The problem is that the Chicken-Soup-for-the-Soul stuff may feel good, but none of that typical stuff helps when somebody in your neighborhood is murdered.

The monastic folks have the spirit of being in the world but not of the world, sort of peculiar people who have gone to the desert to live on the margins of the empire.

Dance until they kill you, and then we'll dance some more.

We have a relational problem with those who are suffering or who are different from us. All of us are most comfortable around people who are like us culturally and economically.

I think of the Catholic worker movement and Dorothy Day and Peter Maurin and others.

When we ask God to move a mountain, God may give us a shovel.

No one has seen God, but as we love one another, God lives in us.