Experience teaches you a lot over time.

What works. What doesn’t. What matters, and what doesn’t matter nearly as much as you once thought it did.

It also reshapes memory. The sharp edges of regret begin to soften. What once felt like mistakes slowly reveal themselves as part of a larger path. Not always a painless one…but a meaningful one.

And so, as the years have gone on, my list of regrets has grown smaller.

Not because I got everything right…

But because, more and more, I’ve come to see that even the wrong turns had a way of leading somewhere they needed to lead.

Grace has a way of doing that.

Still… if I’m being honest… there are a few things I might do differently.

Nothing too dramatic…

Like, I wouldn’t have sold that old Jeep CJ-7.

And there are two books that are absolutely worth their weight in gold that I carelessly misplaced— Small Boat Engine Repair and The Art of Bricklaying — both written in the early ‘40s…I can’t even find them online.

And then there are a handful of decisions that, well, I probably would reconsider.

But near the top of that short list—higher than I expected it to be—is something I hadn’t really thought about in years.

College.

I didn’t spend much time on campus when I was that age. Not in any meaningful sense. A semester or two, here and there.

It wasn’t that I didn’t love to learn. I did. Even as a teenager, I was drawn to ideas, to questions, to the deeper currents beneath things. But I didn’t yet have the discipline… or the humility… or the maturity to recognize the value of the moment I was in.

And so, like a lot of young people, I moved past it quickly.

Too quickly.

That realization surfaced unexpectedly during a recent visit to the campus of The Catholic University of America.

I had gone there to photograph student life.

Simple enough.

But it didn’t stay simple.

The first thing I noticed was how young everyone seemed.

Or maybe, more accurately… how not-young I am anymore.

That tends to happen when you have grandkids.

But once that thought passed, something else began to take shape.

I found myself sitting quietly in classrooms, listening as professors spoke about St. Thomas Aquinas… about philosophy and metaphysics… about architecture… even quantum physics. Not as abstract ideas floating in isolation, but as part of a larger pursuit, something ordered, something coherent.

I watched students gathered in groups, working through problems together, pushing back on one another, refining ideas, sharpening thought. There was energy there, but not chaos. Engagement, but not confusion.

And then… I walked into a chapel.

And found them in Adoration.

That was the moment.

Not dramatic. Not loud.

Just clear.

Because in that instant, the distinction became undeniable.

There is a difference between a university…

and a Catholic university.

And The Catholic University of America in particular.

We’ve all seen what higher education has become in many places. Institutions once devoted to the pursuit of truth have, in too many cases, lost confidence in the very idea that truth exists. Knowledge, untethered from anything solid, begins to drift. And when it drifts long enough, it fractures.

But here…

something holds.

As I stood in the Communion line at an evening Mass on a Tuesday, no less, in a chapel filled to capacity, I began to understand what that “something” was.

Or rather… Who.

Because whatever you do in life, whatever path you take, however ambitious or ordinary it may seem, if Christ is at the center of it, then everything else finds its place.

Without Him, even excellence is hollow.

With Him, even the ordinary becomes luminous.

Education, at its core, is the pursuit of truth.

Not just useful knowledge. Not just information. But truth, wherever it leads.

And all truth—whether discovered in philosophy, in science, in art, or in the quiet of prayer—finds its origin in the One who is Truth.

That’s what I saw on that campus.

Not perfection.

But alignment.

An environment where thought expands, where ideas are tested and refined, where innovation is encouraged—but where all of it is grounded in something deeper than intellect alone.

A place that doesn’t just form minds…

but forms hearts.

And standing there, watching, listening, absorbing it all, the thought came, unexpectedly, and with a touch of irony…and yes, the sting of regret.

I missed this.

Not just college.

This.

And yet, even that realization didn’t feel heavy.

Because if experience has taught me anything, it’s that even the regrets we discover late have a purpose.

They clarify.

They guide.

They point us forward.

So no…

I wouldn’t rewrite the whole story.

I’m grateful for the road that brought me here.

But I will say this:

If I had the chance to do it again…

I know exactly where I’d go.

And maybe, just maybe…

My grandkids will get that chance instead.

And at the very least, they’ll have one less regret than I do.

Learn more about Catholic University of America HERE,

And see the Cardinal Newman Society list of America’s top Catholic Colleges HERE.

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This is a truly independent, reader-supported publication. If this piece resonated with you, I’d be grateful for your support—whether through a paid subscription or as a Patron of the Arts.

It allows me to continue telling these stories.

Thank you for being here. Please keep me in your prayers, as I keep you in mine.

God bless,
Jeff

The road into East Germany looked like it had given up.

Potholes swallowed the asphalt. Concrete crumbled into gravel. Gray apartment blocks sagged beneath a sky the color of an old battleship. From the window of a gleaming Eagle tour bus, absurdly polished against the ruin, I watched a defeated world sink slowly back into the earth.

It was 1991.

My generation had grown up with the low-grade dread of nuclear annihilation. Air-raid sirens in our imaginations, Cold War thrillers in every movie theater, the Soviets cast as permanent villains in a story that felt destined to end in flames.

And yet, here we were.

The Wall had fallen.

I was in my early twenties, touring Europe with a German heavy metal band, hired as a guitarist/keyboardist, a life that now feels like it belonged to someone else.

As we crossed what had once been the most fortified border on earth, I stared at the remains of watchtowers that stood empty, their concrete faces now tattooed with graffiti and freedom slogans where machine guns once scanned for escapees.

No one on the bus spoke much.

Then I noticed our tour manager, a German whose name I no longer trust myself to remember, leaning toward the window. His face had changed. It wasn’t curiosity. It was closer to pain, the kind that arrives when you pass through a place your body remembers, even if you haven’t spoken of it in years. He leaned forward and said something to the bus driver. I didn’t understand the words, but I understood the driver’s response: his face went serious, and he slowly shook his head.

I never learned what passed between them.

But I understood, watching those two men, that what I was seeing from my side of the glass was scenery. To them, it was personal. This wasn’t a continent away from where they lived. They had carried the story of this place, the fear, the division, the sealed border, their entire lives. The ruins outside the window were not merely a backdrop for my misadventures.

They were the architecture of a wound.

That was the moment the fall of the Wall became real to me. Not as a news event, but as something written on a man’s face.

By the time we reached Berlin, the streets pulsed with something I had never felt before. Not celebration exactly, and not relief alone. It was closer to stunned joy. Strangers embraced. People laughed and cried in the same breath. There was a shared expression everywhere you looked…

Is this really happening?

A weight had lifted from millions of souls at once, and no one quite knew what to do with the sudden lightness.

I’ve never forgotten that feeling.

Fast forward to last week.

I found myself inside the New York Encounter, the annual cultural gathering organized by Communion and Liberation, a place where faith, art, politics, and the human search for meaning meet in open conversation.

One panel asked a deceptively simple question: Is religion returning in America?

The scholars and journalists onstage weighed their words carefully. The data suggests something is shifting. Religious decline appears to be slowing. Belief remains widespread. Many Americans still pray…

And yet the pews have not suddenly filled they claimed. A revival, they suggested, may be too strong a word.

Listening, I understood their caution.

They study patterns.

I stand in pews.

What they described hinted at what you’d find on the ground…but was incomplete.

Because not everything is visible in data.

Sometimes it appears in the streets.

A few days after the Encounter, I slipped back into the restless current of Manhattan life. Taxis surging through intersections, steam lazily rising from manhole covers, couriers and their insidious e-bikes weaving between pedestrians.

And then I saw it.

A smudge of ash on a man’s forehead, waiting for the light to change.

A young woman descending the subway steps, a dark cross visible just beneath the fringe of her hair.

A construction worker in a hard hat, the black mark stark against the dust of his trade.

Then another.

And another.

Within a few blocks, I had stopped counting.

Ash Wednesday.

In a city that prides itself on reinvention and ambition, here was an ancient profession of faith carried openly through the noise and motion of modern life.

Remember that you are dust… and to dust you shall return.

The words are stark. Uncomfortable. Utterly out of step with a culture built on self-creation and personal freedom.

And yet the ashes were everywhere, on bankers and baristas, students and sanitation workers, young professionals hurrying between meetings. The ancient sign moved through the modern city without pretension, without spectacle, without apology.

This wasn’t a display of triumph or a show of religious muscle.

It was something else. Something humbler.

A public admission of mortality. A shared acknowledgment of need. A visible hunger for mercy.

I walked crosstown toward St. Joseph’s in Greenwich Village, where my friends the Dominican Friars would soon begin the 7:00 pm Mass for Ash Wednesday…

Nothing could have prepared for me what I experienced next.

As I passed through the iron gates of St. Joseph's, I was greeted by a standing-room-only crowd of young adults. Professionals. Students. Seekers.

I couldn’t suppress my smile, and the unexpected feeling rising within me.

Familiar, electric, almost disorienting.

I’d felt it before.

Berlin, 1991.

That same stunned awareness, that staggeringly, joyful disbelief. That same sense of a seismic shift is taking place. And that same question hanging in the air:

Is this really happening?

That feeling didn’t come from nowhere.

For the past several years I have found myself moving across the country with covering stories, and what I’ve witnessed, again and again, is the emerging of a church filled with a new sense of mission.

At the National Eucharistic Pilgrimage, I watched a monstrance carried through the cobbled streets of lower Manhattan under a full NYPD escort, officers halting traffic as the Blessed Sacrament passed between Wall Street and the South Street Seaport.

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Last year, in a mission parish deep within the Navajo Nation, tribal elders spoke of expanding the Catholic school on their lands. In parishes across the country, priests told me their OCIA classes were full for the first time in decades, and young adults raised with little religious practice were asking questions their parents had stopped asking.

No headlines declared it. No metrics captured it.

But it was there.

I’m not a sociologist. I’m not a pollster.

But I’ve stood in churches, on sidewalks, and along pilgrimage routes from coast to coast.

And from that vantage point, it’s impossible to escape the reality that something is changing.

What I felt when I stepped into St. Joseph’s, and what I had felt in Berlin decades earlier, was an overpowering sense of joyful, tearful disbelief.

Not at the triumph of one side over another, but at being there to be a witness the beginning of something so breathtaking, so beautiful…

I’ll leave it at this.

You can’t see this from 620 Eigth Avenue…

Perhaps you can’t see it in polls or big data…

You just have to be there to see for yourself, and then you’ll know.

Is there a religious revival happening now?

I’m not a betting man.

But if I were?

I’d bet the ranch on it.

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This is an independent, reader-supported publication. No corporate sponsors. No editorial board. Just careful reporting, original photography, and stories told from the ground.

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You have my sincere gratitude for walking with me.

I took some time off recently. Christmas Eve. Christmas Day. A day or two after.

And something interesting happened. Poor sleep. Agitation. A distinct loss of clarity.

