The changes of Vatican II and the turmoil of the civil-rights and anti-war movements made for heady days, and Sister Corita Kent’s art further exemplified the times.
Around the dining room table, paisanas from the old country cut and wove strips of palm into intricate crosses and flowers, and Grandpa, eyes shining, told stories.
After he died a bunch of us were playing basketball one night, in one of the parks where we used to play summer-league ball—eight of us. And then this thing happened
Though many Westerners think of Iran as a theocratic monolith, Christians of various kinds consider it home and see the Shiite majority not as hosts but neighbors.
One day after Mass, my devout husband told me that he wanted to sign up for an hour of silent protest outside of the abortion center. I understood, of course.
When we visited Frigolet last year, we asked Joël what makes for a vital religious community. “New men,” he replied. Not money, not administrative acumen, but men.
If today the world and the self are devalued, as Walker Percy has suggested, art—particularly the novel— can awaken the reader to their recovery from '4 p.m. blues.'
My liturgical tastes used to tend toward the simple, but they’ve recently turned toward the chaotic.
In prewar Syria, I found a place of beauty, peace, and coexistence that most Westerners either never knew of or have already forgotten.
Reducing faith to political checklists can neither lift Christianity above the superficiality of bourgeois religion nor reverse the disaffiliation of the young.
Does Montaigne resemble the contemporary essayist who writes about faith? The short answer is that he does not—at least not in easily recognizable ways.
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