Worshipping with families of Antiochian Christians in Philadelphia, you are an interloper. At the coffee hour, they pile your plate with pastries—"you are new, yes?"
Despite hard work, sound planning, lifestyle adjustments, and unusually well-behaved Irish genes, I find myself—to paraphrase Yeats—“where all the ladders” end.
Can we become spiritually tougher by means of small self-mortifications? Perhaps hair shirts do have a place in authentic Catholic spirituality...
A story about becoming the aged and infirm Jesus has called you to love, or, "the tenderness of the Trinity playing itself out on another level."
I spent hours into the night in my small convent room, praying that I would get through the next day's lessons without breaking down or bolting. Bolting from Edward.
A low voice emerged: “Welcome to my home. Please, sit.” My host and I shook hands, and I took the chair opposite. I remember the details because he was a terrorist.
When a person is in pain or becomes ill, and then tells you—what do you say?
On boarding I realized we’d committed to the wrong car: A subway preacher was in full roar. For a Catholic schoolgirl from Milwaukee, this was quite dramatic.
In the end, after all, the experience of a Christian death amounts to an act of trust, which is just another name for faith.
Seeing Catholicism through Muriel Spark's conversion; understanding the creed through her narrators.
Have we become afraid that the stench of poverty will rub off on us if we spend too much time in the company of those the Gospel calls us to serve?