It is with some relief that we can soon put 2021 in the proverbial rear-view mirror.

There is a magic about a Christmas morning that never ceases to amaze.

The bags were almost packed, plane reservations made, hotels booked, schedule set. Then came the news on Dec. 7 that the long-planned, much-delayed meeting between Pope Francis and representatives of Canada’s Indigenous communities is on hold again because of COVID concerns.

It’s full throttle on the Christmas shopping season now and even a pandemic isn’t about to put the brakes on people rushing to line up outside stores by buy gifts.

Life looks pretty promising at dawn. The sun is rising, the air a little crisper, the day ahead of us full of possibilities — a chance to start anew, hope for the best, maybe even fix yesterday’s problems or at least see them in a new light.

Fifty years is a long time for a good idea to sit on a shelf.

There is no shortage of inspiring stories in Church history, none more compelling than the winding trail of faith, providence and persistence that led to one of the most iconic organizations of charity — the Society of St. Vincent de Paul.

The news that many Canadians have been waiting to hear for a very long time arrived on the morning of Oct. 27 — Pope Francis is ready to come to Canada.

The word “synod” is not in the average person’s everyday vocabulary, so when we’re confronted by the notion of a “synod on synodality” it’s no surprise many either run to a dictionary or simply roll their eyes. Maybe both.

On the night of July 28, 2012, an 82-year-old nun, along with two men, slowly climbed up a thickly-wooded hill surrounding the Y-12 National Security Complex in Oak Ridge, Tennessee, where enriched uranium was stored for use in nuclear weapons. They crawled through holes they cut in barbed-wire fences, walked to the main building and proceeded to spray-paint biblical slogans, wrap crime scene tape around pillars and hammer away at concrete.