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Most of us can identify certain teachers or mentors who have had a profound impact on our lives. The same can be said for particular books that have shaped our view of the world. With that in mind, BustedHalo asks the question:

“What books have helped you on your spiritual journey?”

Mark Mossa, S.J. is studying theology at Weston Jesuit School of Theology in preparation for the priesthood. He taught philosophy at Loyola University in New Orleans and is currently at work on an introduction to the spiritual life for young adults, to be published in 2007.

Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller 
This collection of essays, subtitled “Nonreligious Thoughts on Christian Spirituality” is a real, down to earth and, at times, funny exploration of one young man’s struggles to negotiate his Christian life. Miller comes from an evangelical Christian background, but doesn’t back off from being honest about both its advantages and pitfalls. He talks about being in love, being in doubt, and sincerely wanting to follow Jesus. The writing is good and honest and you’ll keep catching glimpses of yourself and your own struggles.

Return of the Prodigal Son by Henri Nouwen
If you struggle with family relationships—and who doesn’t?—you’ll find this one of the most consoling books you’ll ever read. Nouwen’s extended reflection on Rembrandt’s painting of The Prodigal Son opens a whole new window into Jesus’ parable. Nouwen invites us to recognize how we at times fill all the roles of the story—the profligate son, the scorned but compassionate father and the jealous older brother. Almost any book by Nouwen is worth reading, but this one’s his best.

Traveling Mercies by Anne Lamott
No Christian writer I know is as brutally honest–or as good–as Anne Lamott. This single mother who struggled with addiction and anorexia tells of how she was saved by her faith and her friends. The book will make you laugh out loud, but it will also make you cry. Lamott offers penetrating spiritual insights and has the gift of not taking her self too seriously in the process. If you’re looking for blushing piety, that’s not Lamott’s style. But if you appreciate the raw and honest emotion of ordinary encounters with God, with even the occasional curse word thrown in, you’ll find a soul mate here.

The Complete Stories by Flannery O’Connor
Ours is a world of violence that is also touched by grace. O’Connor’s stories are often outrageous and shocking, but always witness to the persistence of God’s grace. Perhaps the greatest Catholic writer of the twentieth-century, O’Connor’s stories are rarely explicitly Catholic. Yet the themes she pursues and the questions she raises come undeniably from the religious sensibility of this devout Catholic woman.

In 2014, I knelt in the pew at the Easter Vigil Mass having just been confirmed in the Church moments before. Many months of prayer, study, and conversion culminated at that moment, and my heart fluttered with excitement at the thought of receiving the Eucharist for the first time. 

The emotions I experienced during this Mass were intense. Despite my deep-seated fear of discerning my vocation, the rush of devotion I felt made me pray more sincerely than I ever have, “Lord, I will do whatever you want me to do, even if it means the religious life or married life or being a missionary. I’ll do it.”

For the first few years after becoming Catholic, my new faith stirred my emotions almost constantly. At Mass, singing “Lamb of God” brought me to tears every week. Once, while praying at Eucharistic Adoration, I suddenly experienced a very real, overwhelming sense of being embraced by Jesus as he welcomed me home. And when I went to Confession, if acknowledging where I’ve fallen short of God’s hopes for me didn’t make me feel loved by a merciful God, then the priest’s beautiful prayer of absolution certainly did.

I not only believed and appreciated the beauty of my new faith, but I also felt the beauty of Jesus Christ and the Catholic Church deeply in my soul. 

But a few years after my initial conversion, I began to notice a gradual, creeping spiritual desolation — a sense of abandonment and darkness and a loss of the strong feelings of love and devotion I’d had early in my conversion. I still loved God, of course, perhaps even more than in years prior, but I felt less emotionally moved by that love. I left the confessional feeling hollow — like I’d heard the words of absolution with my ears, but not with my heart. In fact, I quite literally felt nothing, no matter the Sacrament, prayer, or devotion.

RELATED: How Finding a Spiritual Director Changed My Life

I became frustrated and confused, thinking this was some fault of my own. But my spiritual director reassured me that faith is not about our feelings, but about fidelity. He likened my relationship with Christ to a human relationship: We “fall in love,” and the beloved is all we can think about. We’re walking on air whenever we’re around them. But after a few months or years, those feelings subside, and then the real work of love begins: loving even when we don’t feel the emotional consolation of that love.

