Faith • Grief • History • Hope
Faith • Grief • History • Hope
There is a phrase I have used for years to describe my spiritual life: My home is Christianity, but I have many cottages. Christianity is home. It is the place from which I understand God and humanity, love and suffering,…
Tonight, at the opening Mass of the DELTA Summit on AI, Faith and Human Flourishing at the University of Notre Dame, Cardinal Blase Cupich asked a question that has become increasingly difficult to avoid: What does it mean to be…
There are some places in New England where simply living somewhere does not necessarily mean you are from there. I was born in the Houghs Neck section of Quincy. My family lived in the Neck for more than sixty years,…
For many children, the death of an animal is their first encounter with grief. What the adults around them say, and how we say it, matters.
We lift it high so that we can see it, but we must resist the temptation to climb upon it and make it a throne.
Twenty-five years after September 11, we remember. But memory raises a deeper question: what do we do with the wounds we carry? Forgiveness does not change the past, but by the grace of God, it can change the past’s claim upon our future.
Twenty-five years after September 11th, our grief has become more complicated. Some carry the deeply personal grief of someone they loved and lost; others carry the collective grief of a world that changed before our eyes. And now a generation has come of age knowing September 11th only as history. As memory passes from one generation to another, perhaps the question is no longer simply whether we will remember, but what our remembering will make of us.
Artificial intelligence can assist with research, biblical interpretation, writing, and even pastoral preparation. But the central ethical question is not simply whether pastors use AI. It is what we ask these tools to do, and whether we surrender responsibilities that belong to the relationship between pastor and people.
Christian hope trusts that the future belongs to God. It does not give politicians permission to hasten catastrophe, baptize political agendas as “God’s work,” or treat the end of the world as an acceptable outcome. The end of history belongs to God. Our calling is to love our neighbors while we are here.
What does it mean to let love be genuine in a world that so often rewards anger, contempt, and division? Paul offers another way: a Spirit-led life in which our convictions do not require enemies, goodness becomes something we practice, and we refuse to let the darkness around us determine the people we become.