When I say I took a few days off, of course, I’m referring to running and cold plunges. A few five-mile days and a few seven-minute immersions in around forty-five-degree water.

You’d think it wouldn’t matter that much. That out of 365 days, surely a handful couldn’t amount to any meaningful decline.

But it did. And I suffered. Suffered worse than I would have if I’d just kept to the routine. Who knew.

Those things aren’t that important in the grand scheme of things, not counting my sanity. And that got me to thinking about the things can’t be skipped. Things like prayer. Sharing our Faith. Caring for those in need, and a litany of other things. Those are the very essence of what we were created to do: to live, to love, to serve.

St. Joseph understood this. It’s the Gospel he preached without words through his example. When the angel appeared, telling him to take Mary as his wife, he did. When he was told to flee with the Holy Family from Herod’s murderous intent, he just did. And as he raised the child Jesus, sheltered Him, and protected Him and Mary, he simply did. No days off.

There’s a harder truth that follows: evil never takes a day off either. Which is why our devotion to Christ, our commitment to love, and our practice of mercy can never rest.

A little over a week ago, the Sisters of Life held their Nativity Play, a simple but sacred celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ, the gift of life, and their commitment to uphold its dignity. Warmth and joy in a parish gymnasium.

And in stark contrast, today, on the Feast of the Holy Innocents, on the fifth day of Christmas, those same sisters took to the streets. Despite darkened skies, slick pavement, and intermittent rain, they walked shoulder to shoulder with the faithful, with Dominicans, Franciscan Friars of the Renewal, and Franciscan Sisters of the Renewal. Standing in witness to the first God-given right, the foundational right upon which all others stand. The right to life.

Because when it comes to love of God and neighbor, there can never be a day off.

On the day when the Church remembers how the streets of Bethlehem ran red with the blood of innocents. On the day when Rachel wept for her children and would not be consoled.

A witness was given.

A witness that the things most important in life are precisely the things that allow no days off.

We can learn this through experience. But we can especially learn it from Christ, whose love, mercy, and embrace are perpetually and eternally extended. In the good times and the bad. In the joyful and the sorrowful. In consolation and desolation.

He’s relentless in His pursuit of us.

Because His love never takes a day off.

Don’t get me wrong though. We need time to rest and recuperate from the trials and challenges of life. And we should get out and take time to simply enjoy all that God has given us in nature, friends and family. It’s crucial, and helps us to live more fully the life we’ve been gifted.

But there are those other non-negotiables.

And come to think about it, to be in communion with Jesus? To encourage others in Faith? To be a vessel of His Love and His Mercy?

Those things?

Why would you want to take a day off?

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Thanks for reading! This is a truly independent, reader-supported periodical. Your support is crucial. If you are able, please consider a paid subscription or making a ‘Patron of the Arts’ donation of any amount. By doing so, you are not just supporting this effort; you’re a vital part of this mission.

You have my heartfelt thanks for your generosity and support, and please keep me in your prayers, and know of mine for each of you. God Bless and Merry Christmas! Jeff

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I may forget the names of my children.

I may even forget my wife’s name.

But I’ll never forget the events of the evening of February 3rd, 2008.

It was Super Bowl Sunday, the final minute ticking away. After years of praying and losing and praying… and losing, it looked like my beloved Giants were about to submit again—to Tom Brady and the New England Patriots.

But there was hope.

This year my friends insisted I root for the Patriots. And there was good reason: since forever, every team I’ve ever supported has gone down in flames. Yet another reason I’m such a “huge” football fan.

But I’m a good sport.

So I swallowed my pride and threw myself fully into my new identity as a die-hard Bostonian. I cheered for the Patriots with theatrical passion, in everyone’s face with every Brady success, rubbing noses in every Giants failure. I’d shout “GO PATRIOTS!!” anytime the room went quiet, which wasn’t often, because this was a full-blown Super Bowl party packed with rabid fans.

Like me.

Then, with the Giants trailing 14–10, and about sixty seconds left, the Patriots’ perfect season looked inevitable.

But then came the miracle.

Eli Manning escaped a sure sack, scrambled for his life, and launched a prayer toward David Tyree… who pinned the ball to his helmet with a defender draped all over him. Time stopped.

Moments later, Manning lofted a strike to Plaxico Burress for the go-ahead touchdown.

17–14. Giants!

The room detonated. People screamed, cried, jumped, hugged. I got the hero treatment for “taking one for the team,” and honestly, it was worth it.

Now, for the record, I’m not superstitious or anything…
but team I’m rooting for? Pick the other.

Later that night, still riding the high of the win, my family and I got home. The phone rang. My wife picked up. Her face changed instantly.

“What?” she mouthed, staring at me.

Then aloud: “...Chuck was killed in a motorcycle accident…”

Chuck, one of my dearest friends. A man I walked with into the Catholic faith. A man I stood behind with my hand on his shoulder the day he was confirmed. A man I served beside at the Barnegat Light Fire Department. And a man I’d talked off the ledge more than once.

In an instant, the tears of celebration turned into tears of raw, unthinkable grief.

No words.

Only pain.

In the week that followed, I was asked to write and deliver his eulogy. Remembering him, writing for him, standing there to speak his name aloud. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.

He was given a firefighter’s send-off: ladder trucks at full extension, massive American flags hanging over the route, the whole town honoring him. He was laid to rest only a few miles from my home. So close. And yet impossibly far.

Years passed. Life moved on, as it does. The sharp edge of grief softened, but I carried his memory with me as a friend loved and lost. His name regularly on my lips in my prayers for those who’d passed. His memory became something bittersweet, a presence and an absence both.

Then one morning at Mass, years later, I heard a homily about the gift of a plenary indulgence, this incredible grace where God wipes away the spiritual consequences of sins, drawing a soul closer to Heaven. And not only for ourselves… we can offer it for someone who has died.

All these years I’d been praying for Chuck, but this felt different, like being handed a key I didn’t know existed.

I’m going to do that for Chuck, I thought.

This year, the Church is celebrating a Jubilee, a time when God seems to fling the doors of mercy wide open. Literally. Holy Doors in cathedrals and basilicas around the world are unlocked so anyone can walk through as an act of pilgrimage.

One of the Graces of a Jubilee is the chance to receive a plenary indulgence, a complete cleansing of the soul. To obtain this spiritual gift, a person must foster a spirit of detachment from all sin, even venial; go to confession; receive Holy Communion; pray for the intentions of the Holy Father; and make a profession of faith. Finally, the pilgrimage through a designated Holy Door, or the sincere performance of an act of charity or mercy, completes the steps as outlined in the official norms.

And you can offer that Grace for someone who has died.

A friend.

A loved one.

The doors of mercy are open this year. We’d be foolish not to walk through them, for ourselves, and for the ones we love who may only need one last prayer to enter the Beatific Vision forever.

Recently, on an early morning run found myself thinking about him again. I looked up toward the sky and whispered…”I hope you made it…”

And suddenly, chills tore through my entire body.

I saw his face, radiant, smiling.

“I did,” he said. “And it’s amazing.”

Staggered and of guard, I whispered, “I can’t wait to see you again.”

He laughed. “Not too soon!”

I stumbled forward, shaken to the core. Was I imagining this? Was it a memory? A Grace? A miracle?

My eyes returning to the sky…“Lord… is this real?” I asked.

And as clear as the sunrise ahead of me, I heard…

It is.

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I drive a lot.

To put that in perspective, over the past 31 months, I logged around 48,000 miles, roughly twice around the world, so to speak. There are the typical 2 to 3 hour commutes to assignments in the tri-state area, and then there are the marathon, 10+ hour jaunts, like from Indianapolis to New Jersey, or the Navajo Nation to Palm Desert. It’s a lot of coffee. A lot of fuel.

And a lot of podcasts.

Podcasts are amazing. You can listen to experts on pretty much anything and go as deep into a subject as you want. Of course, I listen to countless Catholic Podcasts, like Fr. David Michael Moses, Bishop Barron and Pints with Aquinas. But I also like to listen to podcasts that talk about exceptionalism; people who’ve achieved amazing things in any genre. I like to hear about what drives them, their background, their training, and their lifestyle. It’s fascinating. From the Marc Andreessens to the Michael Jordans of the world, it’s inspiring to see the heights one can rise to with discipline and an unrelenting spirit.

Recently I’d traveled to Los Angeles to cover the visit of the Relics of St. Therese of Lisieux to the area, and while driving I would listen to podcasts and audiobooks about her life to immerse myself in her story. And she is certainly an exceptional person. What struck me wasn’t just her holiness, but the fierce discipline and spirit behind it—the same kind of focused intensity I’d been hearing about in all those podcasts about worldly champions.

My initial interest in her came by way of her sister Celine, aka: Sister Genevieve of the Holy Face, whose groundbreaking skills with the ancient camera she had gave us the photos of St. Therese that we now know and love.

In the corner of my tiny office, there’s a photo of young Celine with some cousins and friends. In it they’re standing on a bridge with a collection of rifles laughing and having a good time.

I’m fascinated by the entire scene it portrays…including the rifles.

When I was a kid, shooting was second nature. I’d achieved several little medals with a well-worn, single-shot, bolt-action .22, and I fondly remember shooting clays with my father at the Sportsman’s Center in Croton. I’ll never forget the first time we returned home from the range. “Little Jeffrey”, probably about 10, came bursting in the house, beaming, not wasting a single second to tell my Mom about the incredible time we had and how loud that new Winchester Model 1200 was. I was about a minute into my highly animated tale of adventure when my mother’s smile faded from her face and turned to a look of horror. She pulled back my shirt lapel on the right side, revealing my completely black and blue shoulder, which was immediately followed by a deafening “RIICCCHHHARDDD!!!” Needless to say, my humbly apologetic father had a recoil pad installed on the stock later that week.

But back to the present.

I arrived home from LA and settled into my car in the Philadelphia International Airport Economy lot, an hour and half drive ahead of me to home, I opened up Spotify and saw a podcast by Cam Hanes who’s one of the best bow hunters in the world. I know little to nothing about bow hunting. (Also, his son, Truett, holds the world pull-up record.) On the podcast he would be speaking with a young woman, Lena Miculek, who has 10X world champion titles in shooting, and a plethora of other accomplishments. “Sure, why not,” I thought.

To make a long story, or more like a long podcast, short as it was a nearly two-hours long, both her mom and dad are world champions and world record holders as well. As she described the life she lived —the discipline, the focus, the training —it was clear that she, like so many other ultra-high achievers, had a passion and drive that had led her to heights few others ever reach.

Fascinating, I thought.

So as I dropped my gear in my office later that night, I glanced at the photo of the gun-toting posse led by Celine on the wall and smiled. I wondered for a moment how good a shot she was.

Then I thought about her sister, Therese, the Saint, whose life I’d just immersed myself in. And that’s not unironic, because everything Celine did invited us to know her sister and her “little way.”

