Christ’s last prayer on earth was for unity. In John 17, He prayed that all of His followers may be one, just as He and the Father are one in the bond of their Holy Spirit. For most of the two millennia of the Church’s history, unity has been an elusive attainment.
I reflect on my father’s 95th birthday on Jan. 28, and his legacy as a Polish Catholic Holocaust survivor.
I recently signed an online petition at change.org. I’m not ordinarily a petition person, but this one caught my eye. It asked media organizations to show the diversity of the pro-life movement when covering the issue of abortion. It was developed by a group called The Consistent Life Network, and it took issue with the media feeding false stereotypes.
Although my body informs me otherwise, I still think of myself as somewhere between 37 and 39 years old (or is that my current waist size?).
By now, you have probably seen the heartwarming Polish Christmas ad that has been watched more than 12 million times. It tells the tale of an aging man trying to learn English alone at home, labeling household objects with Post-its before taking a trip to the United Kingdom and … actually, it is probably best if you watch the video: www.youtube.com/watch?v=tU5Rnd-HM6A (warning, there is some cursing at the 1:30 mark).
by Kathleen M. Gallagher, This year, my Christmas Moment came on Thanksgiving Day.
Once again, the Church year has begun with the season of Advent. This is a time of hope, of preparation, of expectation. Despite all past mistakes – globally, nationally or personally – we can open ourselves to a spiritual renewal. We are reminded once again that the coming of God into the world through Christ did not happen in a perfect world.
by Rita Piro, Christmas is for kids. How often have we heard this said? Or perhaps said it ourselves.
by Tara Franco, A few years back, as I was sitting on the couch watching television and snuggling with my Weimaraner, Lucy, I recall viewing the Cymbalta commercial for the very first time. On the surface, this commercial struck me because the depicted family also owned a large Weimaraner.
“Hurt, Hungry, Homeless. Need Food, Money, LOVE” (followed by a large heart drawn in bold marker) read the cardboard sign flat on the sidewalk. A dirty, disheveled man of indeterminate age lay next to the sign as the sun was setting on Mercer St. near Washington Square on a recent cold evening.