Thankfully, the truth of our faith isn’t contingent on our emotions. Still, experiencing this spiritual desolation can be a bit unnerving and confusing.

The Life Compass Walk, Bike or Run for Life drew a strong turnout, raising about $8,000 in support of pro-life initiatives. 

The event began with the Archdiocese of Vancouver’s monthly Pro-Life Mass at Our Lady of Lourdes Parish, celebrated by pro-life chaplain Father Larry Lynn. In his homily, Father Lynn emphasized the call to protect and advance the dignity of every human life. Participants then made the short trip to the start line for the walk, bike, and run event.

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Two women from the Archdiocese of Vancouver have begun their novitiate with the Dominican Sisters of St. Cecilia in Nashville, Tennessee.

On Aug. 15, the Solemnity of the Assumption, Joyce Baniqued, a parishioner from St. Matthew’s in Surrey, took the religious name Sister Augustine, and Teaya Cabael, a parishioner of St. Patrick’s Parish in Vancouver, took the name Sister Matthea.

Isabel Ryzner from St. Mary’s in Vancouver joined the Dominicans as a postulant, the first formal step in a woman’s discernment of religious life. 

The Nashville Dominicans serve in the Archdiocese of Vancouver, teaching in local Catholic schools and serving at the John Paul II Pastoral Centre.

Your voice matters! Join the conversation by submitting a Letter to the Editor here. 

This year, Sept. 14 – the Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross – fell on a Sunday. Therefore, on the day of the week dedicated to recalling the Lord’s Resurrection, we likewise exalted the instrument of torture which preceded it on Good Friday.

As Bishop Barron and Chris Stefanick have reminded their listeners on multiple occasions, to the people of Jesus’ time, a cross was not seen as anything to be “exalted.” By contrast, it was an instrument of extreme torture and humiliation: an object to be feared and rejected.

Yet, today we hang crosses in our churches, classrooms, and homes. We even wear them around our necks. We carve them out of wood, plate them in gold and silver, and use them to inspire our prayer lives. These concepts would not only have been foreign, but appalling to those of Jesus’ time.

Even if the physical crosses of today are esthetically pleasing, the true beauty of the Holy Cross is its story. God Incarnate carried and shed blood on the Holy Cross. He accepted punishment for our sins – not his own – so that we could be freed from the chains of death. For Christians, any cross—from the prayerful Sign of the Cross to a tangible symbol—symbolizes the beauty of redemption and hope. Our sin died on Jesus’ Cross, and his death ultimately resulted in Resurrection and the promise of eternal life.

Last spring, when Holy Cross Regional Secondary was having its new school wing blessed, Faye McCreedy of the Archdiocesan Office brought a first-class relic of the True Cross to the ceremony. Later that afternoon, knowing that our elementary school was in the midst of a dress rehearsal for our annual drama production, Faye asked if she could bring the relic to the rehearsal for the kids to see it. We jumped on the opportunity, and what ensued was one of the most moving moments of my life.

We set up an impromptu prayer table in front of the stage, and Faye explained the significance of this relic. With lighting dimmed and sacred music quietly playing over the sound system, students, volunteers, and staff quietly came forward to venerate a tiny piece of the Holy Cross of our Saviour.

In mere moments, our school gym—previously filled with the noisy anticipation of a school play, complete with costumes, music, dancing, and lighting effects—transformed into a room of devotion and reverence. The excited children became silent as they respectfully processed forward, one by one.

Our show in the following days was, in the opinions of many, the “best ever” and I do think that this is because our cast and crew shared something more powerful and far more important than simply a school play.

Sometimes the hardest thing to give up for Lent isn’t chocolate or coffee – it’s something good. Something that has become too important.

Earlier this year, I gave up running for Lent.

I know, I know. Running is healthy. For years, it was one of the best tools I had to manage anxiety. It gave me joy, balance, and even a sense of triumph as I crossed finish lines and set personal bests. How could that possibly be something to “give up”?

Over time, though, I noticed how much running had taken hold of me. When I had to miss a week, I felt withdrawal. Training for one marathon turned into four in three years. A few weekly runs grew into seven days straight, sometimes over 100 kilometers a week. At my peak, I was running more hours than a part-time job.

I tried to make it spiritual. I prayed the Rosary on runs, and even started an Instagram account called Running with Jesus. But the truth was, running often came first — before prayer, before my wife, before my kids.

