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Roger Karban

Ordained in Rome in 1964, Roger R. Karban is a priest of the Diocese of Belleville with scholarly expertise in the Sacred Scriptures. He received a Licentiate in Theology from the Pontifical Gregorian University in Rome and did his doctoral studies in Scripture at St. Louis University.

Karban has been the chair of religion departments at Mater Dei and Gibault Catholic High Schools; director of the diocesan diaconate program and is currently the administrator of Our Lady of Good Council Parish, Renault, IL. A part-time faculty member of St. Louis University and Southwestern Illinois College where he teaches the Bible as literature, Karban also teaches adult weekly scripture classes in Belleville, Breese, Carbondale and Lebanon, IL. With the vision of Vatican II, Karban presents workshops, not only in the diocese, but throughout the country.



Roger's Essays

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Acts 10:25-26, 34-35, 44-48; I John 4:7-11; John 15:9-17

I learned very early in my religious career that one sign the Roman Catholic Church is the one and only “true” church revolves around the conviction that only the Roman Catholic Church has never changed through the centuries. Though other churches have frequently changed, we’ve toed the line, never altering our beliefs, never modifying our practices. We believe and do whatever Jesus commanded us to believe and do at the Last Supper.

Then I fell into the diabolical heresy of studying Scripture.

Among other things, I learned the earliest followers of Jesus followed the risen, not the historical Jesus. They were much more concerned with what the Christ among them was teaching and expecting of them than what the Galilean carpenter had taught and expected of his original disciples a generation or two before. The historical Jesus certainly wasn’t irrelevant, but through his resurrection he had morphed into a new creation, a person who, as Paul believed and taught, was as much a Jew as a Gentile, a free person as a slave, and a woman as a man. He/she not only was concerned with what happened to his fellow Jews in Palestine between 6 BCE and 30 CE, the risen Christ now also cared about those who lived years later, in places far beyond Palestine, Jews and non-Jews alike. That’s why the members of this unique community didn’t hesitate to change. But they certainly didn’t change for change’s sake. There was a method behind their “mobility;” a method we hear especially in today’s gospel pericope. A method revolving around love.

John’s Jesus couldn’t be clearer: “This is my commandment: love one another as I love you.” Notice, he doesn’t say, “Love one another as I have loved you.” The evangelist has him refer to the present, not the past. Jesus of Nazareth didn’t show love once upon a time, he/she, as the risen Christ, is giving us love right here and now. It’s ongoing.

I frequently reminded my high school marriage course students that there’s no one action which to everyone, in every place, at every time shows love. Signs of love change as the people around us and the circumstances they encounter change. We who are commanded to love must always be alert to employing actions which show love to this particular person, in this particular time and place. For Christians, change isn’t a curse, it’s a loving necessity.

Love of others is at the heart of Jesus' faith, as the author of I John insists in our second reading. “Let us love one another,” he writes, “because love is of God: everyone who loves is begotten by God and knows God.” Since to biblically know someone or something is to experience someone or something, the author is telling his readers, “The only way we can experience God in our lives is to love one another.” There are no shortcuts.

One of the reasons Luke originally composed his Acts of the Apostles was to let his community know how a church that began as 100 percent Jewish in the 30s, was, in the mid-80s when he wrote, quickly becoming 100 percent Gentile. A real sea change! Though Luke assures us that the Holy Spirit was certainly behind this fundamental switch in membership, most scholars are convinced that, on just a natural level, when Jewish Christians began to love Gentiles as much as the risen Jesus loved them, they couldn’t understand why non-Jews couldn’t also be other Christs. Love eventually opened up the Christian community to love as the Christ loves.

Though this insight flies in the face of my childhood catechism classes, unchangeableness isn’t a sign of divine authenticity; it’s simply a sign we’ve refused to love.


