After effectively dying briefly three weeks ago, I’ve been thinking whether my survival really means God wants me to remain on Earth for a while yet.

The contested renaming of Montreal’s Lionel Groulx Metro station testifies to the power of Catholic history to shape our politics even as Catholic cultural memory dims.

At dinner during a recent event, a young journalistic rising star of decidedly Calvinist conviction acknowledged G.K. Chesterton’s Orthodoxy ranks among the most inspiring books he’s read.

Near the end of June, I pulled into our parish parking lot full of gumption at the resumption of Masses after four months of COVID-forced church closures.

The board of the Irene Thomas Hospice hoped faith alone could stop the onslaught of MAiD at the 10-bed palliative care facility on Vancouver’s southeast edge.

Cardinal Timothy Dolan offers up a much-needed reminder that a dangerous effect of toppling statues is forgetting we are all fallen human beings.

Deep into ESPN’s irresistible documentary The Last Dance, rumination turns to the specific qualities that catalyzed Michael Jordan’s leadership of six NBA championship teams between 1991 and 1998.

It’s hard to reconcile continued restrictions on kneeling in church and last week’s images of Prime Minister Trudeau kneeling on Parliament Hill to protest racism in Canada.

The Sunday New York Times full front-page listing of 1,000 names from among the nearly 100,000 who’ve died of COVID-19 was a bold, imaginative, powerful journalistic gesture.

On the doorstep of what would become the COVID-19 crisis of spring 2020, a wise woman I encountered called me out on the distinction between hope and expectation.