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“The Apostolic Age is not Utopian” by Msgr. James Shea, President of The University of Mary Msgr. 

Shea walks us through the history of the Church’s struggles and proposes both a soteriology and ecclesiology that answers the needs of today’s apostolic realities.

How prepared are you to take part in “the sermon on the plane”?The captain has turned on the Fasten Seatbelt sign. You have stowed your carry-on luggage underneath the seat in front of you.

After you have taken a moment to locate the emergency exit nearest you, turn to the person next to you. You have a rare and valuable opportunity: an almost unique opportunity to have a deep, meaningful conversation with a stranger.

Deacon Jim Hallman calls the phenomenon of airplane faith discussions “the sermon on the plane.”

Think about it. You and the person sitting next to you already have something in common – one or both of the cities you’re flying between. You also both have time to kill with someone you will probably never see again.

That leaves people wide open.

When I asked Facebook friends if they had ever discussed the faith on an airplane, the response was overwhelming: “Yes!” “Just yesterday!” and “Every. Single. Time.”

Catherine Suprenant, who does women’s ministry in Pennsylvania, says she loves airplanes for this reason. “People seem to have no opposition to talking religion if they’re willing to talk to someone on a plane,” she said.

It all starts when you make the conscious choice to be available.

“I used to wall myself off with headphones and short answers,” Patrick O’Meara, who heads a financial company, told me. “I was convicted that this is not how the Lord wanted me to behave. How could I be his instrument that way?”

So he started taking the earbuds out and saying hello — and an outpouring of grace followed.

Everyone has their way of making this happen. Kansan Jenny Carter said praying her rosary at the start of the flight sparks conversations. O’Meara said the Liturgy of the Hours does it for him.

Nikki Walz said her connection to Benedictine College does it. “Once you tell them where you went to school, it just naturally leads to discussions of the faith,” she said.

However they start, airplane encounters test your apologetics know-how.

One of Walz’ seatmates was a “spiritual naturalist with leanings toward Buddhism.” Another with a Baptist minister who wanted to talk about the Bible. Another was with a woman who was raised Catholic “but left because of the abuse scandal and the lack of ordination of women.”

She told every one of them about the beauty of the Catholic faith.

Another Benedictine graduate, Brad Geist, had a great conversation with an evangelical Christian who was uncomfortable with Catholic devotion to the saints. “I asked her if she would ask her friends to pray for her before she would go oversees for her ministry,” Geist told me.

Why does life feel empty—even when everything seems “fine”? 

Fr. Mike Schmitz and Dr. Arthur Brooks explore why modern life leaves so many people restless, anxious, and disconnected. From neuroscience to faith, they reveal why pleasure isn’t happiness, why technology can’t give us meaning, and how returning to God may be the only way out of the Matrix. 

If you’ve been searching for purpose, this conversation will change the way you see happiness—and your life.

Miracles still happen today.

At the sanctuary of Our Lady of Lourdes (feast day Feb. 11) in Lourdes, Hautes-Pyrenees, France, 72 cures have been recognized since the Virgin Mary’s first apparition. The most current miracle was proclaimed just last year.

Antonia Raco, a 67-year-old Italian woman diagnosed with primary lateral sclerosis (PLS) in 2006, went on a pilgrimage with the Italian organization UNITALSI in July 2009. Antonia went into the baths and felt an unexpected sense of well-being and the ability to walk again. In August and September of the same year, medical checkups revealed her symptoms had disappeared.

In 2010, she reported that her cure came from visiting the Sanctuary of Our Lady of Lourdes. After numerous investigations, a medical consensus declared her case valid, and her bishop proclaimed the miracle on April 16, 2025.

Just like Antonia, I too was searching for a cure when, in October 2012, I walked the path to the baths in Lourdes. I was on a pilgrimage in Spain to celebrate the beatification of Don Alvaro, the second prelate of Opus Dei, and our group took a side trip to the shrine of Our Lady of Lourdes. We stayed in a very old hotel near the sanctuary, which was only a 15-minute walk away.