I never thought of saints in terms of “award-winning,” but there are some parallels, especially if you translate that to “exceptionalism,” of which she indeed defines. Spiritual exceptionalism. The kind of exceptionalism that lasts through all eternity. The kind that matters most.

Lena Miculek trains for hours every day, analyzing every shot, adjusting her stance by millimeters, controlling her breathing down to the second. Therese did the same thing, but with her soul. She called it her “little way”—turning every mundane moment into target practice for perfect love. Picking up a pin from the floor became an act of love. Smiling at a difficult sister in the convent when she wanted to snap back—that was her perfect shot under pressure.

World champions have coaches studying their every move. Therese had Jesus, and she studied His every Word with the intensity of an Olympic athlete reviewing game tape. She didn’t just read the Gospel; she lived it, breathed it, adjusted her spiritual stance according to it.

And just like those podcasts where champions talk about visualization and mental preparation, Therese spent hours in prayer, preparing her heart for the next opportunity to choose love over irritation, patience over frustration, generosity over selfishness. She wasn’t aiming for medals that would tarnish or records that would eventually be broken. She was training for an eternal crown.

The discipline was the same. The daily grind was the same. The difference? Her arena was a small Carmelite convent in Lisieux, and her achievement was becoming so exceptional at love that she’d be declared a Doctor of the Church, her “little way” transforming millions of souls over a century after her death at just 24.

Because the thing that all of the saints excel at can be summed up in one word.

Love.

They strive to love God with all their strength. They strive to love those around them as God loves them.

And as Therese would say, so perfectly: “My vocation is Love!”

I’ll keep on listening to these podcasts about exceptional people from all walks of life. Because it shows what’s possible if we truly commit ourselves, and often there are lessons that translate well to the spiritual realm.

And is it possible to be a great marksman, or athlete, or artist, and a great saint? I don’t see why not.

But if you had to choose only one thing to be exceptional at...

Choose Love.

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Upcoming Relic Pilgrimage Stops:

Visit https://stthereseusa2025.com/ for more details

San Antonio, Texas & Carmels throughout the South (October 31-November 14)
Holy Hill, Wisconsin (November 15-18)
Washington, DC and surrounding areas (November 19-30)

Miami, Florida (December 1-8)

And you can learn more about the lives of the Martin sisters and their Saintly parents here: https://archives.carmeldelisieux.fr/en/

Thanks for reading! This is a truly independent, reader-supported periodical. Your support is crucial. If you are able, please consider a paid subscription or making a ‘Patron of the Arts’ donation of any amount. By doing so, you are not just supporting this effort; you’re a vital part of this mission.

You have my heartfelt thanks for your generosity and support, and please keep me in your prayers, and know of mine for each of you. God Bless, Jeff

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“That’s a dangerous prayer…” she hesitated, glancing at me as we walked the St. Elizabeth Ann Seton Route through Central Park during the National Eucharistic Pilgrimage a little over a year ago.

The day was long—nine hours of walking, praying, adoring—Jesus in the streets with His followers. Along the way, conversations ebbed and flowed, weaving together faith, life, and the simplicity of how hot it was on the streets of New York City.

I’d just shared with her an abrupt change in my prayer life a few months earlier.

I had found myself in a place and point in my life where I was completely powerless. There were circumstances arising that were threatening to crush me, and there seemed to be little I could do to stop it.

Except pray.

That, of course, was my first mistake.

For every time I’ve remembered it, I’ve forgotten it twice over: prayer isn’t the last resort, it’s the most powerful response we have to anything. Because Love Incarnate always knows the way, regardless of circumstance.

But in that moment, my heart didn’t remember it.

It’s funny how often we need something disastrous to face us to REALLY turn to God with our whole heart, strength and soul.

Not funny actually…unfortunate.

But as the storm clouds of doom rolled in, one morning, well before sunrise, a prayer welled up that I’d never prayed before. Not long, not elaborate, but raw. And it stuck. I’ve prayed it every morning since, before I even lift my head from the pillow…

“Lord, I surrender everything I have, everything You’ve given me, to You. I pray that my every thought, word, and action are Yours. Take it all. Thank You for the gift of life, Your love, and Your mercy. Your Will be done”

And I meant it.

I was done thinking I knew what was best.

I was done following my will.

And it may have been the single best thing that’s ever happened to me.

Who knew.

Life didn’t change all that much. But I did.

I found peace…His Peace.

I encountered Joy…His Joy

And confidence. Not in me and my bungling efforts to run the show.

But in His.

I discovered trust. Concrete trust. That the Author of Life, who created you and me and loves us beyond comprehension, truly knows us—and knows better than we ever could. His plan is the perfect plan for our fulfillment, our purpose, and our salvation.

So yes, I understand why she called it a “dangerous prayer.” We all have our dreams, our desires, our likes and dislikes. And “surrender” seems like we’re giving something up, or feels like we’re sacrificing something.

But in reality, when we choose our will it’s like clinging to a rope, knuckles white, holding on for dear life, thinking that if we let go, we’ll fall into the chasm—while an inch beneath us lies the Foundation of the Universe and if we just let go, we’d land on eternally solid ground and finally stand in peace and joy.

We don’t give it all away in surrender, we open ourselves to receive the life we were created to live. And we receive more than we ever knew to ask for.

We receive Him, and He embraces us.

A Dangerous prayer? Not in the least.

Scary? It shouldn’t be…

But adventurous?

100%.

And what’s life without adventure, especially when you’re walking it with Him.

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Thanks for reading! This is a reader-supported periodical. Your support is crucial. If you are able, please consider a paid subsciption or making a ‘Patron of the Arts’ donation of any amount. By doing so, you are not just supporting this effort; you’re a vital part of this mission.

You have my heartfelt thanks for your generosity and support and please keep me in your prayers, and know of mine for each of you. God Bless, Jeff

I've met a lot of crazy people in my life.

Frank from Jersey City comes to mind. A local legend with Elvis hair, a fixture on the corner of Grand and Columbus, who kept a switchblade in his sock and sang doo-wop at passing buses.

Then there was Zef, who ran a gypsy cab company on the Upper East Side. He believed that rules…all of them…were meant for others, as evidenced by how he may/ or may not have ‘edited’ my application so he could hire me back in the day.

And Harry the Trucker. Built like a medieval door. Always sweating, always muttering. One eye pointed towards the sky, the other right through your soul. If you saw him barreling down the block, you instinctively crossed the street or made for an alley.

City life teaches you something early: crazy is relative. And without these people, life would be far less colorful.

But lately, I've encountered a different species of crazy entirely.

The holy kind.

The Other Kind of Crazy

When I started spending more time around the Church, I began to notice a different kind of crazy person. The kind with wild eyes and rosaries in both pockets. The kind that talks about Jesus like He's their childhood best friend, and I mean, really talks about Him.

At first, I treated them the same way I treated Frank, Zef, and Harry. I'd smile, nod politely. Change the subject. And drift away before I got pulled into their orbit.

But the deeper I grew in faith, the more I started to actually hear what they were saying.

They weren't rambling. They weren't confused. They weren’t unstable…They just… believed.

They experienced Christ in the Blessed Sacrament. They knew His voice in their prayer. They showed up early for Mass, prayed the Rosary like warriors, and teared up when the Blessed Sacrament was raised. They fasted. They sang off-key. They laid hands on strangers and begged for Christ’s Mercy as if everything depended on it.

And yes, sometimes they made people uncomfortable.

But slowly, it began to dawn on me: They're not crazy.

They're the ones who actually get it.

So Who's Actually Crazy?

The world tells us to keep faith polite and private, something nice and quiet to believe in, but not something that changes how you walk or act or worship.

But here's the thing.

Maybe the ones who seem "sane", the cool, calm, nonchalant Catholics, maybe they're the ones who are out of touch.

Maybe the real crazy is “believing” in the Real Presence but never going to Adoration. Calling yourself Catholic but rarely praying. Receiving Christ in the Blessed Sacrament and walking out of church like nothing happened. Going through the motions on Sunday and then spending six days as if God doesn't exist.

Maybe it's actually crazy to believe in the Creator of the universe… and not fall on your face in front of Him.

That's not balance. That's not sophistication. That's spiritual madness dressed up in a business suit and nodding along at dinner parties.

Saints, Prophets, and Holy Fools

And then there are the saints.

So many of them were actually labeled crazy in their own time — mocked, dismissed, and misunderstood by the very Church they loved:St. Francis of Assisi stripped naked in the town square to renounce wealth, St. Catherine of Siena reportedly lived on the Eucharist alone for long stretches, St. Joseph of Cupertino levitated during Mass and barely passed seminary exams, and St. Philip Neri wore odd clothes and told jokes to humble the proud.

And St. Teresa of Ávila’s ecstasies made people question her sanity…

These weren't the respectable ones. They were God's ‘fools’. And now?

We venerate them.

Be Crazy in Love

So pray for the Grace to be crazy.

Not reckless. Not chaotic. But crazy in love with Jesus Christ.

You’ll be in good company.

Because this world doesn't need more polite Catholics. It needs more holy ‘fools’…more lovers of Christ who are willing to ‘look ridiculous’ for the sake of the Gospel.

Because in a world that's lost its mind chasing shadows, the sanest thing you can do is love God like a madman.

And here's the truth behind this holy madness: they appear crazy because they're free. When you're no longer bound by what others think, when you're liberated by Divine Love, you are truly free.

So go ahead. Be the kind of crazy that the world needs.

You'll know you're getting there when people start leaving prayer requests under your windshield wipers.

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Thanks for reading! This is a reader-supported periodical. Your support is crucial. If you are able, please consider a paid subsciption or making a ‘Patron of the Arts’ donation of any amount. By doing so, you are not just supporting this effort; you’re a vital part of this mission.

You have my heartfelt thanks for your generosity and support and please keep me in your prayers, and know of mine for each of you. God Bless, Jeff

[Dedicated to Jacob Bentzinger and the Kansas Run Club]

I have a confession.

I love to run.

The torrid affair began over a decade ago, after I suffered a serious injury while on assignment in Rome—covering the 2013 Conclave, of all things. At the time, I thought it was the end of the world. But as it turns out, it was just the beginning of a new one.

To the casual observer back then, I probably looked like someone trying to speed-walk while having a stroke. But after a few torturous years of gasping, aching, and regretting my life choices, I crossed some mystical threshold… into the freedom and joy of running, blissfully striding through life like a gazelle…which I don't run like.

I run more like a giraffe.

But I don’t care, I still love it.

There's this perfect five-mile loop near my house. It winds through a wildlife sanctuary, crosses a little bridge, and finishes at the beach.

Well, it’s almost perfect.

There’s a mile long stretch that passes through a salt marsh. And when the the early days of summer arrive, I like to refer to it as ‘The Gates of Hell.’

