Author name: Molly Hostetler

The phenomenon of Modernism in religion may seem at first sight irrelevant in a discussion of the philosophy of history. Exactly the opposite is true, however, for Religious Modernism is the product and function of the philosophy of history in its older Voltairean and Hegelian form.

Tiziano Vecellio, known in English as Titian, was probably the greatest Venetian painter, recognized in his time as “The Sun Amidst Small Stars” (recalling the famous final line of Dante’s Paradiso).* He painted the huge (22 ½’ x 11 ½’) masterpiece of Mary’s Assumption for the Basilica of the Franciscan friars, appropriately called the Basilica di Santa Maria Gloriosa dei Frari, in Venice.

On the Feast of the Assumption, the readings conveniently outline the Biblical basis for why Catholics celebrate the end of Mary’s earthly life. The very first reading comes from Revelation, one of the passages most helpful in understanding the dogma of the Assumption.

Some people like movies about puppies. Or horses. Or cars. Me? I like movies about food. Which is why I went poste-haste to Pranzo Di Ferragosto (literally “Mid-August Lunch”) when it came to Pittsburgh a few years back.

Imagine being the photojournalist to the saints, documenting their incredible lives through pictures, getting to know them as you attempt to capture the perfect shot. You would study their actions, learn what drives them, and bring their lives to others through the photos you took.

Clue Number 9,546 that I’m a long, long way from holiness: My perpetual struggle to think of the Joyful Mysteries of the Rosary as, well, the Joyful Mysteries of the Rosary. For me, the “Stressful Mysteries of the Rosary” often seems a bit more like it.

St. Dominic Guzmán was born in Caleruega, Old Castile, Spain, sometime after 1170. On completing his studies in theology at Palencia, he was appointed (about 1196) a canon of the cathedral chapter at Osma, and in 1201 he was chosen prior of that cathedral community.

When I was a sophomore at Grove City College, years before any of my theological conversions, I underwent a radical transformation in my understanding of philosophy. Perusing the college library, I’d found some books by a man named Aquinas, which I took home, devoured, and immediately began expounding to my friends.