Faith is not something you achieve. If you try to nail it down, it gets up and walks away with the nail. Faith works this way: Some days you walk on water, other days you sink like a stone. You live with a deep secret, the poet Rumi says, that sometimes you know, and then not, and then know again. Sometimes you feel the real presence, sometimes you feel the real absence. Why?

Fourth Sunday of Advent (Year A) Dec. 22 (Isaiah 7:10-14; Psalm 24; Romans 1:1-7; Matthew 1:18-24)

King Ahaz was close to despair. It was 734 BC, and Jerusalem was surrounded and besieged by her enemies the Syrians. They were trying to force Ahaz to join in rebellion against the Assyrian Empire, to whom Ahaz had submitted as a vassal. Defeat seemed unavoidable, and Ahaz was considering an attempt to make military alliances with other powers to alleviate the situation.

Third Sunday of Advent (Year A) Dec. 15 (Isaiah 35:1-6a, 10; Psalm 146; James 5:7-10; Matthew 11:2-11)

Modern theology usually mimics philosophical or scientific modes of writing. As useful or necessary as this may sometimes be it seldom inspires the sacred imagination or touches the heart. Old Testament theology, on the other hand, was theology by means of vivid images, symbols and stories. Many of the prophetic passages verge on poetry as they weave together images that in a rational sense may be incomprehensible.

Many of us, I suspect, know about the work of the renowned anthropologist Rene Girard and the dissemination of his insights through the work of his student Gil Bailie. With gratitude to them, I pass along one of their insights, an invaluable look at how we try to handle resentment in our lives.

Do you ever get that empty feeling? For me, it often happens in grocery stores — nowadays so big you could easily get your day’s exercise there — crammed with foods, tastes, colours.

Faith is not something you achieve. If you try to nail it down, it gets up and walks away with the nail.

Second Sunday of Advent (Year A) Dec. 8 (Isaiah 11:1-10; Psalm 72; Romans 15:4-9; Matthew 3:1-9)

When things get really tough and out of control, most people look for a superhero or saviour. Human efforts can seem futile and doomed to failure; sometimes the mess is so great that it calls for help from an outside super-human source. This intervention comes in many guises: political, economic or religious ideologies are near the top of the list. Most of them also fall far short and many demand too great a price — usually freedom and human dignity.

1st Sunday of Advent (Year A) Dec. 1, (Isaiah 2:1-5; Psalm 122; Romans 13:11-14; Matthew 24:37-44)

The image of beating swords and spears into ploughshares and pruning hooks is both beautiful and painful. It is beautiful in that it represents the heartfelt yearning of humanity for millennia for a time when nations no longer resort to war. The pain lies in the realization that we are ever so far from this state of harmony and peace.

There has always been an innate and healthy tension between theology and catechesis, between what’s happening in theology departments in universities and the church pew. Theologians and bishops are often not each other’s favourite people. And that’s understandable. Why?

This past weekend I re-read A Grief Observed, C.S. Lewis’s personal account of dealing with the death of his wife from cancer. I searched the book for some words of comfort to help deal with my own pain at the loss of a family member.