Until five minutes before The Curse of La Llorona began, my wife and I were the only people in the darkened void of the theatre at our local Cineplex.

A week before celebrating the Resurrection, we had the resurrection of Resurrection.

I’ve begun to call it the Gospel on the Green Line.

The heart of the Ottawa imbroglio over SNC-Lavalin can be found in remembering the time Justin Trudeau elbowed a female MP aside to get what he wanted.

Long ago, a childhood friend and I were walking across an old wooden bridge in the small town where we lived when a car stopped to offer us a ride. The local priest was at the wheel.

On a recent Saturday morning visit to Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside, a person mummy-wrapped in a dragonfly blue blanket lay motionless a few feet from the corner of Hastings and Main. 

Changing the current toxic cultural narrative around and about the Church consumes enormous Christian energy through a range of means and methods.

As predictably as rain falling in Dublin, Irish pro-abortion stalwarts are already agitating for so-called exclusion zones around health facilities where the life-ending procedure is performed.

If stereotypes are made to be deflated, Amanda Achtman is a young woman who carries a suitcase full of needles and hat pins.

Last summer, Ottawa constitutional lawyer Albertos Polizogopoulos and I were on Ottawa’s Sparks Street when we encountered a sign warning we were entering an abortion safe-access zone.