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World at Prayer blog
Reflections of Family and Faith
"The family that prays together stays together." - Venerable Patrick Peyton
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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Learn more about our faith | Why pray?
I once watched a relay race where the runner, after sprinting an entire lap, tripped and fell just before passing the baton. He then suddenly picked himself up and collected the baton from the track, by then the next runner jumped the gun. He ran toward his fallen comrade, grabbed the baton, and ran like his life depended on it. They didn’t win, but the crowd gave a standing ovation. Because it wasn’t about winning anymore. It was about finishing together.
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Some years ago, I visited a family I knew well in the parish right after their third child was born. The older two, aged four and six, were buzzing with excitement. The four-year-old daughter tugged at my sleeve and asked, “Father, how did the baby get in Mommy’s tummy?” Now, as you can imagine, the mother froze mid-diaper change. The father blinked, looked at me as if to say, You are the priest. You answer this one! But then the older child chimed in with great authority: “It’s okay. I already told her. God puts the baby in, and when it’s grown, the hospital gets it out.” And that was the end of the conversation to my consolation.
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Learn more about our faith | Love thy Neighbor
Let me begin with something every Indian, whether in Mumbai, Delhi, Dallas, or Denmark, knows deeply in their bones: no matter the crisis, there’s always a song and dance for it. In Indian cinema, if you have watched, characters break into song at the strangest moments. A couple just met five minutes ago? Suddenly they’re on top of the Alps, dancing in sync. The hero is heartbroken? Cue the sad violin on a rain-drenched street. A wedding is coming up? Get ready for six different dance numbers with matching costumes. Even we Indians laugh about it, but deep down, we also love it. Because these songs aren’t just music, they’re the language of the soul.
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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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