Love is the Final Word 

Fr Joshan Rodrigues

Something a fellow priest said recently has stayed with me, leaving a deep and unsettling impression. The geo-political situation today—viewed through the prism of conflicts across the world, and especially the ongoing, unprovoked war unleashed by the US–Israel combine on Iran—bears an uncanny resemblance to the events of that Holy Week 2000 years ago. A deeper reflection reveals a sobering truth: very little has changed, either in the world or in the human heart.

The Passion Narratives recount not merely a sacred history, but a sordid and painfully familiar tale—of human weakness, political manoeuvring, betrayal, and self-justification. They expose the ease with which we become two-faced: crying "Hosanna!" in joyous rapture one day, only to scream “Crucify him!” with equal fervour a few days later. We betray those we claim to love. We follow others when it suits us, when our own self-esteem can bask in their reflected light. And when they outlive their usefulness, we quietly "wash our hands" of them. We share meals in times of comfort, yet fail to stand by those very companions when they are being 'crucified' for truth and justice.

"What is truth?"—the question posed by a calculating politician in the time of Jesus—echoes with renewed urgency in our own age. It is no longer merely philosophical; it is profoundly political. The shared moral grammar of humanity appears fractured. Some nations—or rather, some leaders—claim an almost divine right to wage war in the name of peace, even in the name of God! Thus, “What is truth?” becomes a matter of perspective—of media, ideology, allegiance. Truth fragments, and my truth stands estranged from yours.

Yet, against this shifting and unreliable backdrop, Holy Week offers a startling counterpoint. In the midst of human volatility, Jesus presents a model of virtue that stands in stark and luminous contrast. He goes to the Cross willingly. He remains concerned for His loved ones even in agony. He forgives those who accuse and execute Him. He loves without condition. Even while hanging on the Cross, He resolutely continues His work of salvation—granting paradise to a thief in his final moments.

One cannot help but wonder: what might change if our global leaders—especially those governing nations shaped by a Christian worldview—looked upon the person of Jesus not as a symbol, but as a standard? What if they allowed themselves to feel the suffering of their people through the wounds of Christ?

The Cross speaks, but never shouts. Its proclamation is quiet, yet unyielding: love is not merely a feeling; it is a decision—a decision to give, to forgive, and to endure. Holy Week, in turn, reminds us that devotional excitement is not the same as rooted faith. Palm branches once filled the streets. The crowds were loud, passionate, public. It looked like devotion. But it was not.

And so we are compelled to examine ourselves.

Do I wish to pass safely through Holy Week—attending liturgies, ticking the right boxes, fulfilling religious obligations? Or do I dare to walk courageously beside Jesus, ready to confront and embrace the inconvenient truths that a real relationship with God may demand? Is my worship steady when prayers go unanswered? when God’s will diverges from my own?

Holy Week can stir deep emotion; but, as the Spanish bishops have recently reminded us, faith cannot be reduced to emotion. What are we to make of churches overflowing on Good Friday, yet markedly sparse on ordinary Sundays? Emotion, however profound—whether stirred by liturgy, music, or spiritual movements—must lead somewhere. It must lead to conformity with the Christian life: to discipleship within the Church, and to apostolic witness in the world—especially among the vulnerable, the forgotten, and the suffering.

Our concerts may be full, our gatherings vibrant—but how many remain rooted in the daily life of the parish? How many are truly committed to revealing the face of Christ to a wounded humanity? Just as true love is a decision rather than a fleeting feeling, so authentic faith cannot rest on emotion alone, nor exist in isolated circles detached from the Body of Christ. Holy Week reminds us, with uncompromising clarity, that to follow Christ is to take up one’s Cross and walk in His footsteps.

Indeed, Holy Week begins in false praise, betrayal, deceit, violence—the darkest expressions of humanity. But it does not end there. It ends with Love.

Love is the final word. Love is the victory. Love conquers all evil.

And all it took to defeat sin and death was one Son who was willing to be obedient and faithful to His Father until the very end.

May this Holy Week become for us not a passing season of pious emotion, but a journey of profound consequence—a call to decisive Cross-bearing, to transformation, and to truth.

