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?

Dear Saints in Santa Fe, and other far-off places, Greetings in the name of Jesus Christ, who wept at the death of a friend. “Stop crying and don’t tell mom.” These were the first words I remember in my life.  I was two years old and crying in a teepee in Teepee Village at Ghost Ranch, long ago replaced by others building on the way toward Box Canyon, when I heard these words by my oldest brother as I cried on his lap.