I was so excited to exercise my French-speaking skills and to visit the place where St. Bernadette saw visions of Mary. I went to Mass, spent time in the adoration chapel, and prayed the Stations of the Cross, walking throughout the grounds and lighting candles. I filled little bottles with the spring water and drank it like I had never tasted water before.

The more I learned about St. Bernadette and the apparitions of Our Lady, the more I wanted to find healing for my mind in the sanctuary. Unfortunately, the lineup to the baths was too long and the doors had been closed.

I was hoping for a miracle to cure my mental illness, but God had other plans, and the miracle I received was spiritual rather than physical.

My visit to the shrine was not in vain. I felt a deep sense of gratitude and spiritual connection to Mary and Jesus. My faith was strengthened even if I didn’t receive the healing for my mind that I was seeking. Sometimes our prayers aren’t answered in the way or the timeframe we want, but our prayers are always answered. God blesses us and gives us tangible ways to connect to him.

In 1858, Mary appeared 18 times to young Marie Bernard (St. Bernadette) Soubirous with the message of “personal conversion, prayer, and charity.” Like the spring water that bubbled up in the grotto where Mary appeared, we too can see his goodness through the miracles of others and our own personal conversion.

5th Sunday of Ordinary Time, Year A
First Reading: Is 58:6-10
Second Reading: 1 Cor 2:1-5
Gospel Reading: Jn 8:12

“You are the salt of the earth,” Jesus told his disciples, “but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored?”

God became man to free us from slavery to the devil, through whom death had entered the world, and to bring us supernatural life. “I came that they might have life, and have it to the full,” he said.

Jesus himself has supernatural life, divine life, God’s life, by nature, because he is begotten by God the Father, who himself has this life by nature. We, who do not have this life by nature, can get it from him by becoming a member of his mystical body, or by being grafted on to him like a branch on to a vine.

That is what happened at our baptism, by the power of God: we were regenerated, or reborn, with supernatural life. Since then, Jesus has nourished this life with his body and blood.

However, we still suffer concupiscence: the disorder and rebellion among our natural powers that we inherit from Adam and Eve. We do not have the integrity, or wholeness, that they had before their fall; we are fragmented, for our natural desires war with our supernatural desires and even among themselves.

In our struggle to keep our supernatural life healthy, we sometimes fall. Then we have to make a sacramental confession: acknowledge what we have done wrong, tell God we are sorry, promise not to do it again, and make reparation, as far as we can. We also have to nourish our supernatural life by receiving communion frequently.

However, it is not good to eat heavily without exercising. If we do not seriously exercise our supernatural life, it will fall ill and die.

This Sunday’s first reading outlines some of the things we have to do: “to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke.” We must also share our bread with the hungry, shelter the homeless poor, cover the naked, and refrain from speaking evil and judging others.

Then our “light shall break forth like the dawn,” and our “healing shall spring up quickly”; our “vindicator” shall go before us, “the glory of the Lord” shall be our rearguard. Then we can call, and the Lord will answer; we can cry for help, and he will say, “Here I am.”

Then, by the power of God, we will be able to co-operate (“work together”) with Christ in the salvation of the world: in our own flesh we will “fill up what is lacking in the sufferings of Christ for the sake of his body, the Church,” as St.

What happens when a deep love for Scripture leads someone away from the Catholic Church—and then all the way back? 

In this powerful conversation, Fr. Mike Schmitz sits down with Jeff Cavins to explore his unexpected journey: from growing up Catholic, to becoming a Protestant pastor for over a decade, to discovering what he didn’t even realize was missing. 

Jeff shares how studying the Bible intensely led him to the Early Church Fathers, the Eucharist, apostolic authority, and ultimately back to the Church Christ founded. Along the way, they reflect on why so many Catholics feel like there’s “no place” for their hunger for Scripture—and why that belief couldn’t be further from the truth. 

Jeff and Fr. Mike also reflect on how five years later, the Bible in a Year continues to bear fruit.

What happens when a deep love for Scripture leads someone away from the Catholic Church—and then all the way back? 

In this powerful conversation, Fr. Mike Schmitz sits down with Jeff Cavins to explore his unexpected journey: from growing up Catholic, to becoming a Protestant pastor for over a decade, to discovering what he didn’t even realize was missing. 