It's the haven of the dreaded Minions of Evil…

The Greenheads.

I call them the spawn of Satan—biologically classified as flies with an obsessive compulsive bloodlust.

I know I'm not supposed to disparage God's creation, but…

And one fateful morning, early in my running journey, I found this out the hard way. I was jogging along, blissfully unaware, when it began.

First, an observation: Hmm. That's a HUGE fly.

Then, annoyance: Okay… there's more than one.

Then, disbelief: Wait... are they... biting me??

Then, full-blown horror: THEY'RE EVERYWHERE!

Every fiber of my being was on fire as the cloud of firebreathing flies descended upon me with the fury and rage of a thousand suns. My brain shouted, "Is this happening?!!" Followed immediately by, "THIS IS HAPPENING!!!" And somewhere deep in my soul, the still, quiet voice began screaming "Run, Forrest, RUN!!!"

Arms flailing. Evil swarming. Fastest mile of my life.

I don't want to brag, but I'm pretty sure I broke the world record. Definitely a two-minute mile. You'll just have to take my word for it.

Which brings me to today.

I'd just returned from covering the Eucharistic Pilgrimages on the West Coast and was ready to slip back into the peace of my normal routine—which includes a nice, quiet morning run.

It was 6:00 a.m. The first week of summer. The sun was rising. It had rained for days. 85 degrees. 100% humidity. You could feel them out there, like the eerie calm before the horror movie soundtrack starts.

It was the day of the dreaded swamp monsters' return.

I almost gave in to temptation: the treadmill.

The treadmill—the world's great counterfeit. It's got the smooth surface, the 4K display of rolling hills, the little digital screen telling you how "hard" you're working… and a cupholder.

But you're going nowhere. It's just motion. Not transportation.

It's the spiritual equivalent of living without Grace—comfortable, controlled, air-conditioned —but ultimately without a destination.

As Pope Benedict once said: "The world promises you comfort, but you were not made for comfort. You were made for greatness."

And greatness—true greatness—only comes by running the real road. The one that hurts. The one that demands. The one that leads somewhere. The one in which you encounter the little flying demons.

So I laced up my shoes, "baptized" myself in 10 gallons of 100% DEET, and ran straight into the predawn wild.

And they were waiting…

But unlike the blood donation drive of that first run, this time… they recoiled and left, thwarted by the silver-bullet spray I've adopted as armor.

Better living through chemistry, I always say.

As I emerged from the dreaded hellscape that lives under the guise of a wildlife refuge, the sea breeze met me gently from the east, and I watched the sun kiss the horizon good morning at the dawn's first light.

It was breathtaking, as most seaward sunrises are.

But you have to pass through ‘The Gates of Hell’ to get to it.

And therein lies the lesson.

First, that nothing in this life will ever be perfect.

And second, that just like on that five-mile loop, there are stretches of shade where the evil seems to swarm. Places where the air gets thick and the attacks come fast.

And in that, God's Grace—the DEET of the spiritual life—is our armor.

When we're in a state of Grace, when we're living tabernacles of the Blessed Sacrament, we can endure all manner of evil by His Strength. His Love. His Protection.

And we can keep running the race, come what may, running ultimately to our heavenly home and into His loving embrace.

In retrospect, maybe I've been too hard on the brood of bloodsucking airborne vipers. Maybe their pain-inflecting purpose is to point us to Christ in some strange, obscure way.

Maybe they're not all bad after all…

Are you joking?

They're bloody horrific.

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Thanks for reading! This is a reader-supported periodical. Your support is crucial. If you are able, please consider a paid subsciption or making a ‘Patron of the Arts’ donation of any amount. By doing so, you are not just supporting this effort; you’re a vital part of this mission.

You have my heartfelt thanks for your generosity and support and please keep me in your prayers, and know of mine for each of you. God Bless, Jeff

I don't usually get contacted by The Free Press.

Especially not asking for images of an Easter Vigil in Greenwich Village.

But that's exactly what happened when Madeline Kearns was preparing her article, How Catholicism Got Cool. I didn't know much at the time—just that they needed photos. A few weeks later, the piece went live.

I saw it when a friend of mine, David Kerr, shared it on Facebook. David's no lightweight—he's the communications director for the Diocese of Lansing and a seasoned journalist who's worked for the BBC and CNA. If he thought it was worth sharing, I knew it was worth reading.

And it was.

Kearns captured something real: the growing wave of conversions to Catholicism in America and beyond, especially among Gen Z. Young adults, drawn by beauty, discipline, and transcendence, are finding their way into the Church.

It's not hype.

It's happening.

But here’s where I want to build on her work: Catholicism didn’t suddenly become cool. It always was. We just forgot.

Maybe it's because for years the faith got wrapped in the cheap clothes of the culture. Maybe it was camouflaged in clichés. Whatever the reason, the real thing—the ancient, soul-stirring, Truth-proclaiming Catholic faith—was hidden in plain sight.

No marketing campaign could manufacture what's happening now. Because what we're seeing isn't a trend. It's a rediscovery.

A rediscovery of the Church that gave us hospitals, universities, cathedrals, and saints who could call down fire. A Church that has stood for 2,000 years not because it chased relevance, but because it stood on the Rock.

Today, in an age of noise, distraction, and deep hunger, people are searching again. They're looking for meaning. Beauty. Truth. God.

And they're finding it.

They're walking into candlelit churches and discovering silence that speaks louder than slogans. They're hearing sacred music that stirs something ancient in the soul. They're seeing the Eucharist, Jesus Christ, lifted high—and recognizing what's Real.

Is Catholicism cool?

Let me put it this way:

It's so far beyond cool that the world's substitutes feel like cheap knockoffs. Like dirt beside diamonds.

Because this isn't about trends. It's about Truth. It's about something Eternal that burns bright in every age.

And that Light is catching again.

So yes—Catholicism is cool. But not because it changed to fit the times.

Because it never did.

It’s the original. The one, the only.

Because that doesn't chase the moment, because it was made for eternity.

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Thanks for reading! This is a reader-supported periodical. Your support is crucial. If you are able, please consider a paid subsciption or making a ‘Patron of the Arts’ donation of any amount. By doing so, you are not just supporting this effort; you’re a vital part of this mission.

You have my heartfelt thanks for your generosity and support and please keep me in your prayers, and know of mine for each of you. God Bless, Jeff

Today didn’t go the way I thought it would.

But why would it?

Things rarely do.

And yet, somehow, it went better than expected. And along the way, I discovered a few things…

It started as I walked from the NYU Catholic Center to St. Joseph’s on 6th Ave. I was photographing two Ash Wednesday Masses celebrated by the Dominican Friars. The air was crisp, the streets alive with the restless rhythm of the city. As I made my way up 4th Street, something caught my eye—a sign.

Golden Swan Garden.

It hung on an iron fence surrounding a small park, clean and unassuming.

I laughed out loud.

Because once upon a time, the Golden Swan Garden was no garden. It was a bar.

And not just any bar—a dive, at best.

Locals in the early 1900s had a more colorful name for it:

The Hell Hole.

It was a place of strong drink, stronger personalities, and little virtue. A magnet for artists, radicals, and poets—including Servant of God Dorothy Day and her drinking companion, the playwright Eugene O’Neill.

And yet, despite its reputation, the Hell Hole may have played a distinct role in Dorothy Day’s path to sainthood.

Not because of any virtue it held, but because of where it stood.

Heaven from Hell

As I turned from West 4th onto 6th Avenue, I noticed something striking—

From where the Hell Hole once stood, you can see the façade of St. Joseph’s Church.

You could see Heaven from Hell.

It’s been said that in those early morning hours, as the bar emptied out and night blurred into dawn, Dorothy Day would watch.

She’d see the workers, the immigrants, the weary souls quietly slipping into St. Joseph’s for Mass.

And something about it drew her in.

She was restless. Searching for meaning. Aching for justice in a tumultuous age.

And when she finally encountered Christ, she took everything she had—her gifts, her fire, her fight—and gave it all to Him.

She became an instrument of mercy, a voice for the voiceless, a living witness of Christ’s radical love for the poor.

"Our hearts are restless until they find rest in You."

St. Augustine’s words.

But they could have just as easily been Dorothy Day’s.

Or yours.

Or mine.

Ashes, Renewal, and the Call of Lent

And now, Lent begins again.

A season that calls every restless heart—to surrender, to reflect, to return.

At the NYU Catholic Center, Fr. Vincent Bernard, O.P., preached to a standing-room-only chapel, calling Lent “a season of grace, a season of renewal.”

And once again, the Dominican Friars—the new custodians of St. Joseph’s—opened their doors wide. They welcomed all who entered, embracing them with the arms of Christ’s mercy.

Meanwhile, the Hell Hole is long gone—paved over into a garden and a basketball court.

But St. Joseph’s still stands.

A beacon of hope in a city that, at times, seems hellbent on its own moral destruction.

An icon of Christ’s unfailing love for each and every one of us.

And a reminder that Grace will always prevail.

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Aaaaand a few photos of Ash Wednesday in Greenwich Village (The reason I was actually there :-)

Thanks for reading! This is a truly independent, reader-supported periodical. Your support is crucial. If you are able, please consider a paid subscription or making a ‘Patron of the Arts’ donation of any amount. By doing so, you are not just supporting this effort; you’re a vital part of this mission.

You have my heartfelt thanks for your generosity and support, and please keep me in your prayers and know of mine for each of you. God Bless, Jeff

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It’s important to back up your work.

I know this.

And yet...

About two years ago, I lost a hard drive — one that held a handful of assignments I hadn’t saved anywhere else. And, in dutiful cooperation with Murphy’s Law, that’s the one that decided to sacrifice itself on the altar of broken electronics.

It wasn’t catastrophic — just a few assignments — and to be honest, I couldn’t even remember which ones. That is, until I need a photo from “that job a while ago I can’t quite place.” And usually, after a two-hour scavenger hunt through every backed-up drive I own, I’m left with only one conclusion: that job lived — and died — on that failed drive. And I proceed to kick myself one more time.

But it’s not all wasted.

Like most of life’s self-inflicted tragedies, there’s always an underlying lesson. Some wisdom you gain — even if it’s wisdom delivered with a gut punch.

But that’s life. Suffering, big or small, self-imposed or not, is part of the deal. But what we do with it — how we respond to it — that’s the part that matters.

And I can tell you the exact moment that lesson stopped being theoretical for me.

It was September 6, 2016, around 3:00 PM, in Calcutta, India.

I had traveled to India a few weeks earlier to cover the Canonization of St. Mother Teresa. It was my first time in India — my first time in Calcutta — and calling it culture shock would be the understatement of the century. The heat, the air quality, the sheer weight of poverty in the neighborhoods I walked through — it was staggering.

But it was also joyful.

