September 6, 2011

On a journey through North America, my wife and I attended many churches. At one the pastor insisted repeatedly that "the meaning and purpose of life is to have a personal relationship with Jesus." The claim irked me.

I want to arrive at the kind of equilibrium admired by the disciples who broke down the barrier to St. Anthony's fortress. To do this, I have to befriend the demons dwelling in the cave of my heart.

Dove Award winner Francesca Battis­telli has proved to be a refreshing breeze in the musty swamp of the Christian music industry, delivering material that sparkles with energy and vibrancy.

Dylan fans rejoice at any opening of the vaults—this is volume 9 in his Bootleg Series—but this double disc also welcomes anyone who is new to the '60s pioneer.

The opportunity arose for our church to host a group of homeless people. We anticipated that people might threaten to leave if we went through with it. We weren't prepared, however, for the newly baptized Kathryn.

When Vittorio De Sica helped craft the cinematic movement known as neorealism, he was intent on finding lead actors who lacked experience. If you didn't know that Demián Bichir was a star in Mexico, you might assume that director Chris Weitz was following De Sica's blueprint.

Since recently reuniting, the Smoking Popes have been a different band from their 1990s heyday.

Lutheran rocker Jonathan Rundman is nothing if not prolific. Here he teams with violinist Sara Pajunen to form Kaivama, a folk music duo that yields tasty instrumentals with a Finnish accent.

Do people join a church because they share its members' beliefs? This has become the putative ideal, the only pure motivation for church affiliation. But I have seldom heard it voiced at our new members' class.

In a recent Chicago concert, these real-life sisters (Laura and Lydia Rogers) sounded like angelic apparitions channeled from the Grand Ole Opry circa 1955.

The new English translation of the Roman Catholic Order of Mass, mandated by the Vatican to be inaugurated this Advent, wounds not only many of my Catholic friends but also me.

Super 8, written and directed by J. J. Abrams of Lost and Alias fame, is a curious film that gets curiouser and curiouser as it goes along. It's the first time I have ever seen a cinematic homage to a filmmaker who is actually in the film's credits.