This is the theological virtue we call hope: remaining open to what will come, to whatever God determines. And what that might be, we truly do not know, no matter how certain we might think that we are.

So often what we consider to be interruptions can become invitations. We only need to ask, “What is it that you are saying, dear Lord?”

Believers who oppose abortion are not doing so by divine dictate. On the contrary, though our ethical thought is certainly inspired by our religious faith, it is not directly derived from it.

Our eschatology became focused upon place rather than person, but that is a fundamental distortion of the Gospel preached by the disciples.

A life lived in the Gospel makes demands upon us. If it does not, we need to look again. Maybe we are not living such a life.

With Vatican II and the return of the sacred liturgy to the faithful, Corpus Christi seemed to become a relic of an earlier, deprived spirituality. But the church tends to rearrange her treasures rather than abandon them.

Even with the clarity of later church teaching, we still struggle to avoid a multitude of misleading notions about the Most Holy Trinity. One such misconception comes from the ancient institution we call monarchy.

The Holy Spirit exists because the Father and the Son, together, are more than the sum of their parts.

The Lord did not withhold his kingdom from his first disciples, nor does he keep it from us.

The great mistake that many make in what they call their spiritual lives is to believe that they do not need words to be in communion with God.