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World at Prayer blog
Reflections of Family and Faith
"The family that prays together stays together." - Venerable Patrick Peyton
Years back in my home country, a popular local diocesan priest disagreed with his local bishop and decided to found his own Church. His decision garnered immense news coverage in the country because the Catholic Church in the country is known for being highly organized and one tight knit entity. A whole news cycle developed around this priest and his new Church. I wrote an opinion piece for our national news paper that argued how flawed the foundation of the new entity was, and how the Catholic Church by giving constant media attention to the new religious outfit was giving mileage to the concerned priest and his new Church. I borrowed the words and the wisdom of Gamaliel in our first reading today, “If it is of human origin, it will destroy itself but if it comes from God it will stay.” Unfortunately, history proved it was of human origin, and everything disintegrated.
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In today’s gospel we have John the Baptist recognizing and declaring that Jesus comes from above, one who stands beyond all others. Just before this passage, John the Baptist declares that “He must increase, but I must decrease.” He highlights that Jesus is the Son of God and calls on us to believe in Jesus if we are to receive eternal life.” None of this John knows, can be said of himself.
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Today’s readings present a striking contrast: fear and courage, darkness and light. In the first reading, the Apostles are arrested and thrown into prison. It seems like the end of their mission. But during the night, the angel of the Lord frees them and gives a clear command: “Go and tell the people everything about this life.” And what do they do? They return to the temple and continue preaching without hesitation. They are unshakable—not because of their own strength, but because they are rooted in Christ.
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William Barry and William Connolly write in their book “The Practice of Spiritual Direction” That “there is something in us that resists change and development, that wants wives or husbands, friends, companions to be the same tomorrow as they are today. At the same time, there is something in us that wants to know more about the other and is bored by sameness.”
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There is something special about conversations at night. During the day, everything runs on script. "How are you?" "I'm good." We speak about weather. Meetings happen, decisions are made, calendars are obeyed. Even in families, conversation is often logistics management, who picks up whom, what's for dinner, what's next. Its efficient, and necessary. But night changes things. A couple can spend an entire day discussing bills, groceries, and whose turn it is to call the plumber and to pick up kids, and then at 10:30 pm, lights off, room quiet, one of them says, "Can I ask you something?" You know immediately: this is not about the plumber. The real conversation has finally begun. Something carried all day has found its way out. Or college students, confident in seminars, composed in lectures, lying on a dorm room floor at midnight, staring at the ceiling, suddenly asking, "Do you ever feel like you have absolutely no idea what you're doing?" That question never surfaces at 10 a.m. But at night, it arrives uninvited and entirely welcome.
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Divine Mercy Sunday | catholic family life | family prayer
Silvia Patalano-Ross reflects on how busy moms can practice Divine Mercy at home through patience, forgiveness, and small daily choices. Divine Mercy Sunday has always sounded beautiful to me. I would see the image of Jesus with rays pouring from His Heart. I have loved the simple prayer, “Jesus, I trust in You.” It is a reminder that God’s mercy is endless, something I find myself relying on more and more each day. But most years, Divine Mercy Sunday meets me in a much less peaceful place. There is always someone arguing about whose turn it is to take the dog out. There’s a child who suddenly remembers a project that is due tomorrow. It’s time to eat, but the dinner table is full of papers and half-finished art projects. I can’t tell you the number of socks I’ve dug out of the couch. These are usually the moments when I remember mercy isn’t just something we talk about in church. It’s something we practice in our homes — and for me, it’s about five minutes after I’ve already lost my patience.
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