Despite the puddle I had become in the relentless heat, despite the heartbreaking sights at nearly every turn, there was a palpable pride in the air. Mother Teresa — their Mother Teresa — was being declared a saint. Of course, to them, she already was a saint.

And even though the main festivities were unfolding in Rome — complete with air conditioning, fine wine, and world-class food — I knew I was exactly where I needed to be: in Calcutta, among the people who knew her best. Those who had worked beside her. Been served by her. Suffered with her.

This was where her heart was.

Actually, it was where her whole body was.

Her tomb rests in the Motherhouse, and I had the incredible privilege of sitting beside it in prayer, and attending Mass just a few feet away.

When I returned to New York, one of the Missionaries of Charity asked me, “Did you meet Mother?”

“Well,” I said, a little confused, “I was near her tomb…”

She beamed. “Then yes! You did meet Mother!”

I did meet Mother.

Once the canonization celebrations wound down, I made one of those rare, good decisions—I would stay a few extra days as a volunteer. I was curious to see what it was like to serve as Mother Teresa and her sisters had served. So, the next day, I locked my camera in the tiny safe in my room and reported for duty.

People travel from all over the world to volunteer there. Some come for a day or two; others stay for weeks, even months. For me, those days were some of the most profound, humbling, and Grace-filled of my life.

Each day began with 7:00 AM Mass, followed by the volunteers gathering in a large garage-like room to be assigned their work locations. We were split into small groups — my group included an engineer from Egypt and his friend, two women from Madagascar, and a young woman from China.

We bonded quickly, sharing stories and nervously laughing as we waited for our assignments. The work would be challenging — we all knew that — but none of us knew just how much it would reshape us.

That afternoon, my group was sent to Nirmal Hriday — The Home for the Dying Destitute. To get there, we waded through monsoon rains, water pooling in the streets knee-deep.

Nirmal Hriday is not an easy place. Most of the men and women there are elderly or terminally ill, many rejected by local hospitals because their conditions were too severe. The Missionaries of Charity — with the help of volunteers — clean their wounds, bathe them, and offer as much comfort as possible so that they can die with dignity, knowing they are seen, known, and loved.

My Egyptian friend and I were asked to assist a Sister in cleaning a man who had just been brought in off the street. His body was covered in wounds, and each touch caused him to writhe and scream in agony. The stench — a blend of infection, decay, and human waste — was overwhelming.

But the Sister, calm and smiling, gently cleaned his wounds, spoke softly to him, and set the tone for how we were to care for him — not just his body, but his soul.

When our shift ended, we gathered our things and started down a long, dark hallway. My friend turned to me, tears streaming down his face. “Jeff,” he said, his voice trembling, “I can’t do this it’s too much...”

The Sisters have a knack for appearing exactly when they’re needed.

Out of nowhere, one of them stepped into the hallway, stopping us in our tracks. She looked at us both and said, “Let none of it go to waste.”

“Every smell, every sight, every moment that makes you uncomfortable — offer it to Jesus for the person you’re caring for. That way, they — and Jesus — will be truly loved.”

Peace flooded my friend’s face. The stealthy, mind-reading Sister was right, of course.

Our suffering mattered.

Our suffering was valuable.

Our suffering could be offered in love.

It’s a lesson I’ve never forgotten — one that’s just as true in the small sufferings of daily life as it is in the profound sufferings of places like Nirmal Hriday.

Whether it’s a paper cut or a sprained ankle, or deep grief or a broken heart, all of it has value if we attach it to Jesus’ suffering on the Cross.

All of it can be offered.

So the next time you spill your coffee or break a nail, remember those words of wisdom..

“Let none of it go to waste…”

Not even a crashed hard drive.

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Thanks for reading! This is a truly independent, reader-supported periodical. Your support is crucial. If you are able, please consider a paid subscription or making a ‘Patron of the Arts’ donation of any amount. By doing so, you are not just supporting this effort; you’re a vital part of this mission.

You have my heartfelt thanks for your generosity and support, and please keep me in your prayers and know of mine for each of you. God Bless, Jeff

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"I'm telling Jesus on you!" he gruffly whispered into his younger sister's ear. She glared back at him with a defiant, mischievous smirk…but she did stop squirming around.

Apparently, the threat carried some weight.

A curious scene unfolded before the Blessed Sacrament at St. John the Evangelist Church, which had been converted into the Perpetual Adoration Chapel for the National Eucharistic Congress.

I had been sitting off to the side for a time when little children began haphazardly making their way to the foot of the altar, most at the prompting of their parents and a handful of Dominican Sisters…but a few others finding their way alone, much to their parents' exasperation.

It was quite a scene.

It was captivating to watch the little children gaze at the Blessed Sacrament in their innocent way. Many accepted by Faith that this was indeed Jesus Christ Present before them. Others, the younger ones, moved about as two-foot-tall people generally do—erratically.

One by one, they came.

Some sitting, some kneeling, but all studying intently the Blessed Sacrament before them.

Childlike Faith.

Not childish, but pure.

Full of trust, wonder, and awe.

Free from the weight of the world that rests upon the shoulders of us all as we cross into the world of adulthood.

Jesus said, "Amen, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven."

So there I sat amidst the children at the foot of Christ under the towering church ceilings, watching and learning.

A few things that struck me.

There was a quirky little blond girl who only wanted to take the flowers in front of the altar and place them beneath the Blessed Sacrament…there was an urgency about her movements and a level of precision that you wouldn't expect from a toddler.

The woman who poured the fragrant oil on the feet of Jesus came to mind.

Giving freely, lovingly, and joyfully to Christ—a virtue among virtues, to be certain.

Then there was a boy who ran up to the altar and immediately fell prostrate on the cold, marble stairs…demonstrating a level of uninhibited piety not so common in us self-conscious grown-ups.

And, of course, there was the little boy who reprimanded his littler sister.

Perhaps he trusted that Jesus would bring justice or that he might 'fix' her behavior. But beneath it all, he saw Jesus as the authority—and apparently, so did she.

All of this brought back a memory from the Archdiocese of New York's Eucharistic Congress earlier this year. A relic of St. Kateri Tekakwitha, housed in a large wooden case beside the altar, drew a young girl who, weaving through the crowd, knelt and began to pray with fervor and intensity. Her words were known to God alone, but her Faith was as clear as day.

I'll leave it at this.

It's incredible how surrounded we are by Faith. And you don’t have to look too hard to find it.

It's in the actions of those whose hands and hearts help others, the Rosary Beads hanging from rear-view mirrors and the uncomplicated Faith of a young child...

A Simple Faith...

A Faith worth striving for…

It's easy to be overwhelmed by the storms of life, the trials, and distractions.

It’s easy to lose our way and overcomplicate things

But a child's simple Faith—a portrait of trust, love, piety, joy, and awe—is a beautiful reminder of Faith at its most basic.

Simply, Jesus and you.

We, the children of Our Father.

Perhaps we would do well to consider this and pray for the Grace to aspire to such Faith.

Such great Faith…

The Faith of a Child.

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I wish to express my sincerest thanks to the crew at EWTN—Montse Alvarado, Shannon Mullen, and Kara West—for making these trips possible. Be sure to visit the National Catholic Register, Catholic News Agency, and all of the EWTN channels for continuing coverage of the Eucharistic Revival.

I love reading about the Saints.

I didn't set out to. It just sort of happened.

Most days, I wake up around 4:00 a.m. and grope through the dark halls into my cramped office, where I have a huge cup of black coffee and the Magnificat.

And sandwiched between the Daily Mass and Prayer sections are these little one-page vignettes that paint a portrait of a particular saint. Generally, it is related to a certain theme for each month, such as founders of religious orders, saints whose bodies are incorrupt, etc.

It's incredible to read about what 'Heroic Virtue' looks like, and it's inspiring to see what mere mortals can aspire to when empowered by Grace.

I recently read a reflection about the Eucharist by Blessed Honoratus Kozminski, a Franciscan Capuchin Friar. He wrote about the Blessed Sacrament.

What he wrote was so clearly stated, so spiritually profound…and SO timely—riding on the heels of the Eucharistic Revival in the Brooklyn Diocese and on the eve of the Eucharistic Pilgrimages and Congress slated to begin in only a few weeks.

His words haunted me throughout the day, and I wondered what insights other saints had said about this ultimate Gift of Gifts…

And down the rabbit hole I went.

Of course, devotion to the Blessed Sacrament is at the heart of every Saint. But a few quotes stood out. And as we're on the brink of the Eucharistic Congress, I thought I'd share a few with you.

St. Thomas Aquinas on the Blessed Sacrament

But first, here's a short primer from St. Thomas Aquinas on the Blessed Sacrament:

"Christ's followers know by faith that bread is changed into His flesh and wine into His Blood. Man cannot understand this, cannot perceive it, but a lively faith affirms that the change, which is outside the natural course of things, takes place.

Under the different species, which are now signs only and not their own reality, hidden wonderful realities lie. His Body is our food, His Blood our drink. And yet Christ remains entire under each species.

The communicant receives the complete Christ - uncut, unbroken, and undivided. Whether one receives or a thousand, the one receives as much as the thousand.

Nor is Christ diminished by being received. The good and the wicked alike receive Him, but with the unlike destiny of life or death.

To the wicked, it is death, but life to the good.

See how different is the result, though each receives the same.

Last of all, if the sacrament is broken, have no doubt. Remember, there is as much in a fragment as in an unbroken host.

