It’s a surprising path that leads a man from a 4th-century saint to a 21st-century monk and home again, but that’s a summary of my week—on retreat at St. Joseph’s Abbey in Spencer, Massachusetts, beginning Monday evening; home in Beverly on Thursday afternoon, a day ahead of schedule. Of such minor miracles this Catholic life is made. Like many Catholic guys, I suppose, I have wondered about the monastic life: would I? could I? (though never) should I? The answer... Read more

This blog will go quiet now, at least until Friday 11/13, perhaps as long as a week. With two friends from the parish, I am going on retreat at a monastery nearby. I may have some things to say about the experience when I get back. Meanwhile, if you are relatively new to YIM Catholic or just want to click around for a few entertaining minutes, here are some early posts that you might find worthwhile and/or enjoyable: Two more... Read more

My campaign to promote Kristin Lavransdatter as the Great Catholic Novel is gaining momentum, one reader at a time. In an early post, I laid out ten reasons why I find this trilogy by Nobel laureate Sigrid Undset (left) so moving. Now comes a letter from a friend—a non-Catholic—confirming the convincing spiritual power of this epic set in 14th-century Norway. (Warning: The letter reveals the ending of Kristin’s story, but takes away none of the pleasure of reading it.) Dear... Read more

Anyone who has struggled with anger, as I have, could do worse than read about Blessed Elizabeth of the Trinity, a French Carmelite remembered on November 8. Can one person experience both fits of rage and a certainty of God’s presence in her own heart? Yes, apparently, and thank the Lord. Born in 1880, Elizabeth was just younger than Thérèse of Lisieux, who suffered from her own inner demons. Until she was fourteen, Thérèse was a spoiled brat, doted on... Read more

I have never seen a dead woman walk or a blind man restored to sight. But I have seen minor miracles. A skeptic would call them coincidences, or nice moments. That’s OK with me. These moments prove nothing, and they are not my faith, any more than ornaments on a Christmas tree are the tree itself or the base on which it stands. Nevertheless, each of these moments has stemmed directly from my participation in Catholic life—in my parish, in... Read more

In “The Death of a Hired Man,” one of my favorite poems, Robert Frost famously wrote, “Home is the place where, when you have to go there, / they have to take you in.” You can bet Frost wasn’t thinking of the Catholic Church, but he could have been. We are all prodigals, and a loving parent is always waiting at the door. The poem is a conversation between a farmer and his wife about a hired man, Silas, who... Read more

Wednesday we celebrate the memorial of St. Charles Borromeo. I know little about this 16th-century Italian saint. His mother was a Medici. His uncle was the Pope. He jump-started the Council of Trent. That’s about it. What matters to me most about St. Charles is a fraternity of priests founded in 1985, born of an invitation from Pope John Paul II and closely associated with the ecclesial movement Communion and Liberation. They call themselves the Fraternity of St. Charles (Borromeo).... Read more

There are many things I love about my church, St. Mary Star of the Sea in Beverly, Massachusetts. This is one of them: the way the setting sun gleams on the red brick façade. I apologize: My photographic skills are rudimentary, not to mention my camera (iPhone). But coming out of Adoration late this afternoon, I stopped to look at my church and this is a hint of what I saw. Finished in 1908, this building replaced a wooden structure... Read more

We got a good laugh today from Father Barnes in his homily. He talked of Martin de Porres often being shown with a dog, cat, mouse, and bird at his feet. Mentioned in my previous post, this symbolism suggests the Peruvian saint’s peaceful nature. In fact, our pastor went on, there is a statue of St. Martin in our rectory garden. The mouse, however, is missing. “My dog ate the mouse,” said Father Barnes. “Which tells you that I still... Read more

Much surely has been made, and will be made again today, of Martin de Porres being the first black saint in the Americas. What gets me instead is the broom (here in a statue from New Orleans) and the dog, cat, bird, and mouse eating from the same dish at his feet (as in other representations of the Lima-born Dominican brother). If I am going to be a saint (and that’s the goal, isn’t it?), what will my statue be... Read more