This essay comes to you from FOSIL, The Faithful of Southern Illinois,
Email:, or write FOSIL, P.O. Box 31, Belleville, IL, 62222



Acts 1:1-11; Ephesians 1:17-23; Mark 16:15-20

It’s far easier simply to say, “Jesus has risen!” than to reflect on the implications of his resurrection. The fact we have four – sometimes contradictory - gospel narratives of the discovery of his empty tomb prove that point. Because of our evangelists’ Semitic both/and thought process, each offers us a different dimension and different consequences of that event. Our problem is that we’ve squeezed these diverse gospel narratives into chronological liturgical readings. That means, because of our Greek either/or thought process, we’ve “canonized” one of these theologies and left the others behind. We, for instance, overlook that fact there’s no definitive ascension of Jesus in either Mark, Matthew, or John. Since we’ve inserted Luke’s ascension theology into our liturgical year, we not only presume that’s all there is, we rarely notice the implications Luke’s trying to convey in expressing his theology in his unique way.

Among other things, Luke is convinced, in the absence of the historical Jesus, that the Holy Spirit is the force guiding the Christian community. His Jesus couldn’t be clearer. Just before he ascends he tells his disciples to expect Pentecost. “In a few days,” he says, “you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit.” In other words, “The Spirit will shortly take my place.”

We who faithfully depend on the institutional church to tell us what God wants us to do, have little space for that Spirit in our religious experiences. Growing up Catholic, about the only time we were expected to pray to the Holy Spirit was immediately before we took our school exams. Hopefully the Spirit would remind us what our teachers had taught on various subjects, not enlighten us on what the risen Jesus was telling us to do in our daily lives.

The Pauline disciple who wrote the letter to the Ephesians poetically speaks about the risen Jesus “seated at (God’s) right hand in the heavens.” Yet he also reminds his readers about the “Spirit of wisdom and revelation” which we received when we first experienced God in our lives. No way we can be other Christs without constantly falling back on that Spirit, whether the risen Jesus is relaxing triumphant in heaven or actively working among us here on earth.

It’s important to know that today’s gospel pericope was not originally part of Mark’s gospel. Even the bishops at the Council of Trent (1545) agreed someone had tacked verses 9-20 onto Mark’s gospel long after the evangelist completed it. (By the way, there are Marcan manuscripts with at least two other non-original endings. Most probably the gospel simply ended with verse 8, as disturbing as that is.)

Since Jesus’ followers didn’t seem to have regarded the Christian Scriptures as divinely inspired until the latter part of the third century, people could “mess around” with those writings and not worry about divine retribution. Mark’s original abrupt ending to his gospel – the risen Jesus is simply “out there somewhere” - seems to have provided a made to order invitation to those who had problems with the different theologies in other writings. Someone eventually strung those passages together in a way that “made sense;” one that fit their either/or Greek mentality.

It doesn’t do much harm to read today’s addition (except for those churches whose worship services revolve around handling poisonous snakes.) But these verses should be a reminder that our faith originally wasn’t a matter of either/or. If we celebrate today’s feast knowing Jesus’ ascension was one among several ways to surface the implications of Jesus’ resurrection, we’re correctly looking at this celebration from a biblical point of view. If, on the other hand, we think our liturgical chronology accurately conveys historical chronology, we’d best sign up for a course in Scripture 101 as soon as possible.


This essay comes to you from FOSIL, The Faithful of Southern Illinois,
Email:, or write FOSIL, P.O. Box 31, Belleville, IL, 62222



Acts 1:15-17, 20a, 20c-26; I John 4:11-16; John 17:11b-19

I often mention that today’s John 17 gospel pericope was always proclaimed on a very solemn occasion in one of the seminaries I attended: immediately after priestly ordinations, just before the meal commemorating that happy event. In that non-biblical context, we (men) automatically bought into the introduction the lector gave this passage: “Jesus’ prayer for his newly ordained priests.” The “them” about whom the gospel Jesus was speaking could only be priests, no one else need apply.

It’s difficult for us who grew up with the idea that the Roman Catholic priesthood has always been essential to our faith to admit that particular institution is just as frequently found in Scripture as are electric lights. The priesthood, as we know it, won’t evolve until long after the biblical period. It’s a shame that a gospel prayer originally intended for all Jesus’ followers was eventually limited to just a small portion of those people.

When, during the Last Supper, John’s Jesus speaks about those to whom “he gave his word,” who he prays “will be kept from the evil one,” who he’s convinced “are in the world, but not of the world,” he’s not referring to individuals who have received priestly ordination, but to those who have been baptized, everyone who’s determined to carry on his ministry. In a world without clergy and laity, he can’t be referring to anyone else.

