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I When I became a man, I put away childish things.—St. Paul, 1 Corinthians 13 Most Christians misunderstand the relationship of poetry to their faith. They consider it an...

Let us sing to our city a new song, A song that remembers its name and its founders— Los Pobladores, the forgotten forty-four, Who built their pueblo beside a...

The English poet Elizabeth Jennings had the peculiar fate of being in the right place at the right time in the wrong way. Her career began splendidly. Her verse...

When I was a child in parochial school, we began each morning with ­daily Mass. My mother worked nights, and no one in my family was an early riser....

Hanging old ornaments on a fresh cut tree,I take each red glass bulb and tinfoil seraphAnd blow away the dust. Anyone elseWould throw them out. They are so scratched...

I For years I’ve pondered a cultural and social paradox that diminishes the vitality and diversity of the American arts. This cultural conundrum also reveals the intellectual retreat and...

“Work out your own salvation with fear and trembling.” I was already an old man when I was born. Small with a curved back, he dragged his leg when...

Forget about the other six, says Pride. They’re only using you. Admittedly, Lust is a looker, but you can do better. And why do they keep bringing us to...

Now you’d be three, I said to myself, seeing a child born the same summer as you. Now you’d be six, or seven, or ten. I watched you grow...