By the mid-1940’s, St. Josemaria Escriva had witnessed the apostolate of Opus Dei, which he founded, beginning to spread throughout Spain and abroad.
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The liturgical prayers for the Solemnity of the Lord’s Ascension ask that we might follow Christ to the place where He has gone.
The idea that God called me right where I was with this husband and these children and the constant dirty dishes, dirty diapers, and dirty bathrooms was literally life altering. It gave meaning to who I was and what I was doing day in and day out.
By now we in the Church are very comfortable applying the term vocation to any state in life that aims at serving God. We use the word broadly to indicate that everyone’s life has something to contribute to the up-building of the kingdom of God on earth and the salvation of souls.
At the end of His earthly life, our Lord sought to teach His disciples how they would remain united to Him in His absence. They certainly wanted this, as their distress at Jesus’ imminent departure shows.
The story of two discouraged men making a long journey home after having witnessed the Lord’s grueling passion (Luke 24:13-35) is pure balm for the suffering soul, especially for any suffering in the ways St Josemaria indicates: having lost a sense of hope or of meaning in life.
You’ve begun to live the spiritual life in earnest. You say your daily prayers and make your daily meditation. Is there more?
What does the voice of the Good Shepherd sound like? Would you know it if you heard it?
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Perhaps no question comes more frequently to the sincere and devout person trying to live an authentic spiritual life than, “Am I doing it right?” Or, “Am I missing something?”
What does the simple, admirable life of the Holy Family tell us? What can we learn from it?
In the three-year cycle of readings for the Solemnity of Christ the King, it might seem strange to have Gospels that emphasize Christ’s weakness. Instead of seeing the Lord in triumph, we often see Him judged and condemned or hanging from the cross.
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A burning lamp is a Biblical symbol of vigilance, fidelity. Waiting servants, no less than the ten virgins of the wedding party, are expected to keep their lamps supplied with oil for one purpose: keeping the lamp’s light aflame. And that flame means much more than light to see by.
The fact that God can take away any problem he wishes, or hasten the end of some unpleasantness, might leave us imagining a whole ungainly mess of wasted time in God’s providence that could have been much better spent.
The Gospel of the beatitudes, appointed for the solemnity of All Saints, is God’s prescription for human holiness and happiness (see Mt 5:1-12), but they aren’t things that would naturally be your “first pick.”
I wonder what Philip was expecting to see when he made this request on behalf of all the Apostles: “Show us the Father and that will be enough for us” (Jn 14:8). What did he expect Jesus to show them?
To find our place in the heart of Mary, Mother of the Church, is unique—not so much the sentimental homecoming of popular song, but a place of rebirth in Christ.
The Gospel reading for the feast of St Joseph the Worker (Mt 13:54-58), presents us with a couple of pointed questions about Jesus: “Where did this man get this wisdom and these mighty works? Is not this the carpenter’s son?”
Before our Lord arrives at this scene of mourning and distress, He had allowed everything to get as bad as it could possibly have gotten. Lazarus had taken ill and died.
It is a feature of the Lenten Gospel readings for Year A that the events recounted are very vivid. The persons involved are so memorable, so human, so similar to us, that we have little trouble placing ourselves in these scenes, imagining that we are there.
When we think of St Joseph, patron of the universal Church, certain words come immediately to mind: faithful, just, obedient, silent. There is precious little information in Scripture about him, but these words always seem apt to describe his character.