The Fullness of Life

Fr Joshan Rodrigues

On Pro-Life Day, which coincides with the solemn celebration of the Annunciation to the Blessed Virgin Mary, our attention is often drawn to grave and pressing moral concerns: abortion, contraception, end-of-life dilemmas, and the tragedy of female foeticide — all stark contradictions to the very principle of life itself. While these traditional challenges to the Pro-Life movement remain deeply troubling and persist with alarming regularity, the Church today has rightly broadened the conversation. Increasingly, we are called to reflect not merely on specific moral issues, but on humanity's wider disposition towards life — whether our attitudes and actions ultimately affirm life or subtly undermine it.

To be authentically Pro-Life cannot be compartmentalised or reduced to a limited set of issues. Rather, it must embrace every dimension that constitutes the fullness and dignity of life. Ironically, when viewed through the familiar American framing of pro-choice versus pro-life, we may find ourselves unwittingly becoming "pro-choice" in another sense — choosing to champion certain life-related concerns, while quietly ignoring others that are equally vital.

Consider the situation in which our world finds itself today. Recent wars, instigated by powerful nations without clear provocation, have eroded the fragile yet essential rules-based international order that once held the community of nations together. In the aftermath of the Second World War, the global community painstakingly constructed a framework of diplomacy, negotiation, and mutual restraint designed to prevent conflict and discourage nations from descending into hostility.

Even when wars did occur, certain humanitarian principles were widely respected – civilians were not to be targeted, nor the infrastructure upon which ordinary life depends — hospitals, schools, Government institutions, electricity grids, and water systems. An unspoken norm also prevailed: political leaders themselves were not considered legitimate targets of assassination.

Yet, the recent theatres of war — in Gaza, Ukraine, and now Iran — have shattered many of these longstanding norms of restraint. Wars waged to satisfy the ambitions or egos of a few inevitably bring untold suffering upon the innocent: children, women, and families who have no stake in the conflicts that engulf them. Entire communities are uprooted, and the physical world we inhabit is scarred by devastation. In such a scenario, can we honestly claim that the world is becoming more Pro-Life with each passing day? The evidence suggests quite the opposite.

Admittedly, these global crises often seem beyond the reach of our personal influence. But what of the issues that lie much closer to home — those embedded within our daily habits and personal choices?

Consider, for instance, the ways in which our everyday lifestyle contributes to ecological degradation. Single individuals driving private cars to work rather than using public transport; short, easily walkable distances covered by vehicles; a consumerist culture of frequent dining out that generates excessive waste through processing and packaging; careless consumption of water and electricity; and an increasing reliance on online shopping that undermines local businesses and neighbourhood economies. Do not such habits, subtle though they may appear, work against the culture of life we claim to uphold?

Then there is our complex relationship with technology. An increasing addiction to screens often signals the quiet erosion of family life, meaningful relationships, and even our own productivity and sense of purpose. Our growing dependence on Artificial Intelligence tools and digital platforms conveniently obscures the enormous environmental cost of sustaining such technologies. At the same time, these systems risk making us intellectually passive, subtly subordinating human thought and creativity to machines. Moreover, the relentless pursuit of technological innovation frequently displaces workers and threatens livelihoods. Can progress that neglects its human consequences truly be described as life-affirming? Should technological advancement be embraced uncritically, regardless of its social cost?

Even within the intimacy of our family life, we must ask ourselves difficult questions. Do we cultivate homes that nurture love, understanding, and growth so that our families may truly flourish? Do we encourage our children to discover and develop the God-given gifts and talents entrusted to them? Do we model authentic discipleship through active engagement in our communities and in the life of the Church? Do we open our hearts to the vulnerable, the poor, and those who suffer among us? Or do we retreat into a narrow concern for our own comfort, affirming our own lives while remaining indifferent to the struggles of others?

The announcement of the coming of Jesus into the world — commemorated in the mystery of the Annunciation — is the ultimate affirmation of life. In Christ, God chooses life unconditionally and without reservation. Jesus offered Himself completely so that humanity might live in its fullest measure: "I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly" (Jn 10:10).

There was nothing partial about Christ's self-gift. His sacrifice was total and definitive, held back by no reservation or calculation.

