Faith in Focus

I had been a widower for almost two years when I met Beth. I had anticipated staying single for the rest of my life. Sharon had been a wonderful wife and mother; when she died of cancer in her early 50’s, I grieved deeply. The Lord, however, blessed me with the opportunity to find a transcende

"We have to close parishes.” “Many of our young priests are very conservative.” “So many couples who come to be married in church or to have their babies baptized don’t have a clue about the faith. People call themselves Catholic but have nothing to do with the Chu

To celebrate my 50th birthday, my sister, brother-in-law and their three kids took me on vacation for two weeks to Alaska. It was a wonderful summer vacation, with spectacular scenery and memorable moments. Midway through the vacation, my sister Mary Beth, her husband, Dominic, and I had the opportu

I'm 77 and retired, a priest, a celibate. You may be like me. Or you may be married still, with or without your spouse. You may be a parent, a grandparent or, God bless you, a great-grandparent. Or you may be single, young, with the expectation of many years ahead. In any event, I hope each of y

Some came because of their faith. Some came to speak out for social justice. Some came for political reasons. They were there, as they are every year on Nov. 19-21. But was their presence enough? More than 13,000 people, many of them college students, converged on the city of Columbus, Ga., to prote

Last Sunday evening I had one of the more remarkable telephone conversations of my life. At first I simply heard a man’s cultured voice, with a smooth and soft foreign accent, very politely say, “Father Gelson?” “Yes.” “Father, do you remember a scouting trip to D

I prayed over a dead man today. His name was Jocelyn, and he had only one leg. His other leg had been amputated “not too long ago due to complications from sugar,” said the man in the adjacent bed. That man’s legs had both been amputated at the knees. I guessed Jocelyn had been in

There is a chip in the paint on my bunk bed where Keith hanged himself. Like everything else in prison, penitentiary paint is cheap. Even a suicide’s shoestring rope is enough to nick it. That scratch is all that is left of Keith now. In the year or so that we shared a cell, Keith and I never

Among my New York City circle of friends, I am considered to be the best read. This is not because I am the most educated or gifted with the highest I.Q. It is because I have the longest commute. When one lives in the outer borroughs, as our less enlightened, Manhattan-centric brethren call them, on

This particular Sunday was not different from any other summer Sunday at Nuestra Señora del Rosario parish in Mexicalicapital of the state of Baja California in Mexico. It was scorching hot, with people milling about, finding shelter in a bit of shade in the patio fronting the church, and ladies se