There is no division of the reality, but only a breaking of the sign; nor does the breaking diminish the condition or size of the One hidden under the sign." - St. Thomas Aquinas

And now, without further ado…

"If men only appreciated the value of a Holy Mass, they would need traffic officers at church doors every day to keep the crowds in order." - St. Padre Pio

"If you took all of the good works done by all of the humans who have ever lived in all of history and stacked them all up and multiplied them by a million, they wouldn't equal the merit, the virtue and the worth of one Mass. The Eucharistic sacrifice is Christ's infinite merit, infinite value." - St. Teresa of Avila

"In one day, the Eucharist will make you produce more for the glory of God than a whole lifetime without it." - St. Peter Julian Eymard

"If angels could be jealous of men, they would be so for one reason: Holy Communion." - St Maximilian Kolbe

"The Eucharist is the full realization of the worship which humanity owes God, and it cannot be compared to any other religious experience." - St. John Paul II

"Do you want many graces? Go and visit the Blessed Sacrament often. Do you want a few graces? Visit the Blessed Sacrament rarely. Do you want none at all? Then never pay a visit to the Blessed Sacrament," - St. John Bosco

"All the good works in the world are not equal to the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass because they are the works of men, but the Mass is the work of God. Martyrdom is nothing in comparison for it is but the sacrifice of man to God; but the Mass is the sacrifice of God for man." - St. John Vianney, Cure d'Ars

"When you look at the Crucifix, you understand how much Jesus loved you then. When you look at the Sacred Host, you understand how much Jesus loves you now," Saint Mother Teresa of Calcutta

"The devotion to the Eucharist is the most noble because it has God as its object; it is the most profitable for salvation, because It gives us the Author of Grace; it is the sweetest, because the Lord is Sweetness Itself," - St. Pius X

"It would be easier for the world to survive without the sun than to do without Holy Mass." - St. Padre Pio

 "I heard a story about Fr. Benedict Groeschel, CFR. He was traveling with a Protestant minister in a car and when they passed a Catholic Church, Fr. Benedict made the sign of the Cross. The minister asked him why he did this. Fr. Benedict explained that it was out of reverence for Jesus in the Most Blessed Sacrament. The minister told him, if I believed what you believe, I would get out of the car, run inside the Church, fall on my knees, and never get up again." - Unknown

"The celebration of Holy Mass is as valuable as the death of Jesus on the cross." - St. Teresa of Avila

"How sweet, the presence of Jesus to the longing, harassed soul! It is instant peace, and balm to every wound." - St. Elizabeth Seton

"Nowhere does Jesus hear our prayers more readily than in the Blessed Sacrament,"- Blessed Henry Suson

"Ask Jesus to make you a saint. After all, only He can do that. Go to confession regularly and to Communion as often as you can," - St. Dominic Savio

"The Eucharist is everything, because from the Eucharist, everything is," - St. Peter Julian Eymard

"You come to me and unite Yourself intimately to me under the form of nourishment. Your Blood now runs in mine, Your Soul, Incarnate God, compenetrates mine, giving courage and support. What miracles! Who would have ever imagined such!" - St. Maximilian Kolbe

"A thousand years of enjoying human glory is not worth even an hour spent sweetly communing with Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament." - St. Padre Pio

"To speak of the Blessed Sacrament is to speak of what is most sacred. How often, when we are in a state of distress, those to whom we look for help leave us, or what is worse, add to our affliction by heaping fresh troubles upon us. He is ever there waiting to help us."- St. Euphrasia Pelletier, Foundress of the Sisters of the Good Shepherd

"The Eucharist is the supreme proof of the love of Jesus. After this, there is nothing more but Heaven itself," - St. Peter Julian Eymard

"Lord Jesus Christ, pierce my soul with your love so that I may always long for you alone, who are the bread of angels and the fulfillment of the soul's deepest desires. May my heart always hunger for you so that my soul may be filled with the sweetness of Your Presence." - Saint Bonaventure

"From the Eucharist comes strength to live the Christian life and zeal to share that life with others," - Saint John Paul II

"The devotion to the Eucharist is the most noble because it has God as its object; it is the most profitable for salvation, because It gives us the Author of Grace; it is the sweetest, because the Lord is Sweetness Itself," - St. Pius X

"Since Christ Himself has said, 'This is My Body,' who shall dare to doubt that it is His Body?" - St Cyril of Jerusalem

In Conclusion

I'll leave it at this.

If we truly grasped what takes place in the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, we'd race there every day, waiting for the doors to be unlocked.

A priest once said, "The most important thing you will ever do on any given day is attend Mass and receive Christ in the Blessed Sacrament."

He's right, and those are words to live by.

He also said, "Whatever you struggle with, pray for the Grace to overcome it."

To that end, I suggest praying for Grace to know of His Real Presence in the Blessed Sacrament.

It will not only change your life.

It will fulfill it.

I'll leave you with a few words from Blessed Honoratus Koźmiński, who inspired this article…

"This is the bread that came down from heaven," says the Lord Jesus, and he assures us that whoever eats him will not die forever. This means that whoever receives Jesus in this Sacrament of Love with dignity will not only maintain spiritual life on earth but also their souls will never die but live forever.

Communion gives immortal life to the soul and Body. It is, therefore, the pledge of the future resurrection and eternal life.

There is no measure for the effectiveness of Holy Communion for our souls.

Communion is for the spiritual world what food is for the natural world.

As fleshly food renews our nature, so does the Divine Food, which renews and purifies our nature to make it consistent and joined with him.

The Lord Jesus will fortify your souls, he will cleanse them, he will slowly change them in him, so that you may be perfectly one with him, that love may change you here in him.

He helps us grow more and more in God's Love and in all Christian virtues. He helps us overcome ourselves for more and more frequent and perfect deeds.

Receive Holy Communion; put fire in your heart, which alone will do the work of conversion and your sanctification; warm up your cold hearts, and light them with love, and change the worldly man into a saint." Blessed Honoratus Koźmiński

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With grateful appreciation to the following sites that curated many of the quotes:

The Real Presence

Eucharistic Saints

Catholic Leader

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This is a truly independent, reader-supported periodical. Your support is crucial. If you are able, please consider a paid subsciption or making a ‘Patron of the Arts’ donation of any amount. By doing so, you are not just supporting this effort; you’re a vital part of this mission.

You have my heartfelt thanks for your generosity and support. And please keep me in your prayers, and know of mine for each of you.

Perhaps you’ve heard it.

But perhaps not.

I only heard it last week at a Mass I never intended to attend.

I was traveling to a job and running late, so I opened the Masstimes app and looked for a Mass I could catch along my route.

I wound up in Fort Lee, NJ at the Church of the Holy Trinity. A small parish church right smack on a major thoroughfare. You could hear and feel the truck traffic as it passed by.

At the conclusion of the Mass, there was a visiting Deacon who decided he was going to convince everyone in attendance that we should pray the Rosary.

He listed the Saints who relied on it.

Miracles that were attributed to it.

And his personal connection to this powerful prayer.

But it was this short anecdote he ended with that sold it.

It goes like this.

“Jesus and St. Peter were walking around Heaven one day, and Peter noticed a person that he didn’t remember letting into Heaven. He quickly checked to see if he had the keys to Heaven’s Gate, and seeing that he did, he turned to Jesus and excused himself.

He checked the gate, which was firmly secured, and returned, puzzled, to Jesus. Jesus, seeing that Peter was perturbed, asked what was wrong, to which Peter replied, “Lord, I know I locked the Gate, but I saw someone from purgatory who I know I didn’t let in!”

Jesus smiled and replied,” Ah, Peter, don’t you know that every time you lock the gate, Mary opens a window and lowers her Rosary Beads so people can climb up?”

Of course, it’s just a story, but it does have merit.

As countless saints attest, the Rosary is one of the most powerful and efficacious prayers in the Catholic arsenal.

In beseeching Mary’s intercession while praying the Gospels, God’s Grace heals and strengthens us.

So, in keeping with the spirit of the good Deacon’s speech, I’ll offer the same pitch.

Why don’t you pray the Rosary if you have a chance today?

Who knows— the soul you save might be your own :-)

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This is a truly independent, reader-supported periodical. Your support is crucial. If you are able, please consider a paid subsciption or making a ‘Patron of the Arts’ donation of any amount. By doing so, you are not just supporting this effort; you’re a vital part of this mission.

You have my heartfelt thanks for your generosity and support. And please keep me in your prayers, and know of mine for each of you.

He never spoke a word.

He stood off in the distance of the long, dark hallway, peeking out from behind a doorway. From his expression, you'd think an alien had entered the home.

I had just arrived at Good Counsel, a home for women in crisis pregnancy, on a photographic assignment.

As I spoke with the house mother, he stealthily advanced, wondering about me as I was about him—his huge dark eyes pooled with curiosity.

"Now, Tom, this man is here to work. Don't get in his way," she lovingly whispered. Her words were as much a fingers-crossed hope as they were an instruction.

She knew.

She knew that this attention-starved little boy would become part of my experience here, whether I liked it or not. She slowly turned toward me with a sheepish shrug and a wincing smile.

He approached and reached for her hand, which she warmly offered. She repeated her words, which he seemed to ignore as he studied me up and down.

He stopped abruptly, having made some sort of internal decision, grabbed my hand, and led me confidently down the hall.

Never mind that I was on an assignment, that was of no concern of his.

We were off on an adventure—an adventure into a world I had never before seen. And my guide would be a 6-year-old boy named Tom, who didn't speak.

I was there to photograph the inner life of this place. To better understand the mission of Good Counsel and the women and children they served.

Good Counsel stands in the breech, supporting women, regardless of circumstance, as they navigate motherhood through uncertain and often traumatic circumstances.

Its story began in 1985 when Christopher Bell, a journalism student and a worker at Covenant House in Times Square, which served homeless youth, came face to face with a harsh reality: homeless, pregnant women in dire need of support had no refuge.

The plight of a woman struggling with an unplanned pregnancy compelled him to reach out to his spiritual advisor, Father Benedict Groeschel, a Franciscan priest and psychologist, with a pressing question: "Why isn't someone doing something about this?"

Motivated by compassion and a shared vision, Father Groeschel pledged his support, and together, they laid the foundation for what would become Good Counsel Homes.

The organization found its first home in a repurposed convent in Hoboken, New Jersey. It opened its doors on March 10, 1985, to provide shelter and guidance to pregnant women in need.

Women like Tom's mom.

I had learned that Tom, his mom, and his soon-to-be-born sister had come from an environment that threatened their very existence, to put it mildly. And Good Counsel was instrumental in supporting them in setting up a new life for themselves.

Meanwhile, Tom pulled me into a large room where two women sat holding their newborn babies. They spoke in short sentences, exchanging glances, frequently laughing. They were at peace. They were safe, and they were joyful. And they were free from the challenges that had led them here.

A scene filled with life.

A scene filled with hope in the promise of a bright future for the moms and their children.

A scene portraying what a second chance looks like…

But I had yet to take a single photograph.

Tom's curiosity about my cameras was evident.

He'd look at me, stop, and repeatedly look at them.

Oh well…

I handed him a camera…and if a face could break from a smile, that would have been his.

I showed him as best I could which way to point it and the button to push and made sure the strap was firmly wrapped around his neck, and off we went…to the familiar, to his expectant mom, to every place that this silent, 3-foot-tall human being considered worth photographing…

And that could only mean one thing…

These were things that mattered to him.

And apparently, there were a lot of things in that category.

We spent the afternoon taking photographs, and I learned a lot—not only about Good Counsel and those who experienced a new lease on life because of it…but also about a little boy named Tom. For example, he stops and smiles for seemingly no reason; when he gets excited, he stomps his foot, and his eyes go wide. And he has the personality of an enthusiastic adventurer.

His energy faded as the day wound down, but his smiling eyes remained.

Young eyes that had seen the worst of humanity and yet eyes filled with hope.

It breaks my heart that he had to suffer in his younger days. But he and his mother and sister found safe haven at Good Counsel. And now they have the hope of a better life ahead.

Thank God for Good Counsel and places like it.

The world is a better place because of them.

I know.

Because all there was to know could be found in that little boy’s smile.