Pro-Life Day therefore calls each of us to embrace this same unconditional commitment to life in all its forms — even when doing so inconveniences us, challenges us, or places us in positions of vulnerability. Whenever we selectively defend certain aspects of life while neglecting others, we risk refusing the very gift of life that Christ offers us in its fullness. When we honour the dignity of some human beings while disregarding others, we diminish the universal scope of the salvation won for all humanity on the Cross.

This Pro-Life Day, then, invites us to renew our commitment — not partially, but wholeheartedly. Let us strive to preserve and protect the sanctity of life in all its many manifestations, courageously and without apology, from the womb to the tomb.

Nurturing Vocations in a Synodal Church: Joy, Responsibility, and Hope

My greatest joy in seminary formation is witnessing young men respond generously to God's call and accompanying them, as a community, to become shepherds after the heart of Christ. In this time of renewed focus on Synodality, this joy is deepened by our shared responsibility to nurture priestly vocations.

A vocation is never a private possession; it is a gift from God entrusted to the Church. Each seminarian brings with him not only a personal desire to serve, but also the hopes, prayers, and sacrifices of families, parishes, and faith communities. Vocations are therefore born, sustained, and matured within the People of God. Formation is not an isolated journey, but a communal pilgrimage of faith.

Pope Francis' vision of Synodality reminds us that formation is not the work of a few specialists, but a shared journey in which we walk, listen, and discern together. In the seminary context, this means creating spaces where seminarians, formators, bishops, priests, religious, and lay faithful engage in genuine dialogue. Listening to one another does not weaken formation; rather, it strengthens it by grounding it in lived realities and pastoral concern.

At St Pius X College, this culture of listening is woven into the fabric of daily life, and finds expression in moderator meetings, house gatherings, and staff consultations. When future priests learn early to listen with humility, they are better prepared to serve God's people with compassion and wisdom.

Another profound joy in nurturing vocations today is witnessing the gradual integration of faith, character, intellect, and pastoral charity. A synodal seminary does not merely produce competent administrators or eloquent preachers. It seeks to form disciples who are prayerful, emotionally mature, socially aware, and deeply rooted in Christ. Walking together allows formators to recognise each seminarian's unique gifts and limitations and to accompany him patiently towards growth and maturity.

Equally encouraging is the growing involvement of families and parishes in the formation process. Parents who pray faithfully for their sons, parish communities that welcome seminarians during pastoral exposure, and lay mentors who share their wisdom in classrooms, parishes, NGOs, and ministries to migrants or prisoners all become partners in formation. This collaborative spirit reflects the Church's nature as communion. It reminds seminarians that priesthood is not a status to be claimed, but a service to be embraced.

Synodality also challenges us to form priests who are close to people's struggles and hopes. In today's complex social and cultural context, priests are called to be bridge-builders, capable of fostering dialogue across differences. Through social outreach, inter-religious encounters, and pastoral immersion, seminarians gradually develop a listening heart and a missionary spirit. The joy lies in witnessing young men grow in empathy, resilience, and pastoral creativity, becoming compassionate pastors for our times.

Of course, nurturing vocations is not without its trials. There are moments of doubt, crises of discernment, and personal limitations along the journey. Yet, when faced together, these challenges become occasions of grace and growth. A truly synodal environment fosters transparency, trust, and mutual support. It teaches seminarians that seeking help is not a weakness, but a sign of maturity and courage. At the same time, it reminds formators that authentic accompaniment calls for patience, discernment, and deep trust in God's gracious action.

At the heart of all formation lies a culture of prayer. Without a living relationship with Christ, no programme or method can bear lasting fruit. When seminarians gather daily around the Word of God and the Eucharist, they learn that Synodality begins at the feet of the Lord, who alone guides the Church. From this spiritual centre flows the true joy of an authentic vocation.

Looking ahead, our hope is that priests formed in this synodal spirit will become servants of communion in their parishes and dioceses. They will gradually know how to collaborate, consult, and empower the laity. They will value diversity while safeguarding unity. Above all, as compassionate pastors, they will reflect the merciful face of Christ to a world in need of hope.

The joy of nurturing vocations today lies precisely in this shared pilgrimage. Walking together, trusting the Spirit, and supporting one another, we discover that priestly formation is not merely preparation for ministry, it is already a living expression of the Church in communion. May this joy continue to inspire us to invest generously in the future shepherds of God's people.