John’s main purpose in this pericope is to remind his community of how unique it is to be a disciple of the risen Jesus. Like himself/herself, they’re “new creations.” Not only can’t they judge themselves by anyone else’s standards, they have to be prepared for a ministry unlike any other. Among other things, as other Christs they have to anticipate the same problems the first Christ experienced. They’ll frequently find themselves in a world which hates them, simply because they’re carrying on his ministry. “As you sent them into the world,” he states, “so I sent them into the world.” It won’t take long to discover they, like Jesus, are committed to a different value system than a lot of the people around them.

Why doesn’t he get them quickly out of their misery and take them immediately into heaven? The answer’s simple: if they don’t hang in there and endure the pain, nothing in this world is ever going to change for the better. The Father didn’t rescue him, why should he rescue them? He can only guarantee his community that his care of them will be just as unique as they are.

Luke is also convinced that Jesus’ followers are carrying on his ministry. Though those who chose our liturgical readings have conveniently left out Acts’ contradictory account of Judas’ death, it’s still important he be replaced. Luke’s convinced the Twelve must be intact when the Spirit arrives on Pentecost. (Notice the next member of the Twelve who dies isn’t replaced. Once the Holy Spirit is in charge, we no longer need the Twelve. The community’s in the Spirit’s hands.)

The exceptional care Jesus has for his followers is driven by one basic principle: “If God so loved us, we also must love one another.” The author of I John couldn’t be clearer. “God is love, and whoever remains in love remains in God and God in them.” We have one basic mission in life: to love others.

We who’ve stratified our world by splitting it between clergy and laity are called by the risen Jesus to get rid of that nonsense and return to his faith. His world is populated only with those who love and those who don’t love. If we can’t pull that off, we’re really not “his.” Especially embarrassing for those, I would think, who are the monsignors among us.


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Email:, or write FOSIL, P.O. Box 31, Belleville, IL, 62222



Acts 2:1-11; I Corinthians 12:3b-7, 12-13; John 20:19-23

No liturgical feast is more important yet more underrated in our church than Pentecost. Were we to return to its original meaning we’d have to not only change our church government, we’d also have to change the way we picture God working in our lives.

One of the big questions that constantly came up in the early church could be expressed this way, “How do we know what the risen Jesus wants us to do in life?” The Scriptural community was certain they were called to carry on his/her ministry, but how were they practically to do that?

We Catholics long ago stopped asking that question. We learned that we’re simply to obey the hierarchical leaders Jesus set up during his earthly ministry. The pope and his bishops not only set the tone for the church, they dictate every one of our dos and don’ts. Scripture is only for extra credit. (And besides, as Luther showed, it can be horribly misleading!) The thing that eventually will lead us to eternal happiness is our faithfulness to the papacy. Though “good” Protestants can get into heaven by following the Bible, even “lukewarm” Catholics can squeeze through its pearly gates by just following the pope.

Our sacred authors – and all the first Christians – would have been amazed at such a frame of mind. In their theology and experience, Jesus left us not a religious system, but a person to carry on after him. That person was his Spirit. Only by surfacing and following that force could we be certain we’re doing what the risen Jesus wants us to do.

The coming of the Holy Spirit is so significant that, like Jesus’ resurrection, our sacred authors offer us more than one biblical theology to explain it. Luke, whose Spirit-event takes place 50 days after Jesus’ resurrection, gives us one in today’s first reading. John, whose Spirit arrives on Easter Sunday night, gives us another in our gospel pericope. And Paul uses our I Corinthian reading to remind us of the Spirit’s gifts. All three theologies are reflections on what happens when the Spirit breaks into our lives.

Among other things, Luke zeros in on the disruptions Jesus’ Spirit brings. Those serious about carrying on her/his ministry, best get used to wind, fire and noise being part of their everyday lives. The Galilean carpenter never promised his historical disciples a tranquil existence; his Spirit follows suite with his post-resurrection disciples. If we really want to surface what God wants us to do in our lives, we’d better emulate Bette Davis’ advice, “Buckle your seat belts, it’s going to be a bumpy ride!”

John wants to make certain that those who dare to receive the Spirit had better zero in on forgiving those around them. Building communities is essential to our faith. Yet there’s no way to pull that off without constantly repairing the bridges we’ve constructed with one another. Communities don’t happen by accident.

