The dying parts of the Church are those still misreading John XXIII.

I grew to know him as a friend, a fervent advocate for the poor, and as a quintessential leader and civil rights icon who fought for justice and equality for all, especially those he served.

How is it people and young adults grow up Catholic, experience all there is taught to us about the Trinity through religion classes, nuns and priests’ instruction, get baptized, make first holy Communion, confess young sins in first reconciliation, invite a sponsor to touch our shoulder during Confirmation, take vows in matrimony … and then don’t have faith in God any longer?

Maybe there’s a little extra wonder when we almost overlook that evolution—in nature and even in ourselves.

Six weeks or so into the school year I’m feeling a little out of my depth.

Memo to handwringing adults: Ghouls and goblins and various ghostly apparitions don’t exist, but lust, greed, pride, envy and anger most certainly do. And they are far more frightening.

I’ve been thinking lately about prayers for the sick.

It was a simple exchange—but I was struck by the power and the beauty of that interaction between a husband and wife.

Fall is such a beautiful season. I do love the mums and the pumpkins and the wondering when my children will tell me what they want to be for Halloween so we can make a mad dash to the store to find costumes.

We want to believe the sun will rise tomorrow and we’ll embrace the fullness of another day. We must live life with that hope. There is no other way.