The past is the place we view the present from as much as the other way around.
Faith is homesickness. Faith is a lump in the throat. Faith is less a position on than a movement toward, less a sure thing than a hunch. Faith is waiting.
If it seems a childish thing to do, do it in remembrance that you are a child.
Justice is the grammar of things. Mercy is the poetry of things.
All other days have either disappeared into darkness and oblivion or not yet emerged from it. Today is the only day there is.
To be a saint is to be a little out of one’s mind, which is a very good thing to be a little out of from time to time. It is to live a life that is always giving itself away and yet is always full.
To remember the past is to see that we are here today by grace, that we have survived as a gift.
Our father. We have killed him, and we will kill him again, and our world will kill him. And yet he is there. It is he who listens at the door. It is he who is coming. It is our father who is about to be born. Through Jesus Christ our Lord.
One of the blunders religious people are particularly fond of making is the attempt to be more spiritual than God.
Faith is the assurance that the best and holiest dream is true after all.
What’s lost is nothing to what’s found, and all the death that ever was, set next to life, would scarcely fill a cup.
The birth of Jesus made possible not just a new way of understanding life but a new way of living it.
You can survive on your own; you can grow strong on your own; you can prevail on your own; but you cannot become human on your own.
To be wise is to be eternally curious.
Remember me not for the ill I’ve done but for the good I’ve dreamed.
Remember Jesus of Nazareth, staggering on broken feet out of the tomb toward the Resurrection, bearing on his body the proud insignia of the defeat which is victory, the magnificent defeat of the human soul at the hands of God.
For outlandish creatures like us, on our way to a heart, a brain, and courage, Bethlehem is not the end of our journey but only the beginning – not home but the place through which we must pass if ever we are to reach home at last.
And now brothers, I will ask you a terrible question, and God knows I ask it also of myself. Is the truth beyond all truths, beyond the stars, just this: that to live without him is the real death, that to die with him the only life?
A miracle is when the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. A miracle is when one plus one equals a thousand.
Thus, when you wake up in the morning, called by God to be a self again, if you want to know who you are, watch your feet. Because where your feet take you, that is who you are.