Neither does the Body of Christ suddenly appear out of nothing. Paul is convinced the parts of that Spirit-fed body can only maintain their unique diversity when each member contributes to the whole. The Spirit not only blesses us with singular gifts, we’re to use those gifts “for some benefit.” They’re for others, not for ourselves.

Considering the dying that’s an integral part of each of these three theologies, I can see why the church eventually soft-pedaled the Spirit and began to concentrate on hierarchical rules and regulations. Far less demands on forgiving, few discussions about integrating diverse gifts into one body, and practically no wind, fire and noise. No wonder Pope Francis is meeting opposition from some of the church’s conservatives. They simply want us to return to the good old, peaceful, non-Spirit days.


This essay comes to you from FOSIL, The Faithful of Southern Illinois,
Email:, or write FOSIL, P.O. Box 31, Belleville, IL, 62222



Deuteronomy 4:32-34, 39-40; Romans 8:14-17; Matthew 28:16-20

I grew up with my teachers’ warning, “If you can’t define it, you don’t know it.” No matter how hard I’d try to convince them that I really knew the answer to their question, either I handed over a definition or they marked me wrong. There was no middle ground.

I wonder how today’s sacred authors would fare at my teachers’ hands. Though all three talks about God, none of them provides us with a definition of the Trinity.

It took the “official” church almost 300 years before it even came up with the catechism definition we all learned, the “three persons in one God” one. But as Fr. Bernard Lonergan frequently reminded us Licentiate candidates years ago, the bishops at the Council of Nicaea had to redefine several Greek terms to come up with that well-known, but rarely understood description.

Our Deuteronomic author, Paul and Matthew are much more interested in what God does than in who God is. That’s completely understandable. How does someone define a being one cannot comprehend? Rudolf Bultmann once observed that our sacred authors have a built-in problem. They’re writing about the “other side” for people who inhabit “this side.” Any simile we surface – no matter how insightful - will limp horribly. That’s why we should simply be content to reflect on the Trinity’s actions in our lives, and leave the definitions until we reach the pearly gates.

Among other things, God’s actions constantly demonstrate God’s care. The Hebrew Scriptures begin with and revolved around the Exodus. Yahweh’s freeing of some enslaved Israelites starts the Jewish

“thing.” Their faith doesn’t begin with people learning how to define this new God; it starts with Yahweh breaking into their everyday lives in a forceful way. “Did anything so great ever happen before? . . . Did any god venture to go and take a nation for himself from the midst of another nation . . . ?” If Yahweh demands we first learn a definition, we’d have no salvation history.

Paul agrees. He’s a good Jew. Since he doesn’t worry about defining Yahweh, why should he worry about defining Jesus as God? He’s simply concerned with what the risen Jesus does in our lives. Above everything else, the Christ gives us a new personality. Paul reminds the Romans that we’ve been transformed into God’s unique children. No longer God’s fearful slaves, we’re now on an equal level with God’s son. The only kicker is that, like him/her, we have to suffer. There’s no other way to attain real life.

But we’re not in “this” by ourselves. One of the most significant things the risen Jesus does is simply to be with us.

Years ago, one of our local bishops ended his installation homily by quoting today’s gospel pericope. Good choice. But there was one problem. He prefaced the quote by saying, “Never forget that this is what Jesus promised right before he ascended into heaven.”

He inadvertently mixed up Matthew with Luke. There’s no ascension in Matthew. The end of today’s gospel pericope is the end of his gospel. Matthew’s Jesus doesn’t go anywhere. He’s still “out there” somewhere with us. If Faith Hill is so close to the person she loves that she can feel him breathe, I presume the risen Jesus is so close to us that we can not only feel him/her breathe, the Christ can also feel us breathe. We’re never in this faith thing by ourselves.

If today’s feast prompts us to mentally return to our grade school catechism classes, we’re celebrating it in a non-biblical way. Only those who, by nightfall, can come up with one or two more ways God’s working in our lives have really listened to our readings.


This essay comes to you from FOSIL, The Faithful of Southern Illinois,
Email:, or write FOSIL, P.O. Box 31, Belleville, IL, 62222



Exodus 24:3-8; Hebrews 9:11-15; Mark 14:12-16, 22-26

I’ve always been amazed at tourists who, at arriving at a famous site, simply park their car, get out, take a picture of it, return to their car, and drive away, never once spending even a few minutes actually looking at the site. They’ve got a picture of it, why do they need to spend their valuable time looking at it? As crazy as that seems, in my lifetime that’s almost exactly what we did with the Eucharist.

