Faith In Focus

Seeing the bloodshed, broken lives, and repeated failures of peace in many parts of the world, this Lenten season I felt a strong need to begin with myself. If the world is to change, I must first be willing to change.

Lent arrives quietly—ashes on foreheads, habits interrupted, the world slowing down just enough to notice. My first Ash Wednesday as an adult, I was living in Chennai, riding the local train to college after an early service. I had forgotten about the smudge until I caught my reflection in the window. A man across from me was staring—not hostile, just aware. I almost wiped it off. I did not. I am still not entirely sure why. Maybe I wanted to be the kind of person who did not wipe it off.

Ash Wednesday arrives with an uncomfortable, visceral honesty. The mark on the forehead is not a badge of merit; it is a smudge of mortality, an invitation to “return to God.” It asks us to look beyond the superficial rituals of fasting and penance and instead examine the interior architecture of our souls—specifically, how we handle the weight of our influence and the quiet whispers of our conscience.

Lent is not merely a ritual season but a sacred opportunity for renewal and transformation. It invites us to step into the desert with Christ, seeking repentance, discipline, and deeper intimacy with God.

Ash Wednesday stands at the doorway of Lent. It marks the beginning of a penitential season and invites us to a deeper, more honest way of living the Gospel. As ashes are placed on our foreheads, the Church reminds us: “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” These words are not meant to frighten us, but to ground us. They tell us that we are fragile, limited, and mortal, yet profoundly loved by God. Ash Wednesday strips us of illusions and gently brings us back to what truly matters.

Once a year, the law does something unusual. It stops. It listens. And, in a church filled with the colour of fire and blood, it prays.

Consecrated life is not merely a human project or personal preference; it is first and foremost a gift of the Holy Trinity to the Church and the world. The Father calls in love, the Son consecrates through His self-gift, and the Holy Spirit sustains and guides those who respond generously. Rooted in God’s loving initiative, consecrated life expresses a radical following of Christ through the profession of the evangelical counsels of chastity, poverty, and obedience.

A cloth merchant kept two yardsticks in his shop.
One was slightly shorter than the true measure. He used it when selling cloth so that he could keep a little extra for himself.
The other was perfectly accurate. He used it when buying cloth from others, so that he would not be cheated.

The solemn feast of St Joseph Vaz, Patron of the Archdiocese of Goa and Daman, was celebrated on 16 January 2026 at the site of the Old Church of Our Lady of Health, Rua Escravo de Maria, Sancoale, Goa, in southwest India.

Over the years, I have become deeply convinced of one thing: we must be aware of the movement of our hearts. The thoughts and feelings that stir within us are not inconsequential—they reveal the inner direction of our souls. I have come to believe that every good feeling—love, peace, joy, hope—flows from the Spirit of God who dwells within us. But what about those negative feelings that so often disturb the quiet of our hearts—hatred, fear, anxiety, restlessness, or sadness? They surely do not come from God, the source of all goodness. They come from the one who seeks to rob us of peace and distance us from the Father’s tender care.

Marriage is not a single moment of happiness but a journey that unfolds in stages. Each phase brings its own joys, challenges, and invitations to grow in love. Understanding these stages helps couples respond with maturity, patience, and commitment.

Brothers Gabriel, Michael, Anthony, Peter, and Francis, each carrying a different temperament, a different way of being “Christmas-ly” present are no more.

In the noise and busyness of modern life, He still speaks softly and persistently. He assures us that He has come to stay with us, especially in our fragile places.

Amidst the marble grandeur of Bernini’s colonnade and the ancient cobblestones of St. Peter’s Square, a silent dialogue is taking place. In Rome, where history is usually measured in centuries and stone, a new voice has arrived from the tropical highlands of Indonesia.

Christmas is more than a sacred birthday; it marks God's decisive entry into human history. When the Church celebrates Jesus' birth, it proclaims that hope has a human face in a world filled with uncertainty and fear.

When God, our Creator, created the world, the Holy Bible tells us he said, “Let there be Light…sky, water, earth, fish, animals….” He finally created man (Adam and Eve).

One day, a farmer was walking near his orchard. He was proud of the tall fence he had built, certain that no animal could ever enter.

The Christmas story unfolds not as a single, isolated event, but as a chain of meaningful encounters. Each meeting, between heaven and earth, between God and ordinary people, carries themes of hope, readiness, courage, faithful action, and hospitality.

As adults, we often lose that spark: the child’s ability to find happiness in the ordinary, to feel excitement in small things, to experience gratitude without excess.

“The giver of every good and perfect gift has called upon us to mimic God’s giving, by grace, through faith, and this is not of ourselves.” — St. Nicholas of Myra