A friend just shared this feature-length article in the New York Times, “A Reminder We Are Not Alone” about priests who have been celebrating the Sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick for patients with Covid-19. Continue reading
Viktor Frankl, author of Man’s Search for Meaning, also wrote a book titled The Doctor and the Soul. In the introduction, Frankl argues that life has meaning as long as we have the capacity to suffer: “For the possibility of realizing values by the very attitude with which we face our unchangeable suffering—this possibility exists to the very last moment. […] The right kind of suffering—facing your fate without flinching—is the highest achievement that has been granted to man.” Continue reading
The next chapter I read in The Art of Living is also written by Dietrich’s widow Alice von Hildebrand and it’s on the subject of hope. In it, she begins by diagnosing despair as “the consciousness of a metaphysical calling, a metaphysical destiny left unfulfilled.” And she argues that whenever a person despairs and says about his life, “It’s too late”, this betrays a lack of confidence “in the eternal renewal of the generous creativity of God.” Continue reading
Pendant la conférence de Rise Up organisée par le Catholic Christian Outreach, j’étais impressionnée par tous les kiosques et toutes les publications représentatives des organismes et communautés au Canada.
Un magazine qui a particulièrement attiré mon attention était Le Verbe. Sur la couverture de l’édition du printemps se trouvent les mots: «Vieillir n’est pas une maladie.» Le sous-titre de cet entrevue avec Aubert Martin (directeur général de Vivre dans la dignité) est, «L’euthanasie et notre rapport à la vieillesse.» Continue reading
There were times when my atheist-Jewish-Polish grandfather was in such excruciating pain near the end of his 96-year-long life that he told me he wanted to be euthanized.
Zaida was my intellectual sparing partner, the one who took me on dinner dates to our favourite Italian restaurant where I would always order him a Shirley Temple with extra cherries, and the one who looked forward to reading every term paper I wrote. Continue reading