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World at Prayer blog
Reflections of Family and Faith
"The family that prays together stays together." - Venerable Patrick Peyton
During World War II, a small team of British cryptanalysts worked day and night to decode the German military’s encrypted messages. Most people have heard of Alan Turing. But fewer know that Turing once brought in a young mathematician named Joan Clarke, brilliant, reserved, and not officially part of the war cabinet. When someone asked Turing why he shared classified details with someone not “on the list,” he reportedly answered, “Because some minds are not just clever, they are trustworthy.”
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Feast of the Sacred Heart | Learn more about our faith
Last week, I had the joy of accompanying a wonderful group on a pilgrimage to Montreal and Quebec, Canada and one of our stops was the Shrine of St. Anne de Beaupré in Quebec. Nestled along the St. Lawrence River, this shrine has welcomed pilgrims for over 350 years. Miracles have unfolded there, crutches left behind, burdens laid down, faith renewed. But for me, the most unexpected grace came not in the grand basilica, but in the crypt church, in front of a statue of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. At first glance, it was like any other statue until I noticed something peculiar. A kneeler was placed not directly in front of the statue but awkwardly off to the side, toward Jesus’ right. Our guide encouraged us to kneel there and look at the face of Jesus. I did, and some of us did, too. And what I saw caught me off guard.
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Holy lives of inspiration | Learn more about our faith
There is a curious art form in Japanese pottery called Kintsugi, maybe you have heard of it. When a pottery breaks, instead of throwing it away, the artisan repairs it with a gold polish. The cracks aren’t hidden. They’re illuminated. What was once broken and useless is now more beautiful, more valuable, precisely because of its fractures and brokenness. In today’s Gospel, Zechariah is a man silenced. For nine months, no words. Heaven has hit the mute button on him. Now remember, he’s a priest. Words are his tool, his identity. He blesses, he prays aloud, he chants in the temple. And yet, for 9 months Zechariah is a man of gestures and scribbled tablets. Heaven, it seems, doesn’t trust his voice, yet.
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Learn more about our faith | Why pray?
Have you ever seen an unfinished bridge? I once visited a village where they proudly began building a beautiful concrete bridge over a river. Great foundation. Impressive pillars. It even had decorative railings on one side. But halfway through, the project stopped. Politics changed, policies changed, Budgets dried up. Now it just stands, suspended midair like a promise never kept. It’s funny until you realize: that’s what many of our relationships look like, half-built. We start with connection, trust, and love… and then something happens. A harsh word. A betrayal. Silence. Ego. Or like most of us, we don’t explode in rage, we freeze in silence. We master the art of polite distance, just smiling at people we secretly avoid. leaving that bridge hanging, unfinished, awkward, and unusable and slowly, quietly, we let the bridge rot. One misunderstanding at a time.
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While I was in India, I visited a school at the start of the academic year to bless their newly elected student leaders. As I arrived, a boy in a blazer two sizes too big marched up to me proudly wearing a badge that read: “Third Assistant Pupils’ Leader.” He gave me a firm handshake and said, “Father, I may not be the main guy, but if the main guy is absent and the assistant is late, then I’m in charge!” I smiled. It was funny, yes, but also profound. That boy had no delusions of grandeur. He knew his place in the order, but he stood tall, ready to serve.
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Blessed Virgin Mary | Learn more about our faith | Why pray?
Years ago, I was called to the hospital for a woman in critical condition. Her son, a grown man in his forties, stood beside her bed weeping silently. He had always been the strong one, the no-nonsense, keep-it-together type. But now, seeing his mother barely able to speak, all that strength melted into grief. When she realized he was crying, she didn’t say much. She simply reached for his hand and said, “Shh… I’m still here.” That moment of motherly presence, even in her weakness, reminds me of another scene, on a hill called Calvary.
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