There is a palace on a mountain that beckons from time to time. All are welcome, and tourists, many from outside the Church, move quietly through the peace and beauty without having to be shushed. I am speaking of Holy Hill, home of the über-Germanic basilica and giant Carmelite monastery.
It’s a treasure, and it’s right in our backyard.
On the feast of the Annunciation, I went up the mountain. It wasn’t part of my plan for the day. Holy woman that I am, I overslept and missed the early morning Masses. My family and I packed ourselves into the family van and aimed it north, hoping to make 10:15 confessions at Holy Hill before the 11am Mass. Two sacraments and a solemnity at a basilica, on a weekday? Yes, and in Milwaukee, folks.