The Winter Olympics - Striving for Perfection and Awaiting Judgement

There is something about the Winter Olympics that holds us still. 

We watch blades carve the ice, skis cut through snow, sleds race along frozen tracks at breathtaking speed. 

We see beauty, risk, discipline, and daring - and then we see the waiting. 

 

The skater stands motionless after the final spin, breath visible in the cold air, eyes fixed on a scoreboard. 

 

The skier glances upward after crossing the finish line. 

 

The snowboarder removes a helmet and waits. 

 

All of them have trained for years for this moment. 

 

All of them must await judgement, and as we watch, we cannot help but recognise something of our own lives in theirs.

Plank? What Plank?

Sometimes the Gospel reaches me not through what is spoken aloud, but through what rises quietly within me when I am interrupted and exposed.

It happened recently at Mass, in a moment so ordinary that it might easily have been forgotten, and yet so revealing that it has stayed with me.

At the very beginning of Mass, before I had properly settled, before my heart had slowed to the pace of prayer, several telephones went off. 

One sound followed another, brief intrusions into the silence that is meant to help me cross the threshold from ordinary life into something sacred.

Almost immediately, irritation stirred within me. It rose quickly and confidently, as though it needed very little encouragement. My attention drifted away from prayer and toward judgment. I told myself I was simply reacting to the disruption, but beneath that explanation lay something more uncomfortable.

I was judging.

Spiritual Warfare - The Hidden Battle

It’s not a subject many people like to talk about. In fact, even in the Church, spiritual warfare isn’t mentioned very much at all. 

We talk about love, mercy, hope and peace — all of which are essential — but not often about the struggle that lies behind all of it. 

Yet from the very first moment of creation, a battle has been going on, unseen but very real. It isn’t fought with weapons of steel or fire, but in the quiet places of the soul.

Suffer the Little Children Come to Me - How Young Children Are Lured Into The World Of Gambling

“Let the children come to me, and do not hinder them; for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven.”
— Matthew 19:14 RSV-CE

When Pope Leo XIV recently addressed the growing moral dangers of gambling, many Catholics expected him to speak about the financial harm and addiction that plague adults. But his warning went deeper. He spoke about children — the ones “whom Christ holds closest to His Sacred Heart” — and how they are now being lured into a culture that glorifies chance, greed, and instant reward.

His words echoed like a trumpet blast across the Church:

“We live in a world,” the Holy Father said, “where gambling is no longer whispered about in shame but celebrated in the open. Where once sin hid in the shadows, now it shines on screens and billboards, teaching the smallest among us that money is won, not earned — that risk is excitement, and that losing is simply part of the game.”

… and Mary pondered …

There are moments in Scripture that pass almost unnoticed, moments that are quiet, gentle, and easily overlooked. Yet sometimes it is precisely these moments that hold the deepest truth. 

One such moment is found in a single line describing Mary, the mother of Jesus: "But Mary kept all these things, pondering them in her heart." (Luke 2:19, RSV – CE)

We are so accustomed to thinking of Mary in terms of obedience and faith that we may forget what her obedience actually involved. It was not abstract. It was not safe. It was not cushioned by certainty. Mary's "yes" placed her at the centre of responsibility, danger, and deep uncertainty. She was entrusted not only with faith, but with a Child – a fragile infant in a fragile world.

To ponder, in Mary's case, was not passive reflection. It was the work of a mother carrying an unimaginable responsibility, holding together love, fear, trust, and action. And when we allow ourselves to linger with Mary in that pondering, we begin to see our own faith reflected back at us.

The Long Way Home – The Journey After Bethlehem

The night sky over Bethlehem was never the same for us again.

We had arrived as seekers, burdened by our past, guided by a light we could not explain. We left as men remade — uncertain of the road ahead but certain of the truth we had seen.

The star that had led us no longer shone above, but it burned within.

The journey home was long, filled with silence, memory, and prayer. We no longer carried gold, frankincense, and myrrh — only the ache of wonder and the weight of grace.

And though we had set out as astrologers and magicians, we returned as men who had glimpsed the face of God.

10 Theories As To What Mary and Joseph Did With The Gold, Frankincense, and Myrrh

The story of the Magi, who travelled from the East to honour the newborn Jesus, is one of the most cherished narratives in Christian tradition. 

Their gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh are laden with symbolic meaning, but the Gospels do not provide any details about what became of these valuable items after they were presented. 

This omission has led to numerous speculations and theological reflections over the centuries. 

In this article, we explore ten theories about what Mary and Joseph might have done with the gifts of the Magi, drawing on biblical, historical, and traditional sources.

And Then We Found Him

We did not find Him where kings are supposed to be.

There was no procession, no guarded threshold, no architecture announcing importance. 

 

No herald cried out His name. 

 

No priest stood watch. 

 

No lamp burned brighter than another.

Instead, there was the quiet sound of breathing.

The star did not blaze or thunder. It simply rested. As if it had reached the end of its sentence.

We stood still.