O Death, Where is Thy Sting?
O Saint Paul, what sting is death supposed to have? If it weren’t getting cold outside, a bee-sting would seem more imminent to me.
O Saint Paul, what sting is death supposed to have? If it weren’t getting cold outside, a bee-sting would seem more imminent to me.
The chief issue with Bishop Barron’s letter is whether or not in attempting to assuage concerns, he may be acting to mute the criticisms and lull the rank and file back into complacency.
For all Barron’s undoubted goodwill, his appeals cannot help seeming glib, and even slightly evasive.
There is no word in the modern vocabulary so abused as the word “freedom” (with the notable exception of “literally,” the misuse of which figuratively kills me).
The mass shooting has become the signature horror of our time and place. Such events have become monstrously common, and yet we seem to understand them no better today than we did twenty years ago.
At the end of the day, there is no substitute for real human contact. We Catholics need to find people whose hearts are open to the transforming work of the Holy Spirit and make them a part of our lives.
Even better, what should it mean to be a Catholic? This straightforward question should admit to a simple and straightforward answer.
Catholics can no longer deliver the vote, as once we did. And the reason is simple: too many of us are unwilling to do the hard, responsible work of a free people.