When I was a child, almost no one went to communion. I can remember Sundays when more than 200 people were in church, yet fewer than 20 came up for communion. (In some parishes more than half the congregation stood up at communion time, but it was simply the first step in leaving church!)

People’s reluctance to participate in the Eucharist was one of the reasons the church instituted today’s feast. By specifically gearing readings, music, and liturgical prayers to the celebration of the Lord’s Supper it was hoped the Eucharist itself wouldn’t fade into the background. Something at the center of the earliest biblical Christian community was in danger of disappearing from its field of vision.

The reason was simple. The late Ohio State football coach Woody Hayes figured it out years ago. When asked why he rarely permitted his quarterbacks to throw passes, Hayes always responded, “Three things can happen when you pass, and two of them are bad.”

By the first part of the 20th century, we had so many rules and regulations revolving around receiving communion that we frequently ran the risk of something bad happening when we walked up to the communion rail. For instance, if we were in the state of sin, we’d commit another one by going to communion; since we had to abstain from food and water from midnight on, even a sip of toothpaste water would be sinful. It was best to make only a “spiritual” communion. Couldn’t commit any sins that way.

Thankfully by the ‘50s priests (and popes) began to encourage everyone to receive communion every time they participated in the Eucharist. Nowhere was this stressed more than on First Fridays, when nine of them in a row guaranteed you’d eventually get into heaven. We stopped taking pictures and began to actually experience the site.

Yet some of us are still reaching for our cameras at communion time. We refuse – for whatever reason – to receive from the cup. We habitually walk past the minister of the cup, believing it’s for extra credit, something we don’t need.

Listen carefully to today’s Exodus passage. Those who have the blood sprinkled on them are showing they’ve made the covenant with Yahweh. The red blotches on their skin and clothes are the covenant’s outward sign. Just as a wedding ring is an outward sign two people are committed to one another, the covenant blood is a sign they’ve formed a special relationship with Yahweh.

We know from I Corinthians 11, that Jesus also gave his followers an outward sign they’re willing to carry on his ministry after his death and resurrection: receiving his blood. In some sense, receiving from the cup is more important than receiving the bread. If we’re not going to carry on Jesus’ ministry, he’s died in vain. Perhaps Jesus intended us to first receive the bread simply to strengthen us to receive the cup.

We’ve still got a long way to go before we completely put our cameras away, and begin to rely on our experiences. If today’s feast helps us do that, we’re using it the right way. Just remember, the people who gave us our readings never saw a camera. It was all first-hand experiences for them, or nothing.


This essay comes to you from FOSIL, The Faithful of Southern Illinois,
Email:, or write FOSIL, P.O. Box 31, Belleville, IL, 62222



Genesis 3:9-15; II Corinthians 4:13-5:1; Mark 3:20-35

Can’t emphasize enough the importance of today’s Genesis reading. One of the earliest writings of the Hebrew Scriptures, it not only sets the theme for many of the writings which follow, but more important for Christians, Jesus of Nazareth seems to have grounded his reform of Judaism in its theology.

Though frequently referred to as God’s punishments for original sin, these verses are simply the Yahwistic author’s reflections on the “human condition” we’re all forced to experience. We have to endure certain things simply because we’re alive. We have no choice.

In this specific pericope, the author reflects on our quest to eradicate evil – personified by the serpent. Employing the metaphor of someone stomping a snake to death with one’s bare feet, she reminds her readers that only those willing to endure the pain that comes from being bit by the snake will eventually crush the snake. Our heel is never quicker than a snake’s fangs. We’ll kill the snake, but we’ll limp for a long time.

Our Genesis author certainly wants her readers to eradicate evil, but she’s realistic about the process. No one just snaps his or her finger and evil disappears. Before we tackle evil, we’d best check the height of our pain threshold. That’s the main reason evil persists in our lives. There’s not a lot of people willing to suffer through its eradication.