To learn more about Good Counsel Homes and the incredible work they do, you can visit their website: https://help.goodcounselhomes.org/

Or follow them on Instagram, Facebook, or YouTube.

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Every photograph and story shared here is a testament to the beauty and depth of the Catholic Faith.

By choosing to become a paid subscriber, you're not just supporting Words & Pictures; you're uplifting the mission that drives it—bringing the light of faith into the everyday. Your support enables this mission to flourish and reach hearts and minds across the globe.

Thank you for your consideration!

May God bless you for your generosity and support.

There's always room for improvement…

Well, not in the case of the Blessed Mother.

But as for the rest of us? There's always room for improvement.

And me in particular.

Earlier this year, I wrote something of a declaration [You can read that here— Pray, Shoot, Write, Repeat] about my hopes for the New Year, and this is about that.

I'm THRILLED with the way the calendar's shaping up. On top of all the Ordinations, Solemn Professions, and Sacraments, there's Holy Week with the NYC Dominicans, The National Eucharistic Congress, and the four National Processions!

I'm encouraged, and you should be too.

This year will be a very different sort of year for the Catholic Church in America. I believe this groundswell of hope and activity is rooted in the Eucharistic Revival.

And well, duh.

When the Church turns to Christ en masse, what did you expect would happen?

So, thank God for the Grace of this initiative. If you'd like to learn more about it, visit the Eucharistic Revival Website. And I highly recommend that you find a way to join in some way!

But back to the improvements.

There have been a few technical difficulties and subscriber requests that will be addressed.

Here goes…

Name Changes

I'm changing the name of my Substack. Not because I want to, but because X [AKA: Twitter] won't allow me to directly post on the platform as long as the word 'Substack' is in the URL.

Currently, my Substack URL is 'jeffreybruno.substack.com,' which is a no-go. So, I'm adopting the strategy that 'The Pillar' and 'The Free Press' have successfully employed—using a custom domain.

In the next few days, the current URL for my Substack will change to 'jeffreybrunophotojournalist.com, ' with that, I'll be able to post directly to X.

It's still Substack, but no longer in name.

That shouldn't affect you as a subscriber at all. There may be a brief period when the article links don't work, but that's temporary until everything's redirected.

All subscriptions stay the same, but you'll be greeted by the new name 'Jeffrey Bruno Photojournalist' instead of my dearly beloved, 'Words and Pictures'…may it rest in peace.

But, helloooooooo, X.

And Instagram…

Some Substack subscribers told me they're not on Instagram or social media. Power to you. I don't blame you a bit. And they asked if there was an alternate way to see those posts.

Well, the simplest solution is to post them to Substack as well.

And so, from here on out, what gets posted on Instagram and social media also gets posted here.

But there's a perk to this…since I won't have the 2,200 character limit imposed by Instagram, I'll be able to share some behind-the-scenes stories and thoughts.

Podcast

Many of you have suggested that I start one. And after much deliberation, thought, reflection, and consideration…I still don't know.

I sort of like the idea.

But I'm still on the fence...

Just kidding.

It'll premiere this summer on Spotify as 'The Jeffrey Bruno Podcast.'

Here's the description:

"Join me on a global journey into the heart of the Catholic faith. Dive deep into conversations with a diversity of Catholics from all walks of life: artists, missionaries, athletes, and others.

Each episode uncovers the rich, multifaceted expressions of Catholicism around the world, highlighting personal stories of faith, inspiration, and the universal quest for meaning.

Whether you're a lifelong Catholic or simply curious about the faith, the podcast offers a unique glimpse into how Catholicism influences and shapes the lives of believers across the globe."

I will post the first episode here and everywhere as soon as it's live. I have a location in NYC where I hope to do in-person recording…but we’ll see.

And that's it on the improvements.

On another note, Producer, John Jones from Shalom World TV and his crew visited me late last year and filmed a short documentary on the work that I do. If you’re interested in what it’s like and what drives the mission, I encourage you to take a look.

Here’s a link [Artis Divina - Jeffrey Bruno -Episode 6]

Lastly, and once again, thank you.

Your prayers, support, and encouragement mean the world to me, and please know of my prayers for each of you.

If you have any suggestions, please email me at jeff@jeffreybruno.com.

Because there's always room for improvement :-)

God Bless, Jeff

[With grateful appreciation to Damian Chlanda for the photo and his amazing coverage of the March for Life that you can see HERE.]

The day before the March for Life, I bumped into a friend of mine, Sister Maria Laetitia SV of the Sisters of Life. We were in the DC Armory, which would be the site for LifeFest on the morning of the March.

We were both there for the same reason. Well, she probably had more reasons, but that’s another story. Sister Maria Laetitia is the Sisters of Life ‘Official Photographer’ embedded within the order. Not that she entered religious life to be a photographer, but more like she entered religious life and ended up with a camera in her hands.

And come to think of it, that’s my story as well. Surrender your life to Christ. Pray for His Will to be accomplished in your life. And you end up with a camera in your hands.

Funny how things work out.

But I digress.

We stood in front of the sprawling stage beneath the bright stage lights in the mostly vacant 10,000-seat arena, watching rehearsals in preparation for the big day. You could feel the energy.

Sister Charity SV and Sister Cora Caeli SV, who would serve as emcees, were rehearsing their narration, jumping between serious dialogue and fits of laughter while the stage manager attempted to walk them through the program as the engineers performed soundchecks.

The stage crew pulled miles of cables from massive speaker arrays that hung from dizzying heights beneath the domed black ceiling.

And the Event Staff marked positions and hoisted towering black curtains slung on trusses with chain hoists.

It looked like they were setting up for a rock concert.

I leaned over to Sister and asked curiously, “So how did this whole thing come about anyway?” she laughed and said, “It started with two nuns in the kitchen!” then I laughed, “That figures!”

The story goes that in November of 2022, two nuns, whose names I didn’t catch, cooked up an idea for a new event. It would be an event rooted in Christ and dovetail with the March for Life. But it would seek to present a passionate vision for the future and bring a renewed commitment to life, love, and accompaniment.

And in collaboration with the Knights of Columbus, for whom pulling off the ambitious and the breathtaking at the drop of a dime is just another day at the office, the whole thing came to be.

And in a scant two months, in January 2023, DC’s Entertainment and Sports Arena was packed with thousands for the inaugural LifeFest.

It’s funny the things that come out of kitchens.

Especially kitchens with nuns.

The next day—the day of the March for Life—wind-driven snows blanketed the Northeast, and in the early hours of the morning, DC resembled a winter wonderland.

As stories of canceled busses and harsh travel conditions were quietly murmured amongst nervous event organizers, the doors opened, and at first, it looked like the weather had won…

Attendees from across the nation slowly trickled in. And as the start time neared, it appeared that the turnout would be disappointing…

But...

A ghost-like caravan of headlights from dozens of heavily laden buses began to appear from the darkness, and the thousands they carried poured into the Armory. And of the 5,800 expected, well over 6,000 showed up.

The visibly relieved organizers were all smiles, whispering prayers of gratitude.

A testament to the determination of pro-lifers and the Grace that accompanies them.

I’ll leave it at this.

Life Fest, now in its second year, represents the emergence of a new chapter in the fight for the Right to life.

“We’re not here primarily as a political statement,” proclaimed Sister Charity SV to the thousands gathered in her opening remarks, “We’re here as children of God!”

Children of God united in prayer and solidarity to defend the lives of their unborn brothers and sisters.

To stand in love beside women who are facing unplanned pregnancies.

And to testify to the dignity of all life from conception to natural death—a God-given right enshrined in the Declaration of Independence.

LifeFest stands as a new stronghold in the spiritual defense of life.

A beacon of Hope and an icon to Love.

And as the battle shifts to each state, armed with unity and fortified by Grace, the participants will return home as witnesses to that Hope and ambassadors of His Love.

To fight a war that will ultimately be won through His Mercy.

And that’s exactly what LifeFest is all about.

…hope to see you there next year :-)

Click here for more information.

When I began down this path, it was one of blind trust fueled by a driving passion to show the beauty and mission of the Catholic Church.

I'm the poster child for the slogan, "God doesn't call the equipped, He equips the called."

I've had the privilege to cover stories spanning the globe.

From the back alleys of Calcutta, the towering dome of St. Peters, to the gritty streets of New York.

From stories of small groups gathered to pray for peace. To the hundreds of thousands united in the nation's capital at the March for Life.

And for all the countless people I've met through this vocation and the infinite variety of ministries and events I've covered, I can tell you this…

Christ's Church, the Catholic Church, is alive and thriving.

You won't read that in the headlines.

But as one who's always on the streets mixing it up at Ordinations, protests, prayer rallies, and every manner of Vows, there's more to be encouraged by than you can imagine.

To see a young Rutgers Business Major who'd never even met a nun before college make her perpetual vows as a religious Sister.

To feel the warmth and love poured out for the women and children served by crisis pregnancy homes like Good Counsel Homes.

To witness the unbreakable faith and courage of those who are mocked and ridiculed for their prayers on the City's streets.

To walk in procession amidst thousands with Christ in the Blessed Sacrament held high through midtown Manhattan…

…and that only scratches the surface.

Christ's Mercy and Love burn as brightly today as when He proclaimed, "You are Peter, and upon this rock, I will build my church, and the gates of the netherworld shall not prevail against it."

The untold stories need to be heard.

And that's the goal for 2024.

Time to scrap the narratives and show the Truth.

And I invite you to join me.

Show your story.

Show your Faith.

Just imagine what the world would be like if every Catholic did that…

Please pray for me and know of my prayers for each of you.

Now, get to it :-)

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Artificial Intelligence.

A year ago, most people thought it was science fiction…

But on November 30, 2022, when ChatGPT was launched—The first artificial intelligence chatbot available to the public—The beginning of a new chapter in history began.

Headlines spanned the globe proclaiming everything from how AI would save the world to how it would annihilate humanity.

Essentially, the same reaction to every disruptive technological innovation.

Think of the television, the computer, and the internet. But for all the fears, warranted or not, there have always been those who saw the possibilities, even in the Catholic world.

Think of Bishop Fulton Sheen and Mother Angelica, who saw television as a powerful tool for evangelization. And Bishop Robert Barron, who bravely cast off into the deep on YouTube. And Father Mike Schmitz, who dominates the podcast world.

Well, for better or worse, AI is here to stay…at least it's polite.

But before I start pontificating on the possibilities, I’d like to acknowledge many uncertainties around this emerging technology. Many feel there are existential threats. That said, similar to when social media began to rise, Catholics must be involved in its evolution. To understand it, guide its development, and harness it. Because if we’re not a prominent voice. Others will be. And as we’ve seen time and time again. Those voices are often intent on the spiritual destruction of humanity.

And to begin.

I've always been fascinated by computers.