(Guest Editorial) Fr Gilbert de Lima is the Rector of St Pius X College, the Archdiocesan Seminary at Goregaon, Mumbai. 

Rights, Justice and Action for All Women and Girls 

Does the arc of history curve naturally towards cosmic gender justice? Not exactly on its own, but by a lifetime of hard-fought women's struggles against the assertion of economic, ethnic, caste, religious power of men – expressed in violent and subtle discrimination and abuse of women. 

These are struggles by urban and rural women for access to land rights; local and indigenous women against corporate land grabs and deforestation that decimates their ecologically sustainable lifestyles; migrant women for socio-legal protection; women workers for labor rights, unpaid caregivers to recognize, reduce and redistribute unpaid care work in families and communities; older, chronically ill women, and those with special needs for better healthcare; LGBTQI+ communities that their human rights be fully guaranteed; religious and ethnic minority women against selective legal reform and violence; women survivors of sexual violence who break the silence, struggle for comprehensive services to heal and strive to bring perpetrators to justice. 

But the transition to gender justice and equality has to be much fairer, faster, and must go much further. According to the 2025 Global Gender Gap Report, with current efforts, it will take about 123 and 170 years to achieve gender parity (statistical, not equality) globally and in India, respectively.

The most insidious barrier isn't just the law; it's the impoverishment of our values, and human spirit, the loss of our moral compass as Christian men and women. This impoverishment often expresses itself in the deafening silence around women's oppression, the quiet agreement to look the other way because of the inconvenient truth and its consequences. 

It is the inconvenience and hence refusal to cede individual or institutional power and privilege mostly by men, but also by women; the inconvenience and fear of losing favour with power-holders and important people – at home, at work, in communities or the Church; the inconvenience and fear of accountability, of reputational risk, and loss of the so-called sanctity of our institutional brands or economic costs to institutions.

Our refusal to ensure gender justice and equality is a betrayal of women and girls, a loss of moral authority, and disregards the femininity in the divine and divinity of the feminine.

For every piece of statistical data masks a flesh and blood woman and girl whose deep pain we are complicit in contributing to. Behind Indian women's poor labour force participation rate of 32.68 per cent  are women often engaged in the worst forms of labour that kill the body and soul for routine survival; for every domestic worker that we pay poorly are women working several jobs, depleting their health.

Behind Indian women's poor representation at 13.8 per cent and 9 per cent in National Parliament and State legislatures respectively, and women's marginalisation from leadership and decision-making in Church structures are women's muzzled voices and inability to determine their pressing priorities. 

Behind one crime reported every 70 seconds against Indian women – perpetrated by state institutions, at worksites, in families, communities and religious institutions – are women and girls suffering physical and sexual injuries, isolation, lifelong emotional trauma, lost earnings. Moreover, the cold calculated bureaucratic shaming of brave women challenging abuse in law courts, the shuffling of predators between parishes, etc. not only reinforces the survivor's pain, and quashes justice, but is an act of complicity that reinforces a vicious cycle of more unsuspecting women and children being violated anew.

But the Power of the Pivot that lies in women's individual and collective refusal to be victims transforms the chemistry of our environment, the very course of history. 

Women's empowerment is a human rights and moral imperative, but it is also one of the highest instruments of leverage in human history that benefits individual men and women, families, communities, and entire societies. 

A 2025 research shows that Indian men who gave up power-based rigid traditional male roles and shared at least 40 per cent of the care work at home reported higher satisfaction in spousal relationships. Indian men engaged in childcare said they felt the joy and satisfaction of closer bonds with children, a humanising experience that other men miss out on. Moreover, the caring father role model for young boys is likely to foster more gender equality in the long run, and reduce violence.

When a woman (or any human being) stays safe and free from violence, we gain a society that isn't paralysed by trauma. When we give up the comfort of silence around sexual abuse, including in our churches, we gain the one thing money can never buy – Integrity, a marker of genuine goodness and spirituality - that the faithful, especially the youth treasure.

When women are represented in Panchayats, there tends to be marked increase in spending on clean water, sanitation, and primary education—often overlooked by male-dominated councils – that benefit children and communities.

When Indian mothers access at least 8–9 years of education, infant mortality rates are nearly halved, compared to women without schooling. 

