Help us, God of mercy, to realize how much more threatening the pandemic is for a forcibly displaced person.

I cannot eat the bread of life, but I know I will never hunger for God.

Black men strung up and lynched by Irish-Americans in New York, in the midst of the Civil War. It turns the stomach to acknowledge, but the truth is unavoidable.

I am a black priest in a predominantly white, rural parish. Answering this question is more urgent than ever.

How can I pontificate about Christ’s presence with those who suffer and not put my body where Christ’s is?

We have been crying out this question for centuries. But we cannot cry it alone anymore.