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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. 

He was a skeptic until Christ came, but there was one thing the Doubter didn’t lose faith in — and that saved him.

Jesus said to him, “Have you come to believe because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and have believed.”

—John 20:29

In those first days following the death and burial of Jesus, the Apostles were left adrift. After all, the One who had been their focus and point of reference through years of mission and service was gone. God had gone quiet, no longer speaking to them or guiding them. How could they make sense of everything that had happened to Jesus? Everything that had happened to them?

As their hopes crumbled around them, there was no escaping the darkness brought on by the Crucifixion. The disappointment and disillusionment of Good Friday had not yet been transformed into the light of Easter.

Then everything changed. But Thomas had been absent when Jesus first appeared to the Apostles on that first Easter Sunday. Should it be any wonder, then, that he would still be overwhelmed by Holy Saturday sadness?  And I don’t think it’s fair to fault Thomas for being skeptical at the stories of Mary Magdalene and others seeing Jesus. With these same themes in mind, Pope Francis has reflected, “Doesn’t the same thing also happen to us when something completely new occurs in our everyday life? We stop short, we don’t understand, we don’t know what to do. Newness often makes us fearful, including the newness which God brings us, the newness which God asks of us” (Homily for the Easter Vigil 2013).

Although Thomas did not initially believe in the resurrection of the Lord, he remained faithful to the call he had received from Jesus—the call to be a part of the community of the Apostles. While his doubts would not allow him to believe that the others had seen the Lord, Thomas never lost faith in their fraternity and it was ultimately in and through that community that Thomas finally encountered the Risen Christ.

In The Genesee Diary, Henri Nouwen recalled that Didymus, the name of Thomas, means “twin” and that the Fathers of the Church had commented that all of us are “two people: a doubting one and a believing one. We need the support and love of our brothers and sisters to prevent our doubting person from becoming dominant and destroying our capacity for belief.” And so, we might say that the Church is inviting us reflect not so much on “Doubting Thomas” as on the living and dynamic faith of the community—the Church—of which Thomas was a part.

He was a skeptic until Christ came, but there was one thing the Doubter didn’t lose faith in — and that saved him.

Jesus said to him, “Have you come to believe because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and have believed.”

—John 20:29

In those first days following the death and burial of Jesus, the Apostles were left adrift. After all, the One who had been their focus and point of reference through years of mission and service was gone. God had gone quiet, no longer speaking to them or guiding them. How could they make sense of everything that had happened to Jesus? Everything that had happened to them?

As their hopes crumbled around them, there was no escaping the darkness brought on by the Crucifixion. The disappointment and disillusionment of Good Friday had not yet been transformed into the light of Easter.

Then everything changed. But Thomas had been absent when Jesus first appeared to the Apostles on that first Easter Sunday. Should it be any wonder, then, that he would still be overwhelmed by Holy Saturday sadness?  And I don’t think it’s fair to fault Thomas for being skeptical at the stories of Mary Magdalene and others seeing Jesus. With these same themes in mind, Pope Francis has reflected, “Doesn’t the same thing also happen to us when something completely new occurs in our everyday life? We stop short, we don’t understand, we don’t know what to do. Newness often makes us fearful, including the newness which God brings us, the newness which God asks of us” (Homily for the Easter Vigil 2013).

Although Thomas did not initially believe in the resurrection of the Lord, he remained faithful to the call he had received from Jesus—the call to be a part of the community of the Apostles. While his doubts would not allow him to believe that the others had seen the Lord, Thomas never lost faith in their fraternity and it was ultimately in and through that community that Thomas finally encountered the Risen Christ.

In The Genesee Diary, Henri Nouwen recalled that Didymus, the name of Thomas, means “twin” and that the Fathers of the Church had commented that all of us are “two people: a doubting one and a believing one. We need the support and love of our brothers and sisters to prevent our doubting person from becoming dominant and destroying our capacity for belief.” And so, we might say that the Church is inviting us reflect not so much on “Doubting Thomas” as on the living and dynamic faith of the community—the Church—of which Thomas was a part.

A striking convergence of events connected to health care is unfolding in British Columbia, with legal, liturgical, and pastoral elements intersecting.

At the centre is a B.C. Supreme Court trial in Vancouver examining whether religious hospitals can be required to allow practices on their premises that conflict with their moral convictions. The case raises questions that go beyond law and policy, potentially touching on the future shape of Catholic health care in Canada.

The trial began on Monday, Jan. 19, propitiously the feast of St. Marguerite Bourgeoys, one of the earliest figures associated with Catholic care for the sick in what would become Canada. Through her Congregation of Notre Dame, Marguerite and her sisters brought care directly to the ill and vulnerable in 17th-century Montreal, long before formal health systems existed. Their work reflected a missionary model rooted in the Visitation, going out to meet people where they were, especially the sick and the poor.

Depending on the outcome of the trial, that model of care grounded less in brick-and-mortar institutions and more on service could again become a prominent feature of Catholic health ministry, even as Catholic hospitals continue to operate within public systems.

The trial is expected to conclude Feb. 6. Just days later, on Feb. 11, the Church observes the World Day of the Sick, which coincides with the Feast of Our Lady of Lourdes, a date chosen by St. John Paul II because of Lourdes’ longstanding association with healing and care for the ill.

Following the Marian apparitions in 1858 and the arrival of thousands of sick pilgrims each year, the Church moved beyond informal charity to a system of medical volunteers, including doctors, nurses, religious sisters, and trained lay caregivers, who provided care. The result was one of the earliest large-scale models of pastoral health care, focusing on compassion, accompaniment, and the dignity of the suffering person. It was that understanding of health care as an expression of mercy that John Paul II drew on when he established the World Day of the Sick.

The week after the Feast of Our Lady of Lourdes comes Ash Wednesday, which similarly reminds us of human frailty and mortality.

It is in the midst of these moments that National Catholic Health Care Week arrives, when Catholics across Canada are invited to reflect on a tradition shaped by the Church’s healing ministry. Reflected in a post-Jubilee theme of “Open Hearts, Healing, Hope,” the tradition has been defined less by bricks and mortar than by what John Paul II described as making present “the merciful love of God through the care and closeness of others.”