It’s morning on Easter Sunday, and I’m trying to finish this column in time to make noon Mass at Baltimore’s St. Peter Claver Roman Catholic church. I was baptized the first week of 1952 in this parish named for the Spanish priest who opposed the slave trade and became the champion and advocate for slaves in the New World.

Once Mass is over, I’ll probably head home on this holiest of Christian holidays to ponder something I’ve been thinking about for quite some time:

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