Dear Saints in Santa Fe, and other far-off places, Greetings in the name of Jesus Christ, whose life expressed a deeper joy. It was in a Florida outfield some 20 years ago.  My Ohio church gave me a gift for my ten-year anniversary with them as pastor.  One early suggestion was a week on a silent retreat in a monastery somewhere, but wiser ideas prevailed, and they surprised me with a week at Fantasy Camp with the Cleveland Indians.

Dear Saints in Santa Fe, and other far-off places, Greetings in the name of Jesus Christ, who saw, listened, and asked questions. Where is God? Whether one believes in God or simply lives in these tumultuous times, the question bubbles up from the soul. Where is God? Where is compassion? Where is hope? The Israeli hostages, the beleaguered hospitals in Gaza, the cries from mourning families following yet another bombing, in the rubble, in the anguish, in all the unspeakable ways humans treat each other, the plaintive question arises again, and again, where is God?