March 2, 2025

The sermon related the story of Jesus walking amid the crowd after the Transfiguration, and the man running out and crying, “Master, look at my son, my only child!” The grief I felt relating to him was unbearable. Glad I was seated in the back row behind people taller than myself. Recalled later when I was in Israel our guide stopping at a service station for our comfort, then pointing casually to the hill across the road, “And that is the Mount of the Transfiguration.” 

Revising. . . proofreading. . . unsure that anything will come to anything. 

Terrible world, terrible age. I don’t know what to do.