saints

A new documentary positions the fiery iconoclast as a prophet ahead of her time.

Sean Gandert’s novel asks us to decide if a man is a saint or a sham.

What I found when I looked up today’s date in four daily devotional books

Philip Kolin's longtime spiritual director was a chain-smoking oblate who fed everyone.

I was skeptical about sainthood. Then I met three people whose lives were changed by Mother Teresa.

“Even Lucifer might well have a change of heart,” said the fifth grader. “Isn’t that right, Father?”

From All Saints until Veterans Day, I’m posting a blog series on soldier saints at Centurions Guild. “Ten Saints, Ten Days” explores ten lives, their context, and their relevance to soldiers today. In the Bible, the number ten signifies completion and wholeness—something many soldiers today do not feel. The moral complexity of their service is too often brushed away with a quick “thank you” or an upgrade to first class. But soldiers’ experiences, their testimonies, are part and parcel to the integrity of the church—especially in this time of war.

A theologically credible account of war requires the voice of soldiers, the actual bodies that participate in it.

When my senior colleague proposed a ten-week sermon series on the saints, I was hesitant. Would anyone find this interesting?

Angela O'Donnell's sassy poems are born of her deeply Catholic imagination. She builds a house of saints, canonized or not.

It’s official: our entire household is obsessed with outer space. Our children have a solar system hanging over their beds, our upstairs hallway is graced by images of the Milky Way, and when nighttime falls, glow-in-the-dark planets sing an eventide song of praise to the God who made them all and yet is mindful of one little family staring up in wonder.

Mother Teresa’s spiritual struggles remind me of Martin Luther's.

Several years ago I engaged in a public dialogue with a Roman Catholic theologian about prayers to the saints. I went into the discussion with my mind made up on the subject. We Protestants—especially we evangelicals—do not pray to anyone but God. Directing our prayers in any other direction is at best theologically confused and at worst idolatrous. I came away, though, a little less convinced that the theological case was as tightly shut as I had thought.