I never imagined Eucharist could smell like beef stew—until it did. Church bells toll across campus. Each gong sings through the early evening air with...
Author - Jessie Bazan
Walk slowly, and bow often. Mary Oliver nestles this sage piece of advice in the middle of her poem “When I Am Among the Trees.” It’s a poem I committed to...
“I would hear white students use the n-word freely.” “Sophomore year, the professor assumed that because I was Black, I attended an inner-city school and grew...
Right now, there is a city—and a people—on fire. Hundreds are flooding Minneapolis streets to demand justice for George Floyd: a fiancé, a father, and as of...
From death sprouts new life. I walk among trees that know the pain of dying. The wise elders that live in my local arboretum weather their share of storms...
My friend Teresa tells an endearing story of her second-grade self beaming with pride as she returned home from school one day carrying a picture of St...
It’s late morning on the Tuesday of Holy Week. I’m fumbling around my desk when an email flashes across the computer screen. “homily partner?” reads the...
Do you ever notice what you don’t see? Hang with me—I know the question seems strange. Those of us gifted with the ability to see count on our eyes to alert us...
When words become flesh . . . It happened to me for the first time in first grade. The Milwaukee Catholic Herald published my writing as part of a Catholic...