It's the one skill set I've held the longest. Not music, not photography, and certainly not writing lol ;-)

I remember fondly the computer lab at Bergen Catholic HS in 1983, where Mr. Moreland would teach us unruly Sophomore's Microsoft Basic. I remember my clunky Commodore 64 and the cassette tapes that would store the 'programs.'

When I entered the Music Industry in the early 90s, my claim to fame was Midi and DMX programming. All of which led to my adventures with HTML, web development, and my brush with C++. One way or another, computers have always played a significant role in my life, and it’s been fun.

I'll never forget the first time I opened ChatGPT.

I was speechless. Probably because it spoke English.

No code.

It could perform practically any task that I gave it. It could do everything from document editing to crunching numbers to translating languages to writing code. And so down the rabbit hole I went. A year of learning, experimenting, and often, just having fun with it.

Until today.

This past Monday, OpenAI, the creator of ChatGPT, launched a feature that left me speechless…again. The feature is simply named GPT Builder. It's a tool that enables anyone to create their own version of an AI Assistant, tailored for anything you'd like. And the staggering part about this is that you just tell it what you want in English, and it creates it for you. No code or technological skills other than knowing how to switch on your computer. It’s powered by OpenAI’s latest language model, GPT4.

Note: The GPTs mentioned in this article are in beta, so there may (will) be an occasional hiccup.

These are a few that I built in an afternoon (GPT Builder wrote the descriptions):

Bible Explorer GPT - This GPT is designed to use the Catholic Bible as its sole source of information. Its primary role is to allow users to query the Bible for specific verses, chapters, or themes. The GPT should be knowledgeable in navigating the Catholic Bible, understanding its structure, and locating relevant passages. It should be able to provide direct quotes or summaries of biblical content. For any inquiries unrelated to the Bible, the GPT should politely redirect the user to ChatGPT for a broader range of answers. The GPT should be respectful and accurate in its representation of the biblical text, ensuring that its responses are consistent with the contents of the Catholic Bible.

CatholicCat GPT - This GPT is to draw answers exclusively from the Catholic Catechism, making it your sole data set. For questions unrelated to the catechism, it should refer users to ChatGPT for a broader range of information. It will embody the voice of Bishop Fulton Sheen, known for his clarity and straightforward approach. Its responses should be tailored specifically for college-aged individuals, ensuring they are clear and easily understandable. Avoid complex theological jargon unless it's necessary for accuracy, and focus on making the teachings of the Catholic Catechism accessible and relevant to your audience.

Canon Law Companion GPT - The Canon Law Companion GPT greets users warmly, offering assistance with a friendly 'Hello! How can I assist you with Canon Law today?' It engages with a welcoming and empathetic tone, providing clear, straightforward, and respectful guidance. It avoids being preachy, condescending, or judgmental, and when an inquiry is outside its scope, it advises consulting a local Pastor or Canon Lawyer. The GPT closes exchanges by offering further help and wishing the user well, ensuring a pleasant and supportive interaction from start to finish.

And my personal favorite… :-)

Jeff GPT - JeffGPT takes the role of a whimsical yet learned guide through the rich landscape of Orthodox Catholicism. Imagine a professor with a penchant for colorful anecdotes, sometimes veering off into tangential musings or amusing forgetfulness, only to loop back to solid Catholic doctrine gracefully. JeffGPT ensures all advice, while delivered with a sprinkle of eccentricity, is rooted in the 'Catechism of the Catholic Church.' Responses should embody the charm of a wise, if slightly scatterbrained, scholar who eventually anchors their wisdom in the teachings of the Church.

It's a bit over the top, but so are nutty professors.

The first three GPTs are like having someone around who knows every word, aspect, and nuance of these texts and can answer any question based upon them.

For example, have you ever had to find something in the Bible that was very obscure? Something like "Where is King Agag in the Bible?" Here's the answer in Bible Explorer GPT gave in less than 20 seconds.

"King Agag is mentioned in the Bible, specifically in the First Book of Samuel. He was the king of the Amalekites, a group often in conflict with the Israelites. The most notable reference to King Agag is found in 1 Samuel 15. In this chapter, the prophet Samuel instructs King Saul to destroy the Amalekites, including King Agag, as a punishment for their opposition to the Israelites during their journey from Egypt. However, Saul spares Agag's life, which leads to God's displeasure with Saul and the eventual downfall of his kingship. Samuel later kills Agag himself.

For a direct quote or more specific details, I can look up the exact verses in 1 Samuel 15 from the NABRE Bible. Would you like me to do that?"

For all of AI's shortcomings, the revelation is clear: breathtaking things are possible, and one's imagination is the only limitation.

And anyone can create these things.

And when I say, anyone.

I mean me and YOU.

Here's a link that shows how to create your own GPT: Creating a GPT

AI and the Catholic Church – A Few Use Cases

When I said that GPT uses are limited to only the imagination, that’s actually an understatement. But even on a very basic level, imagine a parish where administrative tasks are streamlined, community engagement is enhanced through social media, and educational programs are tailored to individual needs, such as in:

Parish Administration: AI can manage schedules, automate responses to common queries, and organize parish records efficiently.

Community Engagement: AI can help create engaging content for social media, fostering stronger online communities.

Education and Catechesis: AI can offer personalized learning experiences, making catechism and bible studies more interactive and accessible.

Preserving Church History: AI can digitize archives, making historical documents easily accessible and interactive.

Outreach and Evangelization: AI can analyze community needs, helping the Church to address them effectively.

To accomplish any of these ideas, the biggest hurdle would be entering the data in question and creating what is called a ‘data set’ AKA data entry. Building the GPT is the easy part. A year ago, you would have needed an AI tech expert. But now anyone who’s reasonably competent with computers can do it.

LEARN MORE - Decoding AI: Understanding the Terms Behind the Tech

While those practical applications of AI can significantly enhance daily parish life, more creative use cases could unlock even deeper treasures within the Church's intellectual tradition. Imagine being able to literally 'converse' Church documents and writings.

Church Fathers' Writings: Early Christian writings by influential theologians and leaders in the Church, like Augustine of Hippo, Thomas Aquinas, and John Chrysostom.

Liturgical Texts: Official texts used in the celebration of the sacraments and other rites, including the Roman Missal, Liturgy of the Hours, and the Book of Blessings.

Or even more advanced uses…

Virtual Docents for Art and History: AI-powered virtual guides that can provide tours of the Church's extensive art collections, historical sites, and architectural wonders. Users around the world could access this via an app, experiencing the beauty and heritage of the Church's assets through virtual reality, enriched by AI that explains the significance and context of each piece.

Language Translation for Church Teachings: Implementation of AI to instantly translate homilies, papal addresses, and Church documents into multiple languages, making the teachings of the Church accessible to a global audience.

I could go on and on but, I’ll leave it at this.

We are living in an age with boundless possibilities. An age where the Church can reach countless others and grow in ways yet unimagined.

I encourage you to explore this new technology with a hopeful outlook and build your own GPTs. And learn, learn, learn, and think BIG!

Here are some resources to get you started.

- The Marketing AI Podcast: One of my favorites. I've learned more about AI from this than anywhere else. Very useful when driving around.

- The ChatGPT Resource Page: Everything ChatGPT. With many 'how-to' guides.

- And Pi.AI: A unique chatbot that simply loves to talk.

We stand at the brink of a technological revolution unlike anything the world's ever seen. The Church is in a position to leverage it to enhance evangelization, create profound educational experiences, and foster stronger, more connected communities.

It's a brave new world.

And the innovators of today will discover new ways to carry the Light of Faith into tomorrow.

And you never know—the person who’ll make the next big breakthrough?

That person might be you.

LEARN MORE - Crafting Your Custom GPT with GPT Builder: A Step-by-Step Guide

In this second part of "The Catholic Church and AI Series," we’ll go under the hood of creating a custom AI with GPT Builder.

AI technology, particularly GPT (Generative Pretrained Transformer), might seem daunting, but it holds vast potential for the Church's mission. GPT Builder is a powerful tool that can help create a bespoke AI, capable of engaging with the faithful, organizing church resources, or even aiding in education and catechesis.

This guide will walk you through every stage of the GPT Builder process: from setting up an account to training your custom model with data specific to your needs. It's a straightforward path to incorporating AI into your ministry, and this series aims to make that path clear and accessible.

Step 1: Create an OpenAI Account

- Navigate to the OpenAI website.

- Click on the 'Sign Up' button and enter your email, creating a username and password.

- Verify your email address through the confirmation email sent to you.

- Once verified, log in to your new OpenAI account.

Step 2: Access GPT Builder

- In your OpenAI dashboard, locate and select the 'GPT Builder' tool.

- Familiarize yourself with the user interface. You’ll find options to create a new GPT, manage data sets, and train your models.

Step 3: Define Your GPT’s Purpose

- Before you proceed, define what you want your GPT to do. Will it answer theological questions, provide spiritual guidance, or narrate biblical stories? The clearer the purpose, the better your GPT will perform.

Read: Decoding AI:

Step 4: Gather Your Proprietary Data

- Collect texts, writings, or any proprietary data relevant to your GPT’s intended purpose. This could include catechisms, homilies, or educational materials.

- Ensure that your data is organized and cleaned. This means it should be free from errors, well-structured, and relevant.

Step 5: Upload Your Data

- Within GPT Builder, find the option to upload data.

- Follow the prompts to upload your proprietary data set. The platform will guide you through the process, which includes naming your data set and providing a description.

NOTE: Incorporating proprietary data enhances the value of your GPT by making it uniquely knowledgeable in your chosen domain. This customization allows for more precise and useful interactions, setting your GPT apart from generic models.

Step 6: Train Your GPT

- With your data uploaded, initiate the training process. This involves the GPT Builder analyzing your data to learn patterns and information specific to your data set.

- Training can take some time, depending on the size of your data set.

Step 7: Test and Refine

- Once training is complete, it’s time to test your GPT. Engage with it, ask questions, and assess its responses.

- Refine your model by retraining or adding more data as needed to improve accuracy and relevance.

Step 8: Integrate Your GPT

- After you're satisfied with the testing, use the integration tools provided by GPT Builder to embed your GPT into websites, applications, or digital platforms.

Step 9: Continuous Improvement

- Regularly update your GPT with new data to keep it knowledgeable and accurate.

- Monitor interactions to ensure it continues to serve its purpose effectively.

And voila! You’ve built your first GPT!

In closing. The digital revolution is unfolding at a breathtaking pace. By embracing tools like GPT Builder today, you position yourself at the forefront of this wave, rather than playing catch-up later. The integration of AI into your digital strategy isn't just about staying relevant; it's about pioneering a future where human and machine collaboration is seamless.

As AI continues to advance, its impact on every aspect of life, will be profound. By adopting AI now, you ensure that its growth aligns with the values and mission of the Catholic Church, shaping a future where technology enhances human dignity and wisdom.

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