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On Holy Thursday, truly a joyful day, I was sitting at the supper table at St. Joseph’s House on Chrystie Street and looking around at all the fellow workers and thinking how hopeless it was for us to try to keep up appearances. The walls are painted a warm yellow, the ceiling has been done by generous volunteers, and there are large, brightly colored ikon-like paintings on wood and some colorful banners with texts (now fading out) and the great crucifix brought in by some a

Adapted from Br Johannes' reflection at our monthly vigil outside the Home Office in February 2026. Le ss than two weeks ago, I was in the refugee camp in Dunkirk, speaking with a young man from West Africa. He told me how he had tried to cross from Libya to Italy on a small boat—perhaps a fishing boat. The crossing went wrong. In the middle of the Mediterranean, people around him were crying, fading away, slipping into the deep cold silence. He and fourteen others survived.

Much has been made of the stark thematic contrast between the simultaneously released Barbie and Oppenheimer , to the point of receiving...