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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 | Why pray?
After receiving my First Holy Communion, I was absolutely certain about one thing: I wanted to be an altar server. Not just any altar server, this was the Syro-Malabar rite, where serving at the altar isn’t just about lighting candles, ringing bells and wearing a cassock. No. It’s a full-on liturgical performance. We chant responses, recite prayers loudly, and lead the congregation through a liturgy that’s as beautiful as it is long. The altar server is also a lector, a cantor, a leader of the people in prayer. They lead chants, offer liturgical exhortations, lead penitential rites and sometimes feel like junior deacons-in-training!
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Holy lives of inspiration | Why pray?
My cousin and I went searching for a waterfall during a hike. We heard it was a few miles inside the forest, and we nearly got lost looking for it. Our cell phones had no signal, the trail marks vanished, and panic set in until we spotted a weathered wooden signpost half-buried in leaves. Its arrow pointed decisively toward a river, and scribbled on it were the words, “Keep going. The view is worth it.” That signpost didn’t care if we thanked it, admired its craftsmanship, or took a selfie with it. It existed for one purpose: to point beyond itself to something greater. This mirrors the story of Paul and Barnabas in Lystra. After healing a paralyzed man, the crowd erupted, convinced the Greek gods Zeus and Hermes had descended. But the apostles didn’t bask in the adoration. They tore their clothes in distress, crying, “Why are you doing this? We’re just signposts, ordinary humans pointing you to the living God!” (Acts 14:15). The people there weren’t evil; they were spiritually disoriented. Their myths told of gods visiting in disguise, so they defaulted to familiar explanations. Yet Paul and Barnabas knew accepting worship wouldn’t just be arrogant, it would obscure their path to God. Instead, they used their moment of fame to redirect glory: “Turn from these empty things to the living God!”
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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.
I come from India where the most famous sport is cricket. In the game of cricket, a team consists of eleven players on the field, and a twelfth man. The "12th man" is a substitute player who primarily serves as a reserve player, always on the bench, never in the spotlight, yet faithfully attending every practice, studying every play, and cheering on their teammates. While not part of the playing eleven, this player is crucial for stepping in when a teammate is injured or needs a break. The 12th man often delivers drinks, equipment, and messages to players on the field, ensuring the team's smooth operation during a match. Their role, though behind the scenes, is vital for team morale and readiness.
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Learn more about our faith | Strengthening family unity
Did you keep vigil on Thursday, May 8, along with the millions watching on television, livestreams, or in person at St. Peter’s Square, waiting for the white smoke from the Sistine Chapel chimney and the appearance of the new pope? I noticed that people from all over the world were waiting for the new shepherd to appear on the balcony of St. Peter's Basilica. All members of the one flock, under the leadership of the one shepherd. The Book of Revelation 7:9 came to my mind: “I, John, had a vision of a great multitude, which no one could count, from every nation, race, people and tongue.” I once read a story about a priest who asked his sacristan to write out the response to the Responsorial Psalm for the parishioners to recite during Mass. That Sunday, the response was: “The Lord is my Shepherd. There is nothing I shall want.” But the board was too small. So the priest, thinking practically, told the sacristan, “Just write, ‘The Lord is my Shepherd.’ That’s enough.” When the time came for the response, the congregation, dutifully reading what was written, echoed with deep conviction: “The Lord is my Shepherd. That is enough.” It was a mistake—but what a beautiful one. Because truly, isn’t that the whole Gospel in one line?
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Learn more about our faith | Return to the Church
Let’s talk about leftovers today. You know, the ones that have taken residence in the back of the fridge long enough to develop their own personalities. There’s always one suspicious container in your fridge with a fuzzy green lid, and no one remembers what it was or when it was made, but everyone agrees it is a science experiment now. And yet, how many times do we open the fridge, stare at a feast of half-eaten pizza and spaghetti, salad, and still complain: “There is nothing to eat!” In today’s Gospel, people chase after Jesus not because they were spiritually moved by His miracles but because they wanted more food, free food. The earlier miracle of multiplying bread and fish wasn’t enough. They treat Jesus like a traveling food truck: “Hey Rabbi, what’s on the menu today? Can we get the loaves and fish special again?” They want another buffet today.
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Growing up, I had a neighbor who was a carpenter. Nothing fancy—small town jobs: fixing sagging doors, building dining tables, mending leaking roofs patched more times than you could count. His hands were rough like tree bark, his knees creaked like old floorboards. No one gave him awards. No crowds gathered to watch him work. But there was a quiet pride about him—the kind that comes not from money, the kind that comes not from fame, but from knowing you built something that mattered, something that would last. When I think of Saint Joseph, I think of that neighbor. And I realize something: holiness often wears work boots, not halos.
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