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As we reflected on our time this week at the West Virginia Children’s Home, there was a strong sense of satisfaction at days well spent.  

This year, ten St. John Paul II Seminarians and our vice rector are spending our Spring Break on a service trip to West Virginia. We are working at the West Virginia Children's Home in Elkins, West Virginia, and staying at a retreat center not too far away. After driving over on Saturday and settling in, we spent Sunday visiting a parish in the area and visiting with some of the kids who live at the children's home.

Rarely had I felt so small, yet so privileged to be able to witness the Lord at work. I felt I was receiving a bigger gift than they were. Gone was the panic and fear of a few days earlier, all that was left was gratitude. I am filled with gratitude to the Lord for letting be a small part of his plan, and I am excited to continue getting out of His way and letting Him work throughout my time of priestly formation.

At that moment you realize the vast number of people taking part.  However, this large amount of people is not the most amazing aspect of the March for Life. The most amazing part is that it is always a joyful event.  The atmosphere is one of celebration; despite the horrific thing we are there to protest.  There is a sense that we are celebrating life

When I was accepted to Saint John Paul II Seminary, I didn’t know what to expect. I feared that I wouldn’t be as holy or as smart as the other guys. I feared that my personality wouldn’t mesh well with the guys in the house, and especially with my roommate. Now as my second semester begins, I have no concerns about the fraternity here.

One day, when I was a youth of 17 years old who relished in wonder of woods and the world, platforms for dreams of adventure and heroism – as every youth, young and old, have – I wandered through the library of my high school to its second floor. It was there as I browsed across the shelves, judging books by their binders and titles and authors, that my eyes curiously settled upon a biography with an old black and battered cover.

Actions that had no direct impact on me continue to impact me indirectly. To this, Some say that “tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.”

But I knew that I didn’t win my race when I crossed the finish line, I won when I...

My grandfather used to tell us stories of his experiences during World War II. His stories never described the battles and operations he went through, yet he would focus rather on what he was thinking during those events. After every battle and difficult operation, each story had the same conclusion, “For every step I took, I prayed, ‘Our Lady of Victory: Pray for us.’ Every single step.”

“Do we have any pickaxes?” “How about a machete?” Smiling, I thought to myself, I would be doing the same thing at home with my dad, for my mom on her birthday.

“A 100-mile bike ride for vocations?! Count me in! I’ve biked 20 miles before. Should be no problem.” Was I overly optimistic? Perhaps. Will I ever regret the time, energy, and sweat I spent on the Ride for Vocations with my Christian brothers and sisters? No way!

In early July, fourteen men journeyed south from the U.S.A. and made pilgrimage to the neighboring lands of Mexico to pray before the tilma of Our Lady of Guadalupe. There are a few familiar expressions that capture a moment concisely and completely...

This week marks the feast of St. Benedict of Norcia, the 6th century father of western monasticism, whose spiritual sons and daughters, the Benedictines, are still to be found in monasteries scattered throughout the world...

While growing up and playing ice hockey with two older brothers, differentiating between hockey and boxing was not always clearly defined; as the old standby goes, “We went to a boxing match and a hockey game broke out.” Both require elegance and a strong nose. Years later I saw the movie  Cinderella Man starring Russel Crowe. After the seeds of inspiration were planted in my youth by  Rocky, I learned of the story regarding 1935 - ‘37 heavyweight champion and virtuous family man, James J. Braddock. This was the final motivation needed for me to respond to the promptings pounding in my heart: to begin boxing.

It would be hard to spend a week in Jamaica and not notice the surrounding beauty. From the first day, I fell in love with the mountains and the ocean. But as the week went on, I noticed a different kind of beauty. The more I had the opportunity to interact with the residents at Jacob’s ladder, the more I noticed their childlike trust and love.

Near the end of our exciting last full day in Jamaica – which involved a morning spent with the residents, a trip to Kingston, and a short interview on Mustard Seed’s Kingston neighborhood radio station – the fact that our trip was coming to an end was inevitably dawning upon us.

One morning I found myself at Jacob’s Well, recalling that last Sunday’s Gospel reading was that very passage. I was over looking Corinth and the foundations of Damascus with Antioch behind me. Needless to say I was disoriented. I didn’t remember going to the Holy Land, and I was positive that Damascus was more than a stone’s throw from Corinth.

Greetings from Jamaica! I am Connor Schmidt, a first-year college seminarian studying for the Archdiocese of Baltimore. Right now, it is spring break for the seminary, and a group of us are down in Jamaica serving at Mustard Seed Communities, a Catholic mission that serves persons with mental and physical handicaps across the world. We are all blessed to be here, but it’s been a strange journey so far.

The beauty of the Mustard Seed Community here at Jacob’s Ladder is like a breath of air to someone who has forgotten to breathe for a few minutes.  Having just completed midterm examinations, many of us were somewhat worn out going into Mission. But upon arriving at Jacob’s Ladder Monday afternoon, every care was swiftly carried away by the simple beauty of this place.

Bathing our cabin before dawn was a vast cloud of morning dew resting gently upon our mountain ridge. Walking through the small dancing beads of mist to the chapel for morning prayer, I looked to the east and was stunned! Shining faintly through, outlining the silhouettes of trees jaggedly peaking from the crest of the mountain across us, was our glorious star awaking life in Jamaica.