The whole world is enthralled by the very notion of flight, the very notion of soaring through the heights. The whole world is crying for wings. In fact, it needs to fly more than it needs to eat.

There are many rooms in my Father’s house (Jn 14:2). Only after the first two weeks did I finally stop circling the main floor in my attempt to find a side exit!

Christ is Risen. Truly he is risen. Alleluia! Alleluia!

What are we going to do about it? For if we truly believe in his incarnation, his life on earth, his death on the cross and his resurrection, then it is time to really bestir ourselves about it. So we have to ask ourselves: what are we going to do about it?

Freedom negates and destroys itself, and becomes a factor leading to the destruction of others, when it no longer recognizes and respects its essential link with truth.

The Resurrection of Our Lord Jesus Christ from the dead is the ultimate affirmation of the gift of life itself. The Resurrection is the Father’s final "word" on the destiny of his children. As Christ said, I have come that they may have life and have it to the full (John 10:10).

In our day we are in a tremendous battle between this Gospel of life (as Pope John Paul II called it so beautifully) and the culture of death. Whenever the question of political decision is raised, whenever it is time to vote in our world today, these issues come to the fore in a particular way.

As I write this column, Lent has just begun. The outward changes this season brings are easily listed: the liturgical purples, the readings at Mass, our beautiful Lenten hymns which we sing over and over, and fewer treats of any kind.

From time to time, a newspaper or magazine publishes something about one of our houses. This article, which appeared in Edmonton’s diocesan newspaper, sheds light on a hidden facet of the life of street people.

Hope is not in the palette of emotions one would expect to find in the desperately poor homeless men seeking help at Marian Centre.

The culture of death is marching across the world with no indication of repentance. Each day, more and more clearly, we are being offered a dramatic choice.

When you live in the same house and sleep in the same room with someone for six months, you get to know him pretty well, but it didn’t take me long to learn that Paul and I were very different people. We disagreed on everything non-essential.

I met Janine Lieu at Madonna House in May 2007. We were guests together for four months. For a time, we worked together in the gardens, and we eventually grew to be intimate sisters.

I must confess that initially I found her to be strange—terribly strange. For example, during her free time, she would kneel before the Blessed Sacrament and pray the rosary.

It was great to see Janine. I hadn’t seen her in a while, and she gave me a big hug and a smile that wrapped me in her love. Several of us from Madonna House were attending a play put on by the students of Our Lady Seat of Wisdom Academy, a nearby school where Janine, a former MH working guest, was now a student. It was wonderful to see her looking so happy. She told me she loved her classes and she loved the academy.

Eight days later, Janine was dead.

Our Lady Seat of Wisdom Academy, located in Barry’s Bay, approximately 14 km. from Madonna House, is an unusual school and one whose birth and growth we in Madonna House have been watching with joy and hope—and have been a tiny part of, too.

Sister Clare Marie was trying to be gentle as she explained my D minus grade in Algebra, the only unacceptable grade I had ever gotten in high school. "My advice, Patrick, is that you avoid higher mathematics and stay with simple arithmetic. It will do you fine.

You hear all the beautiful readings in the liturgies during the Easter Season that say that Christ is risen, the bonds of sin have been broken, and the world has been renewed. And in our nitty-gritty way, we say to ourselves: What is this? Nothing has come together. The world news is such that it seems that at every moment everything is falling apart.

Death: Janet Bourdet's mother.