‘We’re the original hippies!” Father Bernard broke into a mischievous grin, white teeth flashing in the spring afternoon sun. We were talking about the Trappist lifestyle: four hours of manual labor six days a week to earn enough to support the community; the rest of the time spent

November is the month for remembering the dead, and with cold weather rendering the lives of homeless people even more difficult, my own remembrance of the dead focuses on a Catholic Worker named Michael Kirwan. The third anniversary of his death from cancer was Nov. 12.   I met Michael two dec

Just after I leave the church and step into the sparkling sunlight on the way to my car, a woman I hadn’t noticed before comes up to me. A recent widow, she speaks, at first hesitantly, about her faith not helping her when she needs it most. It has been a year since her husband died, and she f

I drove to a retreat house in Wilmington, Del., wondering how I had come to this point in my life. Up until two months earlier, I felt only animosity for the Catholic religion and disdain for its teachings. But now I had driven an hour away from my home, to be with people I didn’t know, on a r

It was unusually hot that July afternoon. Cara had just asked me for some more water so that the sand would pack better. Sweating, frustrated and with a two-year-old getting the best of me, I said to myself, “What are you doing?” Here I was stuck in the backyard, trapped in a sandbox, an

Motherhood is monastic. Walking into Gethsemane Abbey during Night Prayer, I had to catch my breath. Not one to be swept up by hero worship, even of such a worthy figure as Thomas Merton (or for that matter, Kathleen Norris), I had braced myself to be critical. Nevertheless, entering the chapel, sea