For Christians, here’s where Jesus of Nazareth comes in. This first century CE Palestinian preacher was convinced the Yahwistic author had hit the nail on the head. There’s no other way to make this world better. Unless someone is willing to suffer, evil remains. But he takes this snake-killing thing one step further. If our evil-destroying stomping includes giving ourselves to others, we’ll not only help rid the world of this scourge, we’ll also gain life for ourselves.

Our earliest Christian author, Paul, must constantly remind the people he’s brought into the faith to simply “hang in there.” We have no exact idea what motivates him to write today’s II Corinthians passage, but we logically presume it has something to do with the struggle all Christians endure, simply keeping up the fight to get rid of the evil around us.

The first miracle Jesus worked in Mark’s gospel was exorcising a demoniac. I mentioned when I commented on it several months ago that the first miracle in each gospel is very significant; it sets the theme for the whole gospel. It basically tells us what Jesus expects of his disciples. If, before anything else, he exorcises a demon, he’s telling his followers they, like he, are to get rid of evil, no matter what it costs, no matter how painfully we limp.

That seems to be one of the reasons Mark composed today’s gospel pericope. How can we expect to avoid suffering if Jesus couldn’t avoid suffering? In this case, the suffering that comes from being misunderstood by those closest to us.

We can understand why some of Jesus’ enemies – the Jerusalem scribes – interpret his snake-killing actions as coming from the devil himself. But what’s worse, even his relatives – later identified as his “mother(!) and brothers” – are also convinced he’s “out of his mind.” The preaching that brings life to so many tears his own family apart.

How many of us, for family peace and tranquility, frequently keep our mouths shut instead of speaking up when we discover evil? Why would we create more evil by pointing out the evil that’s already there?

If we eventually leave this world in the same condition in which we found it, we, and those around us might experience a peaceful, painless existence, but we’ll never do what God put us on earth to do.


This essay comes to you from FOSIL, The Faithful of Southern Illinois,
Email:, or write FOSIL, P.O. Box 31, Belleville, IL, 62222

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Each archive file has two articles with the most recent at the bottom.

2018 Essays
June 3 & 10, 2018
May 20 & 27, 2018
May 10 & 13 2018
April 29 & May 6, 2018
April 15 & 22, 2018
March 31 (vigil) & April, 2018
March 25 & 29, 2018
March 11 & 18, 2018
February 25 & March 4, 2018
February 11 & 18, 2018
January 28 & February 4, 2018
January 14 & 21, 2018

2017 Essays

December 31, 2017, & January 7, 2018
December 24 & 25, 2017
December 10 & 17, 2017
November 26 & December 3, 2017
November 12 & 19, 2017
October 29 & November 5, 2017
October 15 & 22, 2017
October 1 & 8, 2017
September 17 & 24, 2017
September 3 & 10, 2017
August 20 & 27, 2017
August 6 & 13, 2017
July 23 & 30, 2017
July 9 & 16, 2017
June 25 & July 2, 2017
June 11 & 18, 2017
May 28 & June 4, 2017
May 21 & 25 or 28, 2017
May 7 & 14, 2017
April 23 & 30, 2017
April 13 & 15(vigil), 2017
April 2 & 9, 2017
March 19 & 26, 2017
March 5 & 12, 2017
February 19 & 26, 2017
February 5 & 12, 2017
January 22 & 29, 2017
January 8 & 15, 2017

2016 Essays

December 25, 2016, & January 1, 2017
December 11 & 18, 2016
November 27 & December 4, 2016
November 13 & 20, 2016
October 30 & November 6, 2016
October 16 & 23, 2016
October 2 & 9, 2016
September 18 & 25, 2016
September 4 & 11, 2016
August 21 & 28, 2016
August 7 & 14, 2016
July 24 & 31, 2016
July 10 & 17, 2016
June 26 and July 3, 2016
Jun 12 & June 19, 2016
May 29 & June 5, 2016
May 15 & May 22, 2016
May 5 & May 8, 2016
April 24 & May 1, 2016
April 10 & April 17, 2016
March 27 and April 3, 2016
March 24 & 26, 2016
March 13 & 20, 2016
February 28 and March 6, 2016
February 14 and 21, 2016
January 31 and February 7, 2016
January 17 and 24, 2016
January 3 and 10, 2016

