When we truly give ourselves to prayer, we know that we are in the presence of another—not always but rather often without any doubt.

Fast food makes only one promise. That it is fast. Christ promises to feed us with food that will last.

To preach Jesus is primarily to preach a path, a call to action, not ethical precepts.

We need some comforting, all of us. A moment when we are drawn away from our troubles, a slice of life without its accompanying sorrows.

It does not matter that you have already given your love to Jesus. Romance is a living thing. You either nourish it or it dies.

On this day, under the appearance of bread and wine, Christ claims creation itself to be his eucharistic body and blood.

It is tempting to want to change the words of the 2011 Roman Missal. But we shouldn't—part of the point of ritual is its seeming changelessness.

A father is a father even when he is absent.

Christ did not rise from the dead to roam the cosmos. He rose from the dead to enter each human heart, to dwell there as a love that never dies, never diminishes.

Christ has carried our humanity into God. This means that we matter, that what happens to the least of us matters.