The woman who washes Jesus' feet with her hair shows us the true meaning of hospitality and love.
Do you know what it is like to be invisible? To hear your friends talking about you behind your back? To be unable to walk down the street without being catcalled or whistled at? To be poor, to be homeless, to be without healthcare? To be a foster child, or a migrant worker, or to have a disability or chronic illness? To be told by the rest of the world that you don’t count?
How many of us know what it is it be known not as who we are, but only by the labels that society gives us? Sometimes they are fairly innocuous: Nerd, Hipster, Republican, Democrat. Sometimes they aren’t.
Let the ancient words of Mary, Zechariah, or Simeon leave their mark on your heart.
One of the most valuable experiences from my boarding school days—and one that has remained with me—is the habit of formal prayer. I remember praying the Nunc Dimittis at night prayer in the quiet of my high school chapel: “Now you may dismiss your servant, Lord, according to your word, in peace.” Just saying the words instilled a sense of peace.
Even in the bleakest winter months, the hope of Easter is always on the horizon.
Meet the many different portrayals of Jesus
It's not always easy for Catholics to develop a relationship with Jesus, as some try to mold the Son of God to fit his or her own needs. There's blond Jesus and black Jesus, socialist Jesus and capitalist Jesus, and even athlete Jesus and homeless Jesus. So how, exactly, do we experience Jesus in 2015? It's kind of all over the place--in fact, there's practically a Jesus for just about anyone:
Might Easter be just the time for a little holy humor?
This article appeared in the April 2000 issue of U.S. Catholic (Vol. 65, No. 4, page 49).
We are Catholic, therefore we celebrate. We can celebrate for weeks at a time, not to mention celebrating the 900th anniversary of Saint So-and-So. We have seasons of sorrow as well as joy. While the world needs joy, it also needs laughter.
c. 2015 Religion News Service
For Catholics, Episcopalians and some Lutherans, March 17 is the Feast Day of St. Patrick. For the rest of us, it’s St. Patrick’s Day — a midweek excuse to party until we’re green in the face. But who was Patrick? Did he really drive the snakes out of Ireland or use the shamrock to explain the Trinity? Why should this fifth-century priest be remembered on this day?
Q: Was St. Patrick a real guy, and would he approve of green beer?
When Bishop Diarmuid Martin was asked by Pope John Paul II in 2003 to leave his post at the Vatican and return to Dublin to eventually become its archbishop, the pope also lobbed this question at him: “How is it that secularization came to Ireland so quickly?” Martin has said that his unvarnished answer to that question would have been, “Your Holiness is wrong,” although of course he didn’t say that exactly. But he did tell the pope that secularization had been on the Irish radar for many years, even if few had realized it.
Cardinal Raymond Burke, quoted in a Religious News Service story today by David Gibson, appears to be blaming altar girls for the drop in priestly vocations.
“Young boys don’t want to do things with girls. It’s just natural,” Burke was quoted as saying. “It requires a certain manly discipline to serve as an altar boy in service at the side of (a) priest, and most priests have their first deep experiences of the liturgy as altar boys.”
(RNS) It’s a tough sell: A young, unmarried teenager gets pregnant, but the father isn’t a man but God himself. And the girl is a virgin—and (some believe) remains one even after she delivers a strapping baby boy.
That’s the story of the Virgin Birth, one of the central tenets of faith for the world’s 2 billion Christians. The story is embraced by every branch of Christianity, from Eastern Orthodoxy to Mormonism, Catholic, and Protestant.
The ranks of the saints are filled with men and women who risked their lives in battle. So why don’t military veterans have a patron of their own?
In the parish church of my youth, my family often sat under a stained glass window that depicted a poor man lying on the ground with his hand out to the Roman officer towering over him. Oddly, the soldier was cutting his own cloak in two. It was a long time before I learned that the Roman was St. Martin of Tours, a patron saint of soldiers.