to Nicomachean Ethics, there are three types of friendship." Father John paused slightly. "Friendships of utility, friendships of pleasure, friendships of virtue." "Utility is a relationship of convenience, pleasure is delight in the company of another. Those would not last. Friendship of virtue? Well, it lasts because virtue is both useful and pleasurable." Today is a day in which we honor fools. Because we play the fool. And we let others