The devil’s “territory,” apart from those “kingdoms of the world” he claimed as his own when tempting Christ, might be difficult to map out—it was, after all, into the swept and tidied house that the unclean spirit returned with a company of devils worse than himself (cf. Lk 4:5; Mt 12:43-45).
The Lord wants us always to bear in mind two things: the mercy we have received, and where that mercy comes from: the Cross of Jesus.
I’d like to have a moment of your time. I’m not asking for myself, but on behalf of the Lord Jesus.
Our own “desert” to which Christ is calling us might be anything from a private home, to an office cubicle, to a city street. Wherever the contents of our hearts can and should be revealed, there the Bridegroom awaits us.
Anyone who has ever tried to be happy by changing their mailing address or some other merely cosmetic, outward change, has discovered the truth of the saying: Happiness is an inside job.
When the Magi prostrated themselves before Christ, what sentiments must have filled their hearts? They must have thought: All of our hardship was worth it.
The readings for the Mass of Christmas night highlight several appearances: from Isaiah, a light has shone; in St Paul, The grace of God has appeared; in St Luke’s Gospel, the angel of the Lord appeared, followed by a multitude of the heavenly host.
In a season when Mary’s responsiveness to God’s will is continually before us, the Church in her Advent liturgy invites us not only to reflect on her perfect obedience but also to imitate it.
Whenever our Lady appears on earth it is to remind us of something that we are neglecting. She never comes to reveal something new, but to express in a new and forceful way what we should already know.
Although we might associate St Teresa’s spirituality with the extraordinary—with her numerous visions, locutions, and ecstasies—yet for her, these were never the main issue, much less the goal of her prayer.
In her poem “Why I Love You, O Mary!”, Saint Therese of Lisieux says that the Blessed Virgin teaches her how to weep and rejoice—what to have sorrow for and what to rejoice over.
St Josemaria often evokes images of fire and light to show how the Christian faith is spread from one heart to another.
All sorts of questions fill the air on Easter morning, on that first morning of our new life: “Who will roll us back the stone?” “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom do you seek?”
“And the crowds that went before him and that followed him shouted, ‘Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest!’” (Mt 21:9).
The gospel appointed for the Solemnity of St Joseph just might break all the rules for discipleship. Jesus asks to be followed, but here He has effectively hidden Himself from His parents.
A friend of mine once told me: “You are never freer than when you are doing God’s will, and never less free than when you are doing your own.” There you have the Annunciation.
One of the highest compliments we can pay to a place is to say: I feel at home here.
Looking creates responsibility, especially when looking means seeing another’s distress… The first reading for the Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross features a look that saves.
Nothing disappoints more than misplaced hope. And maybe nothing is easier to misplace than our hope. From time to time we are all tempted to put our hopes for happiness, even for a kind of salvation, in people whom we idealize or future circumstances we imagine will be perfect.
Saint Josemaria portrays the Blessed Virgin as a unifying force or common bond among the children of God. What better image to have before us as we celebrate Mary as Refuge of Sinners…
