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I had a chance to visit California. The state of California has always fascinated me from the time I entered the novitiate. Robert Herzer, an American, was my spiritual director, a TOR Franciscan priest from Sacred Heart Province, Loretto, Pennsylvania. He had a big collection of cowboy stories by famous writers like Louis L'Amour. For recreational purposes, I used to borrow some of the cowboy stories, and I read a lot about California and the hunt for gold dust.
In May of 2003 when I visited California, I stayed with Franciscans at many old missions. It was a ten-day program. I visited Sacramento, San Francisco, and Los Angeles. The trip by train from Sacramento to San Francisco was fabulous; the scenery as we traveled by the San Francisco Bay was beautiful. Even though the scenery was magnificent, at times I felt some of the loneliness that all of us feel during moments of our lives, especially when we are alone or have just left someone we are close to and, once again, we are by ourselves.
That loneliness was sharpened into something like pain as I watched the lights of the houses come on and the dusk thicken and settle as I sat looking through the window at San Francisco Bay. Always, there in the background, sorrow haunts the human race, as day turns into night and night breaks into daylight, and as one season takes us to another season. This restlessness and loneliness leaves a mark on our lives. Finally, one day we are separated from our loved ones, separated from our friends and relatives as we encounter the last night of all the nights, death. Who can understand and articulate what we experience in the cosmos of space and time? Is anyone really in control? Space and time and the cosmic realities move us onward toward our death, which separates us from our fellow human beings, tearing our momentary peace, tranquility, and happiness as pilgrims on the face of the earth. Each year goes by and we see the leaves color, darken, and fall. We see our friends sick and our relatives dying; we see them facing financial loss. Children leave their homes for war or military service. We wake up in the morning, pain in our joints and marks of aging on our bodies. We wonder and are afraid to ask the question, "Can life be saved?" Usually, we try hard to hold onto life with its relationships, possessions, hopes, dreams, and desires. We are powerless to possess life. We are unable to control our life for another moment. As I was approaching San Francisco, I began to feel better. I experienced an intense joy deep in my heart. The joy of being a committed priest for the Lord. Like St. Francis of Assisi who said, "Pietro Bernadone is no longer my father," from now on I can say with complete freedom, 'Our Father, who art in heaven.' And I prayed, "Our Father...." We have only one hope, Jesus Christ, who by bearing
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