Last month in Ottawa, the Anglican Catholic Church — not to be confused with either the Anglican Church of Canada or the Catholic Church — consecrated two new bishops. According to all reports, it was a moment of celebration for the small denomination, which, some 30 years ago, split off from mainstream Anglicanism over the ordination of women.

Among the initiatives of the Second Vatican Council aimed at making the church’s ancient rites more accessible to God’s people, the reforms and translations of the Mass have been the most successful, as well as the most controversial. Less successful, however, have been the attempts to bring the Liturgy of the Hours — the church’s majestic daily prayer — out of the cloister and the priest’s study and into the daily life of Christians.

As one of those who opposed U.S. military intervention in Iraq from the outset of this adventure four years ago, I would have liked the quick official response of the American Catholic bishops to President George Bush's recent decision to boost U.S. military force in Iraq to go further than it did, and declare the intervention to be immoral at its very core. As it stands, however, the statement issued on Jan. 12 by Bishop William S. Skylstad, president of the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops, is wise and sensible counsel about the extraordinarily difficult situation faced by the Western principals in the conflict.

Long before the execution of Saddam Hussein in late December, the world had come to understand clearly the character and career of the former Iraqi dictator. He was a man of blood in the baleful tradition of earlier strong men in the modern era: murderous and cruel, vengeful, suspicious and infinitely jealous. He meted out terror and torture to his real or imagined enemies, and corrupted his society with the constant threat of violence. For the countless crimes they committed, Saddam and his henchmen deserved severe and lasting punishment.

The incident in Pope Benedict XVI's recent trip to Turkey that got the most vivid press coverage was his silent prayer, facing Mecca, in Istanbul's Blue Mosque. Given the vehement criticism and controversy that have dogged the Pope's steps ever since his remarks on Islam at Regensburg, such attention was probably inevitable.

The campaigns that precede U.S. general elections are always wonderful events. Speeches ring with high melodrama and gaudy patriotism, every pundit with anything to say (and many with nothing to say) are continuously paraded in front of television's bright lights. Accusations of villainy fly from every corner, and every candidate presents himself or herself as the saviour of a nation descending into ruin.

Public protests against globalization — vociferous, often tumultuous affairs — gained momentum from the mid-1990s onward, peaking around the turn of the new millennium. Then, for reasons that are imperfectly understood, the potential Great Cause of a generation of young activists simply fizzled.

I have lately taken to reading about God’s holy ones, as we find their doings and sayings condensed and compiled in such compendia as Butler’s Lives of the Saints and The Oxford Books of Saints. It’s an activity I can recommend to anyone who wants to broaden his or her understanding of God’s wonderful work in transfiguring and renewing human life. It is also fascinating to visit far-distant Christians (and not so distant ones) and get a sense of their struggles — which are often quite similar to the ones we face in modern times.

Last week, I went to see director Neil Burger's seductively charming (and faintly sinister) new film The Illusionist. The story has to do with a young magician (excellent Edward Norton) in Vienna, circa 1900, who falls in love with a titled aristocrat (Jessica Biel), much to the annoyance of the lady's suitor, the Austrian crown prince (Rufus Sewell). This tale is intriguing and the photography is sumptuous — though that's not why I am bringing up the film now.