Feast of Oswald, King of Northumbria, Martyr, 642 Slowly, all through the universe, that temple of God is being read more

Feast of Oswald, King of Northumbria, Martyr, 642 Slowly, all through the universe, that temple of God is being built. Wherever, in any world, a soul, by free-willed obedience, catches the fire of God's likeness, it is set into the growing walls, a living stone. When, in your hard fight, in your tiresome drudgery, or in your terrible temptation, you catch the purpose of your being and give yourself to God, and so give Him the chance to give Himself to you, your life -- a living stone -- is taken up and set into that growing wall. Wherever souls are being tried and ripened, in whatever commonplace and homely ways, there God is hewing out the pillars for His temple. Oh, if the stone can only have some vision of the temple of which it is to be a part forever, what patience must fill it as it feels the blows of the hammer, and knows that success for it is simply to let itself be wrought into what shape the Master wills.

Men are apt to offend ('tis true) where they find most goodness to forgive.

Men are apt to offend ('tis true) where they find most goodness to forgive.

Feast of François de Sales, Bishop of Geneva, Teacher, 1622 Our business is to love what God would have read more

Feast of François de Sales, Bishop of Geneva, Teacher, 1622 Our business is to love what God would have us do. He wills our vocation as it is: let us love that, and not trifle away our time in hankering after other people's vocation.

It would be the height of absurdity to label ignorance tempered by humility "faith"; for faith consists in the knowledge read more

It would be the height of absurdity to label ignorance tempered by humility "faith"; for faith consists in the knowledge of God and Christ, not in reverence for the Church.

Commemoration of Ethelburga, Abbess of Barking, 675 This, of course, is what religion is about: this adherence to God, read more

Commemoration of Ethelburga, Abbess of Barking, 675 This, of course, is what religion is about: this adherence to God, this confident dependence on that which is unchanging. This is the more abundant life which, in its own particular language and own particular way, it calls us to live. Because it is our part in the one life in the whole universe of spirits, our share in the great drive towards Reality, the tendency of all life to seek God Who made it for Himself and now incites and guides it, we are already adapted to it. Just as a fish is adapted to life in the sea. This view of our situation fills us with a certain awed and humble gladness. It delivers us from all niggling fuss about ourselves, prevents us from feeling self-important about our own little spiritual adventures; and yet makes them worth while as part of one great spiritual adventure.

Feast of William Law, Priest, Mystic, 1761 Commemoration of William of Ockham, Franciscan Friar, Philosopher, Teacher, 1347 Commemoration of read more

Feast of William Law, Priest, Mystic, 1761 Commemoration of William of Ockham, Franciscan Friar, Philosopher, Teacher, 1347 Commemoration of Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, Priest, Scientist, Visionary, 1955 Christianity does not consist in any partial amendment of our lives, any particular moral virtues, but in an entire change of our natural temper, a life wholly devoted to God.

One encounter with Jesus Christ is enough to change you, instantly, forever.

One encounter with Jesus Christ is enough to change you, instantly, forever.

[Christians], at their best, know that often they don't know. They do not have all the answers. They do not read more

[Christians], at their best, know that often they don't know. They do not have all the answers. They do not have God in their pocket. We cannot answer every question that any bright boy in the back row might ask. We have only light enough to walk by.

Christmas Eve Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock. "Now they are all on their knees," An elder said as read more

Christmas Eve Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock. "Now they are all on their knees," An elder said as we sat in a flock By the embers in herath side ease. We pictured the meek mild creatures where They dwelt in their strawy pen, Nor did it occur to one of us there To doubt they were kneeling then. So fair a fancy few would weave In these years! yet, I feel If someone said on Christmas Eve, "Come; see the oxen kneel, In the lonely barton by yonder coomb Our childhood used to know," I should go with him in the gloom, Hoping it might be so.