In early 2025, I was preparing for the London Marathon. I wanted it to be my fastest ever. Training was going well until I pushed too far and aggravated an injury in my knee. I ran 36 days without a day off, and my body was starting to break down.

The day before Ash Wednesday, I went to a physiotherapist. His advice? Stop running.

I was devastated. My reaction revealed just how much I had come to depend on running. And suddenly, Lent had begun – without running.

At first, I fought it. Wasn’t this good for me? Didn’t it make me healthier? Why would God take away something I loved?

But in the silence, God was patient. He showed me that my attachment to running had slipped out of balance. Friends and mentors spoke gently to me, helping me name what was happening: I wasn’t just injured physically. I was also spiritually out of step.

I began asking questions I had avoided:

Why am I working so hard? Why do I need to perform? Why can’t I slow down?

The truth was painful: I believed I only had value if I achieved. My self-worth was tied to performance, to proving that I could do more, faster, better.

Injuries teach us something about limits. Online articles attributed common causes of my injury to “training error” — too much, too fast. Spiritually, it was the same: trying to prove my worth at all costs.

But Jesus met me there. As I slowed down, He began to heal more than my knee.

Psalm 115 says, “Not to us, Lord, not to us, but to your name be the glory.” Bobby Angel applies this wisdom to the weight room. It may seem like a stretch, but remembering God when we’re working out is vital to our spiritual and physical health. 

Getting in shape can be euphoric and boost your self-esteem, but we need to remember temperance even here, because we don’t want to become like Narcissus who became enamored by his own image. Bobby mentions that it’s possible to be a “glutton of the gym”, and remaining humble in the eyes of the Lord will lead to many more important victories than will the body of a Spartan. 

Make prayer an integral part of your life. 

Check out Ascension’s study, Oremus: A Guide to Catholic Prayer (https://bit.ly/2Mcdea1). 

Vanity is not what many people think it is. It can come in many forms, and is not necessarily an infatuation with yourself. Vanity is an inordinate preoccupation with what other people think about you—which is different. 

It’s important, to an extent, to care what others think about you. It can even be charitable. But when this care becomes unbalanced, it leads to neglecting more important things. 

Wanting to be noticed can be vain, but not wanting to be noticed can also be vain. When you shrink back and don’t want anyone to look at you, it can be a form of vanity or false humility; because not wanting to be seen can be an indication that you care an inordinate amount about what people think of you. 

Vanity can also cause an unwillingness to share the Faith. Many times we think sharing the gospel will make people think less of us. How many times has the thought of what other people think prevented you from sharing the Faith? 

Balance is pertinent in every aspect of vanity, and the best way to achieve that balance is to care about what God thinks of you above all. 

These sayings about humility really sum it up well, since humility is the antidote to vanity: “Humility is not thinking less of yourself; it is thinking of yourself less” (Rick Warren, The Purpose-Driven Life). 

“If you meet a really humble man … He will not be thinking about humility: he will not be thinking about himself at all” (C.S. Lewis).

In the spirit of the Jubilee Year of Hope, 25 young adults from across the Archdiocese of Vancouver’s West Deanery walked over 14 kilometres to visit five parishes, joining a larger trend of urban pilgrimages. 

The pilgrimage route took the group from Our Lady of Perpetual Help Church on Crown Street to  St. Augustine’s, Holy Name of Jesus, and Sts. Peter and Paul Parish, ending with Mass at St. Anthony of Padua and a picnic at a nearby park.

The urban pilgrimage was organized by the Vancouver West Deanery Young Adults group, and although none of the stops were official Jubilee Year of Hope Pilgrimage sites, organizers said the pilgrimage was undertaken in the “spirit of the Jubilee.”

“Thank you to all who joined us for our Urban Pilgrimage!” said a post on the yavcatholic Instagram page. “It was so lovely to meet new faces, share stories and journey together through some of the parishes of the Vancouver west deanery. Thank you for being pilgrims of hope in this jubilee year.”

In March, the Vancouver vocations office organized a Jubilee urban pilgrimage to Holy Rosary Cathedral. Another is planned tentatively for Oct. 5, the Sunday preceding the Feast of the Holy Rosary two days later.

Similar “urban pilgrimages” have been appearing elsewhere. In Montreal, youth mapped out a Jubilee route through 10 downtown churches, while in Rome, Canadian sculptor Timothy Schmalz created an art-based pilgrimage linking sites across the city with his bronze works and QR-code reflections.

Below are photos from the West Deanery event.

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