Articles

  • 4 days ago | ncregister.com | Jeffrey Bruno

    Amid ash and loss, the National Eucharistic Pilgrimage brings hope to the streets once consumed by flames. Faith, resilience and hope: The Eucharist is carried through the streets of Altadena, led by clergy and laity passing through neighborhoods once shadowed by the Eaton Fire. (photo: Jeffrey Bruno, National Catholic Register/EWTN News) Nation June 23, 2025 It Felt Like the Apocalypse.

  • 5 days ago | ewtn.co.uk | Jeffrey Bruno

    Amid ash and loss, the National Eucharistic Pilgrimage brings hope to the streets once consumed by flames. , June 23, 2025 – National Catholic RegisterA glance at the western sky revealed a cloudless orange dome, the setting sun held hostage by a blood-red halo. Smoke from distant fires muted its rays and cast an eerie glow across the Jersey Shore’s seaside horizon.

  • 1 week ago | ncregister.com | Jeffrey Bruno

    From California’s first mission to a nation longing for Christ, today’s Eucharistic pilgrimages bring Him to a weary, searching America. Sun bears down on pilgrims along the National Eucharistic Pilgrimage in California. (photo: Jeffrey Bruno / National Catholic Register/EWTN News ) Commentaries June 19, 2025 “I wonder if it’s poisonous?” asked Charlie, the team lead for the “Perpetual Pilgrims.” Capuchin Franciscan Father Christopher Iwancio didn’t miss a beat.

  • 1 week ago | ncregister.com | Jeffrey Bruno

    Witness the historic visit at St. Michael's Mission founded by St. Katharine Drexel in words and pictures. Catholics walk in solemn procession through the dusty roads surrounding St. Michael’s Mission, a site founded in 1898 under the vision of St. Katharine Drexel, as the National Eucharistic Pilgrimage makes its way through the heart of the Navajo Nation on June 12 in Arizona.

  • 1 week ago | ewtn.co.uk | Jeffrey Bruno

    Witness the historic visit at St. Michael’s Mission founded by St. Katharine Drexel in words and pictures. , June 16, 2025 – National Catholic Register“It was 55 degrees this morning,” I thought, staring in disbelief at the dashboard, which now read 109. Hours had passed on roads so remote that nothing formed by human hands was visible in any direction, except a pair of well-worn railroad tracks stretching out like shiny ribbons, disappearing into the shimmering horizon.

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