In the cross of Christ, God sunders God’s self to draw us and those whom we love into God’s life, which is pure relationship, a love that precedes existence.

After Pascal’s death, a note, written in his own hand, was discovered, sewn into the lining of his coat. He felt compelled to record the moment when the God about whom one might speculate became his living God.

We have a cycling liturgical year because the truths of our faith are larger than we can receive all at once. Perhaps ashes say it best, but even they can’t say it all, not all at once.

Reading sacred Scripture or watching a televised Eucharist can be powerful meditations, but neither rises to the level of sacrament, the mystery by which Christ promises his presence to his church.

God is ever ancient, ever new, ever the same, but we were created to wax and to wane.

There are two marks that tell us we are in the presence of something, someone, not ourselves: desire and fear.