2015 Essays
December 25 and 27, 2015
December 13, 20 and 25, 2015
November 29 and December 6, 2015
November 15 and 22, 2015
November 1 and 8, 2015
October 18 and 25, 2015
October 4 and 11, 2015
September 20 and 27, 2015
September 6 and 13, 2015
August 23 and 30, 2015
August 9 and 16, 2015
July 26 and August 2, 2015
July 12 and 19, 2015
June 28 and July 5, 2015
June 14 and 21, 2015
May 31 and June 7, 2015
May 17 and 24, 2015
May 10 and May 14 or 17, 2015
April 26 and May 3, 2015
April 12 and 19, 2015
April 4 and 5, 2015
March 29 and April 2, 2015
March 15 and 22, 2015
March 1 and 8, 2015
February 15 and 22, 2015
February 1 and 8, 2015
January 18 and 25, 2015
January 4 and 11, 2015

2014 Essays
December 25 & 28, 2014
December 14 & 21, 2014
November 30 & December 7, 2014
November 16 & 23, 2014
November 2 and 9, 2014
October 19 & 26, 2014
October 5 & 12, 2014
September 21 & 28, 2014
September 7 & 14, 2014
August 24 and 31, 2014
August 10 and 17, 2014
July 27 and August 3, 2014
July 13 and July 20, 2014
June 29 and July 6, 2014
June 15 and June 22, 2014
June 1 and June 8, 2014
May 25 and May 29, 2014
May 11 and May 18, 2014
April 27 and May 4, 2014
April 19 & 20, 2014
April 13 & 17, 2014
March 30 & April 6, 2014
March 16 & 23, 2014
March 2 & 9, 2014
February 16 & 23, 2014
February 2 & 9, 2014
January 19 & 26, 2014
January 5 & 12, 2014

2013 Essays
December 25 & 29, 2013
December 15 & 22, 2013
December 1 & 8, 2013
November 17 & 24, 2013
November 3 & 10, 2013
October 20 and 27, 2013
October 6 and 13, 2013
September 22 and 29, 2013
September 8 and 15, 2013
August 25 and September 1, 2013
August 11 and 18, 2013
July 28 and August 4, 2013
July 14 and 21, 2013
June 30 and July 7, 2013
Jun 16 & 23, 2013
Jun 2 & 9, 2013
May 19 & 26, 2013
May 9 & 12, 2013
April 28 and May 5, 2013
April 14 and 21, 2013
March 30 and April 7, 2013
March 24 and 28, 2013
March 10 and 17, 2013
February 24 and March 3, 2013
February 10 and 17, 2013
January 27 and February 3, 2013
January 13 and 20, 2013
December 30, 2012, and January 6, 2013

2012 Essays
December 23 & 25, 2012
December 9 & 16, 2012
November 25 and December 2, 2012
November 11 and 18, 2012
October 28 and November 4, 2012
October 14 and October 21, 2012
September 30 and October 7, 2012
September 16 and September 23, 2012
September 2 and September 9, 2012
August 19 and August 26, 2012
August 5 and August 12, 2012
July 22 and July 29, 2012
July 8 and July 15, 2012
June 24 and July 1, 2012
June 10 and 17, 2012
May 27 and June 3, 2012
May 17 and May 20, 2012
May 6 and May 13, 2012
April 22 and April 29, 2012
April 7 (Easter Vigil) and April 15, 2012
March 25 and April 1, 2012
March 11 and March 18, 2012
February 26 and March 4, 2012
February 12 and February 19, 2012
January 29 and February 5, 2012
January 15 and January 22, 2012
January 1 and January 8, 2012

2011 Essays
December 18 and December 25, 2011
December 4 and December 11, 2011
November 20 and November 27, 2011
November 6 and November 13, 2011
October 23 and October 30, 2011
October 9 and October 16, 2011
September 25 and October 2, 2011
September 18, 2011
September 4, 2011
August 21, 2011
August 07, 2011
July 24, 2011
July 10, 2011
June 26, 2011
June 12, 2011
June 6, 2011
May 22, 2011
May 5, 2011
April 10, 2011
May 8th, 2011
April 24, 2011
April 3, 2011
March 20, 2011
March 6, 2011
February 20, 2011
February 6, 2011
January 30, 2011
January 16, 2011
January 2, 2011

2010 Essays
December 25, 2010
December 10, 2010
November 28, 2010
November 14, 2010



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