Faith in Focus

We are pilgrim people, marching through time but anchored in eternity. We are waiting for a new life to unfold as we celebrate a life that we already own. This is our Christian existence. The gift of hope keeps our eyes on the future; that same hope secures our existence here and now. Hope has an im

The mark of authentic Christianity has always been a paradox: it is thoroughly rooted in the earth (God’s creation) and entirely bent on moving toward heaven (God himself). It is a dynamic balance if there ever was one. The virtue of hope is not different. How could it be? It is as human as ca

We are pilgrim people. So the Second Vatican Council proclaimed 16 times in its documents. Ever since Catholics heard these words, they have echoed them in songs and chants: we are pilgrims on the march, “for here we have no lasting city, but we seek the city which is to come” (Heb 13:14

I was traveling toward a major metropolitan area on the last day of a long holiday weekend. You can picture the scene: as far as the eye could see, both lanes were clogged, moving slowly. It was the sort of traffic that leaves only one option: double the expected travel time, find an entertaining ra

"Our mission statement? When people ask us what it is, we just tell them Matthew 25—the section about welcoming the stranger, feeding the hungry and clothing the naked,” said Mark Zwick. I was speaking with Mark and his wife, Louise, about the Houston Catholic Worker, which this yea

In the summer of 1975, I met Paul Dent, S.J. I was passing through Chicago and stopped to visit a friend who was spending the summer at Loyola University. He invited me to stay for dinner, and we decided to go to a late afternoon Mass before we ate. The Mass was held in the basement of a Jesuit resi

Last week, over our Wednesday morning cup of coffee, a conservative Christian friend smiled as she told me I am the most conservative liberal she has ever met! There was a time when this would have brought anything but a smile to my face. But that day, I laughed out loud. I thanked her for recognizing in me a hard-fought battle that has landed me smack dab in the middle of the road.

On Nov. 11, 1841, a 63-year-old woman named Catherine McAuley was dying of tuberculosis in a commodious house on Baggot Street in southeast Dublin. Some years earlier, after she had come into a considerable fortune, she had had this building constructed for what she called “works of mercy.”

For someone who came onto the world stage over 26 years ago as a vibrant and active runner, swimmer and skier, Pope John Paul II’s suffering throughout his almost 85 years of life is especially memorable. Many of us, at difficult times in our lives, identified with him. His intense suffering i