The fact is, no one—no church or priest, friendly gym or unfriendly one—can judge us without our cooperation.

In San Diego and Boston, in Burbank and Chicago and Orange Beach, Ala., libraries all over the country have been ending the dispensing of fines for overdue books.

My heart is not large enough, my consciousness is not spacious enough for all the spot-on characters, the hectic energies, the ripping stories. I am not skillful, I think, at TV.

We include fragments of poems that, while not contest finalists, provide one more way for America to shine a light on the ongoing horror in Ukraine.

The great Catholic irony is that the Mass—that ripe cadenced insane activity at the heart of the church—is weirdly, bizarrely, the right and fitting place to bring our concerns about the Mass itself.

A Reflection for the Wednesday of the Fifth Week of Lent, by Joe Hoover, S.J.

The maligning of this girl’s good name has to end. And, at least in our pages, it will end.

Sure, we can talk about excellence. But we shouldn’t accept as fact the idea that we can rank the worth of a piece of art. That is a fiction itself, a fundamental untruth.

A Reflection for the First Monday of Lent, by Joe Hoover, S.J.

Can we ultimately trust the smirking ones in our midst, the sarcastic with a clever quip for our every move, for each vulnerable moment?