When illness strikes, prayer often becomes a lifeline. But does it change outcomes? Scripture promises healing, yet not everyone who prays gets well. Some experience miracles, while others find peace rather than a cure. What does science say? And how does faith shape the way we endure suffering? A closer look at prayer, healing, and the mystery in between.

Too much news can be a wrecking ball to your peace. Too little, and you risk disengaging from the world entirely. How do you stay informed without losing your mind? A more measured approach — one that values brevity, levity and dignity — might just be the way forward. Re-engaging with the news doesn’t have to mean drowning in it. It can be about wisdom, perspective and keeping your heart tender.

David Brooks’ spiritual journey, as detailed in his essay “The Shock of Faith: It’s Nothing Like I Thought It Would Be,” is a tender portrait of longing and discovery. The New York Times columnist describes moving from agnosticism to a faith fueled not by arguments or certainty but by awe-filled moments — a mountain vista, a cathedral, a subway car — where the divine broke through the mundane. It’s a story of yearning, wonder and the profound beauty of being drawn toward something greater.

The ER isn’t the first place you’d look for evidence of God’s love, but even there, grace can surprise us. A crowded hallway, overworked caregivers and long delays reveal a deeper truth: healing is rarely straightforward, but no one is ever turned away. Even in uncertainty, there’s a quiet beauty in the kindness of strangers and the assurance that God is always at work.

True joy doesn’t avoid the heaviness of life — it embraces it, journeys through it and emerges on the other side, fuller and brighter. Rob Bell calls cynicism “lazy,” a superficial retreat from life’s complexities. Joy, by contrast, takes courage. It acknowledges the heartbreak and injustice of this world but refuses to be undone by them. Instead, it chooses gratitude for what’s fleeting and beautiful, savoring every precious moment while it lasts.

Jesus stood before Pilate and declared a kingdom unlike any other — a kingdom not of this world. Where empires conquer and dominate, his kingdom calls for love, humility and mercy. Yet throughout history, the kingdom of heaven has been mistaken for the kingdom of empire, blurring lines and betraying its radical nature. The question remains: can we live by Jesus’ kingdom today, knowing it may cost us everything?

The universe buzzes with mysteries we can’t fully grasp, but one truth stands firm: God’s love is real and reaches everyone. Miracles, those inexplicable interruptions of the ordinary, remind us that God cares deeply — even when the answers we long for don’t come. Faith doesn’t demand certainty, but it invites us to trust in a divine love that holds us steady through every moment.

In the wake of an election deepening national divides, the call to trust God grows clearer. Political storms may rage, but God never panics. He wasn’t surprised by the results, and his peace remains unshaken. As citizens of heaven, we’re invited to anchor our faith in him, knowing his kingdom will outlast every earthly trouble. 

What does life inside a Trappist monastery offer to those of us on the outside? In “A Matter of the Heart,” Brother Paul Quenon shares over 50 years of journal entries from his quiet life of prayer and contemplation. With a poet’s touch, he reflects on life’s mysteries and a spiritual calling shaped by solitude, stillness and the pursuit of inner peace — insights that resonate well beyond the cloister.

As Election 2024 stirs up passionate divides, a grounded reminder surfaces: those with opposing views are still our neighbors, our friends and part of our shared community. In a season often clouded by hostility, there’s strength in choosing kindness over bitterness. What if a little more kindness — and a little less bitterness — could keep us grounded and united, no matter the election’s outcome?

Karate is more than just kicks and punches — it’s a journey, just like faith. Both require time, dedication and perseverance. Just as martial artists move from white belt to black belt, spiritual seekers grow through consistent practice and persistence, still facing challenges along the way. The rewards are found in the small breakthroughs and deeper understandings that keep us moving forward, step by step, toward greater wisdom and transformation.

The story of Ruth and Boaz shows how every small act of love or kindness can spark a ripple effect. Their compassion and loyalty didn’t just change their lives — it set the stage for the lineage of King David and, ultimately, Jesus. Ruth and Boaz' story is an invitation for us to reflect on our own actions, however small, and how they just might create a lasting impact across generations.

In the midst of daily routines and unexpected interruptions, we often separate the sacred from the mundane. But what if every moment was a form of worship? What if changing a tire or weeding a garden was just as holy as delivering a sermon? It's a simple yet profound concept: God is in everything — always present, always purposeful — turning even the simplest tasks into acts of divine grace.

Practicing gratitude and optimism might be more powerful than you think. Recent studies from Harvard show that these attitudes can contribute to a longer life, just like exercise or regular health checkups. For those of us navigating our later years, embracing a mindset of thankfulness and positivity could be as crucial as any prescription — helping to enhance not only our longevity but our quality of life as well.

We’re born ready-made with a predisposition toward the negative, which motivates us with an urgency the positive rarely equals. I think this is why religious leaders and politicians place so much emphasis on the negative, on fury and fear-mongering. They know what moves us. If they can scare us or make us angry — fear and fury are twins — they can push us wherever they want us to go.

Some years ago, I decided to write a book I’d call something like, “Things I Want to My Grandkids to Know.” I’d self-publish it and provide a copy to each of the kids. I started writing it with a lot of energy, then gradually let it peter out, and then … totally forgot about it. Recently, I happened across my notes, dated 2016. I liked what I’d said. I even added new observations.

If you become honest, yeah, you’ll lose some friends. There are folks who don’t want to associate with the imperfect. Say a prayer of thanks when they leave. Those are friends you’re better off without. Their departure is the Lord’s blessing on you. The happy paradox is that as you become real, as scary as that can be, you meet a battalion of kindred souls. Other scarred and messy people — they are legion — will be drawn to you.

It is difficult — really, next to impossible — to practice Christianity effectively without becoming (and staying) an active member of a local church congregation. Private spirituality is vital, of course, and underpins the communal life of any religious group. Hats off to the desert fathers, those legendary hermits of yore. Still, faith is mainly a team sport.

Whether you’re religious or nonreligious, educated or untutored, smart as a whip or dumb as a crate of gravel, the universe of things you don’t know dwarfs the pitiful dollhouse of things you do. The mistakes you’ve made outnumber the correct conclusions you’ve reached. You realize you’re a cipher floating on a dust mote swirling in an infinite darkness. Humility should be your natural state.