Jeff shares how studying the Bible intensely led him to the Early Church Fathers, the Eucharist, apostolic authority, and ultimately back to the Church Christ founded. Along the way, they reflect on why so many Catholics feel like there’s “no place” for their hunger for Scripture—and why that belief couldn’t be further from the truth. 

Jeff and Fr. Mike also reflect on how five years later, the Bible in a Year continues to bear fruit.

We shouldn’t “waste” doubt. Our faith needs it. “Doubting” Thomas the Apostle can teach us plenty then.

Each year on Divine Mercy Sunday — the 2nd Sunday of Easter — the Gospel for Mass is the story of “doubting Thomas” (John 20:19-20, 24-29).

But what is the connection between mercy and doubt? The Letter of Jude instructs us: Keep yourselves in the love of God as you await the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ to bring you eternal life. And have mercy on those who doubt (Jude 1:21-22).

The miracle of mercy

Thomas was the Apostle who, the night before Jesus died, openly lamented, Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way? (Jn 14:5). 

In Caravaggio’s depiction, we have no clue where the scene is taking place. The artist forgoes any sort of setting, and resorts to a bare, dark background. The blackness acts almost as another character: It represents the inky darkness of doubt in which Thomas dwells — his lonely, lightless impenetrability. Impenetrability is keeping our self all closed up, resistant, not letting ourself be touched. Impenetrability is refusing to let ourself be struck by even the most marvelous, beautiful thing that is there right in front of us. 

Thank God for something greater than our impenetrability, namely, the Presence of Jesus Christ that never fails to come to us, as Jesus does to Thomas in this painting.

Evil can be overcome if we open ourselves to the love of God to the point of contempt of self. This is the fruit of Divine Mercy. In Jesus Christ, God bends down over man to hold out a hand to him, to raise him up, and to help him continue his journey with renewed strength. 

And that is exactly what Caravaggio portrays in his painting. The Risen Jesus is bending down over Thomas, holding out his pierced hand to the Apostle, grasping his wrist and guiding Thomas’ pointed finger — dirty fingernails and all — into his open side. According to the theology of Caravaggio’s painting, there is a way to overcome our impenetrability to divine mercy: by personally penetrating Mercy Incarnate. 

We shouldn’t “waste” doubt. Our faith needs it. “Doubting” Thomas the Apostle can teach us plenty then.

Each year on Divine Mercy Sunday — the 2nd Sunday of Easter — the Gospel for Mass is the story of “doubting Thomas” (John 20:19-20, 24-29).

But what is the connection between mercy and doubt? The Letter of Jude instructs us: Keep yourselves in the love of God as you await the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ to bring you eternal life. And have mercy on those who doubt (Jude 1:21-22).

The miracle of mercy

Thomas was the Apostle who, the night before Jesus died, openly lamented, Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way? (Jn 14:5). 

In Caravaggio’s depiction, we have no clue where the scene is taking place. The artist forgoes any sort of setting, and resorts to a bare, dark background. The blackness acts almost as another character: It represents the inky darkness of doubt in which Thomas dwells — his lonely, lightless impenetrability. Impenetrability is keeping our self all closed up, resistant, not letting ourself be touched. Impenetrability is refusing to let ourself be struck by even the most marvelous, beautiful thing that is there right in front of us. 

Thank God for something greater than our impenetrability, namely, the Presence of Jesus Christ that never fails to come to us, as Jesus does to Thomas in this painting.

Evil can be overcome if we open ourselves to the love of God to the point of contempt of self. This is the fruit of Divine Mercy. In Jesus Christ, God bends down over man to hold out a hand to him, to raise him up, and to help him continue his journey with renewed strength. 

And that is exactly what Caravaggio portrays in his painting. The Risen Jesus is bending down over Thomas, holding out his pierced hand to the Apostle, grasping his wrist and guiding Thomas’ pointed finger — dirty fingernails and all — into his open side. According to the theology of Caravaggio’s painting, there is a way to overcome our impenetrability to divine mercy: by personally penetrating Mercy Incarnate.