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World at Prayer blog
Reflections of Family and Faith
"The family that prays together stays together." - Venerable Patrick Peyton
Holy lives of inspiration | Learn more about our faith
It’s another ordinary day. Moses is doing what he’s done for the last forty years, herding sheep in the wilderness. There’s nothing exceptional. Just a man, a stick, and some wooly animals. And then, a bush catches fire but doesn’t burn up. And with it, everything changes. Now pause for a second. Isn’t that how God works? Not with trumpets and fireworks, but in the middle of your Tuesday afternoon laundry, or your commute, or in the ache of an unresolved prayer. Moses wasn’t looking for God; he was looking for a lost sheep. But the burning bush found him.
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Holy lives of inspiration | Learn more about our faith
Let me introduce you to Jochebed, mother of Moses from the first reading. No burning bush, no Red Sea yet. Just a woman, in a time of terror, doing what mothers do best: protecting life in the face of death. Pharaoh, in all his regal might, had issued a royal decree: every Hebrew baby boy must be drowned in the Nile. And what does Jochebed do? She looks at her newborn son, sees something “special” in him, and let’s be honest, what mother doesn’t think her child is special? But Jochebed’s faith isn’t just sentimental, it’s strategic. She hides him for three months, then weaves a basket, like a tiny ark, places him in it, and lets him go into the very river meant for his death. That’s not fear. That’s Trust You know what strikes me most? Jochebed never hears a voice from heaven. No angel appears with a five-point plan. She has no assurance this will work. All she has is maternal instinct and mustard-seed faith. And sometimes, that’s more than enough.
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Brief and contemporary inspiration focused on hope and family prayer will be delivered to your inbox! Articles include live video, written word, and links to resources that will lead you and your family deeper into faith.
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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