It is faith that makes us ready for heaven. And what is faith? Stubbornly seeing purpose in this life—stubbornly because sometimes it does take a great effort—that others cannot see.

Young advocates of the Tridentine liturgy like to believe that it was always celebrated with great beauty and dignity. Older Catholics know that this is not true.

The question and the charge we are given by the Lord remains the same: Do you love me? Keep your eyes on me!

Adults envy the wonder that kids can find in the everyday world, while kids resent being told that so much of the world is off-limits to them, that they must not touch, not taste, not take into their own hands.

In preaching Christ crucified, the church reveals both our guilt and our redemption. A love that cannot step free of self eventually kills what it loves.

We have always wanted to be God, to claim the right of truth, to receive and not to give. Yet on this night, Jesus pours it all away, our very understanding of God, over our feet and into a basin to be pitched.

In so many of our resurrection accounts it is the voice, not the face, that reveals the presence of the living, resurrected Christ.

Perhaps we need to go slower with shame. It is too powerful a tool to wield carelessly.

We all live in the dark, in the dust. If we are going to assail evil where we find it, what of the evil we do not see in ourselves?

The issue is spiritual hunger. Where do we wander when we fail to recognize it, and how might awareness of it bring us home?