The Title
I like the titles of some of the classic books of the spiritual life. I liked the name of St. John of the Cross’ Ascent to Mount Carmel (I never read it) but I had no great devotion to Carmel, so I initially wanted to call this album Ascent to Mount Zion. My family convinced me that this was too wordy, so it was shortened to Mount Zion. Theologically, this is rich because Mount Zion was the site of the city of Jerusalem in Israel, the place of the worship of God. Mount Zion also symbolizes the Heavenly Jerusalem where we will worship before His eternal throne for all eternity in paradise.
 

Open Up the Doors
This one is dedicated to one of the most Christ-like people I’ve ever been privileged to meet, my mentor Sr. Mary Catherine Conway, DC. All of the seminarians from Mount St. Mary’s seminary attended Mass at the Daughters of Charity motherhouse in Emmitsburg, MD on the Feast of St. Joseph. I was playing organ for the Mass, and during Msgr. Rohlfs’ homily, I was suddenly struck with both the words and the music for the chorus. Luckily since I was in the choir loft, I could discreetly write them down without anyone noticing.

The Journey Continues
I’ve always liked the idea of our walk with Christ being a journey into uncharted wilderness. Who knows where He will lead us next? I wrote this song in Steubenville right before graduating, about to "set out" into unknown lands of the future!

Libations
The opening chord of this song was invented by Mike Silloway on a classical guitar in a small upper room off of Via San Paolo in Assisi. I liked the sound of it so I decided to write it into a song. It was only fitting that since I was in Italy, I used the imagery of olive oil and grapes, the two staples of Italian diet. The lyrics describe a psalm-like questioning of the Lord in the face of suffering that seems meaningless, which is what I was going through at the time.

Stillness
I wrote this song in Assisi. I and my friend Mike Silloway had walked up the long mountain trail to the quiet, peaceful hermitage where St. Francis had prayed so long ago. Situated in the lush valley in between two mountains, we sat there on the wall overlooking the hermitage and watched the clouds gathering overhead for a storm. I was suddenly struck with a sense of great peace in that holy place, and Psalm 131 immediately came to mind. The music and lyrics came all at once here.

Broken Unto You
As one grows closer to Christ, they realize more and more their own weaknesses and their own brokenness. It is only by coming to Him through our brokenness that He can truly transform our lives.

I’m Ready
The opening line of this song I found on my friend Charlie Hoppes’ Instant Messenger Buddy Info. Underneath of the words, “Lord, I’m willing, and this time I’m ready,” he had the Scripture quotation from Isaiah 40:39. I looked it up and was inspired by it because that’s what I was going through in life at the time so I decided to write it into a song.

We’re Christians (Or That’s What We Claim)
I don’t remember much about this song, just that I wrote it in my junior year at Steubenville, in the small music practice room in the St. Joseph Center.

I Look At You
At Steubenville, I had so many beautiful lady-friends. It was always a challenge to keep my eyes on Christ and my eyes on my vocation when I knew so many holy, beautiful women. This is my song to all of them to express the joy and freedom of doing God’s will, even amidst being distracted by their beauty and true spiritual loveliness.

Song of Joy
I wrote this song at Mount Saint Mary's Seminary, on a silent retreat. I hope that it expresses the true joy that comes from knowing, following, and loving the Lord.

I Cannot Offer You
I was reading the biography of St. Francis de Sales, and getting more and more discouraged by his holiness (or rather, the exaggeration of his pious biographer). I had none of his talents or piety to offer to the Lord, so I wrote a song about what I could offer Him.

Holding On
This was, indeed, the final song that I wrote at Franciscan University of Steubenville, a week before I graduated. It’s a mournful tune about leaving places and doing God’s will despite personal sadness. I remember sitting in my room on the ground floor, looking out at the tree in our back yard which was blowing in the wind and the leaves were falling to the ground, even though they were still green. It was a very moving sight and an analogy of dying to self in the noontime of life.