Of Many Things

One benefit of taking a vow of poverty is that it greatly simplifies Christmas shopping. I realized this during my first year as a Jesuit novice, when our monthly stipend (or personalia, in Jesuit lingo) was set at $35. That year my family and friends, who had long been used to receiving numerous gi

East Harlem stands out as one of the poorest sections of Manhattan, where a faith-based organization—the Little Sisters of the Assumption Family Health Service (www.littlesistersfamily.org)—has been helping families cope with poverty-related problems for four decades. “Our mission

The name Kateri Tekakwitha may not strike chords of recognition in the minds of many readers, nor did it in mine until I made a retreat this past summer at the Shrine of the North American Martyrs in Auriesville, N.Y. The shrine is dedicated primarily to eight French Jesuits who came to evangelize w

Three years ago I had the pleasure of introducing John R. Donahue, S.J., as our Word columnist. He joined the roster of successors to Vincent P. McCorry, S.J., who had written the column for 20 years until 1973: Thomas H. Stahel, S.J., George McCauley, S.J., Joseph A.Tetlow, S.J., John C. Hawley, S.

Every Jesuit novice is required to make a 30-day retreat, during which he is encouraged to pray for the graces of poverty and humility, for insults and persecutions in the name of Christ and, most important, for growth in love for all, especially of the poor, as Jesus loves them. I tried my best to

Spending three decades as a married couple in the same difficult apostolate—prison reform—represents no small achievement. Charlie and Pauline Sullivan are co-founders of CURE, a grassroots organization that is celebrating its 30th anniversary this year (www.curenational.org). My first e

It was Good Friday 1998. I had concluded that a missionary’s life (even for a Jesuit novice) was miserably difficult. Homesick and exhausted from endless walking, sunburn, lack of food and complete powerlessness, I desperately sought a break from my work as a teacher in the ghettoes of Kingsto

Small art galleries abound in Manhattan, and one of them—the AXA Gallery—is only a few blocks from America House. During the summer it featured an exhibit called “Testimony: Vernacular Art of the African American South.” I stopped by to see it several times, drawn by the work

William Lloyd Garrison—when I first saw that name on a headstone in the Forest Hills Cemetery near Boston last year, it struck only a small note of recognition. But this past June, I again visited the area and once more stood before the two-tiered but simple monument. This time, though, it wa