To men, this is not a request for your charity, but an invitation to your own liberation. A world that shackles men in oppressive masculinity suppresses the feminine in men, suppresses women and girls. It is a brittle, anxious, half-blind world.

So, here are some opportunities to make a difference. Consider paying domestic workers in line with recently endorsed Church Labour Code standards or area-based market rates, bearing in mind respectful conversations on mutual obligations between employer and worker. 

Audit the silence around sexual abuse in secular or religious spaces. Respect the woman who publicly speaks her truth, honestly pondering our own courage in similar circumstances. 

Support efforts to bring perpetrators of sexual violence to justice, asking ourselves who we are protecting at the expense of the truth.

Champion women's economic empowerment by investing in their small businesses, promoting or buying their products. 

The arc of history on gender justice awaits your weight. Don't just watch it. Bend it.

(Keynote address given by the author at the Archdiocese of Bombay Women's Day Celebration on March 1, 2026)

(Guest Editorial) Dr Jean D'Cunha, formerly with UN Women, is internationally acknowledged on Gender Equality and Women's rights, including on climate and migration. She currently advises the CBCI and FABC on COP30. 

Transfigured for the Road Ahead 

Fr Joshan Rodrigues

The account of the Transfiguration of the Lord Jesus, which the Church places before us on the Second Sunday of Lent, marks a decisive moment on our Lenten pilgrimage. It is a journey we undertake not unlike the disciples who walked with Jesus 2000 years ago as He set His face towards Jerusalem—towards His Passion and Death, and ultimately towards the radiant glory of the Resurrection. In his insightful Lenten reflection published in this issue, Rev. Fr John Singarayar reminds us that the Resurrection is not available to that which refuses to die.

That truth, I believe, names the greatest obstacle we encounter on our own Lenten journey towards Holy Week. We long to grasp the glory of the Resurrection, yet we hesitate—sometimes even recoil—at the thought of walking the "road of death" that alone leads to that glory. We search for shortcuts, for easier paths that bypass suffering. But the Gospel is uncompromising; there are none. Significantly, just before the Transfiguration, Jesus reveals to His disciples— for the first time—that He must suffer and die for the sins of humanity. It is a bitter truth, one they struggle to accept. Peter, in his anguish and confusion, even dares to rebuke Jesus for speaking of death.

Lent, then, is the sacred season in which we invite the Lord to enter our lives and touch them in ways that transfigure and transform us more fully into His image. We may experience the spiritual "high" that comes from sincere efforts in prayer, fasting, and works of charity. But an uncomfortable question remains: do these penitential practices truly transform us for authentic discipleship? Are we genuinely ready to shoulder the burden of the Cross? Or might our fasting and devotions sometimes become subtle ways of avoiding the deeper, sinful realities within us—the very parts of ourselves that must die if new life is to emerge?

Overwhelmed by the brilliance of the Transfigured Lord, Peter exclaims, "It is wonderful for us to be here!" And indeed, it is. Yet, Peter wishes to remain on the mountain, to preserve the moment, rather than descend with Jesus into the uncertainty and suffering that await them on the road to Jerusalem. But the purpose of the Transfiguration is not blissful stagnation; it is empowerment for movement—for continuing the journey that leads through the Cross to redemption. Such movement demands radical trust. Like Abraham, our father in faith, we are asked by God to leave what feels like "home"—the unhealthy, sinful, selfish, and unloving patterns with which we have grown comfortable—and to journey towards a new land, where God alone will fashion for us a true home.

Seen in this light, the Transfiguration resembles the spiritual retreats many of us undertake during Lent. We are momentarily lifted above the routines and pressures of daily life and granted a glimpse of God's glory—enough to quiet our fears, steady our anxieties, and strengthen us for what lies ahead. These moments of grace prepare us to enter more deeply into the mystery of Christ's Passion. In the process, we are freed from our slavish attachments to schedules, habits, and self-preoccupation, and liberated to obey the central command spoken on the mountaintop: "Listen to Him."

May this penitential season bring about in us a genuine and lasting transformation—a journey that heals our wounded hearts and opens our eyes to the suffering of our brothers and sisters. May our experiences of transfiguration through prayer, the reading of Scripture, fasting, works of charity, and sincere compassion for a suffering humanity strengthen us for the road ahead—the way of the Via Dolorosa.

I conclude with a well-known anecdote shared by Fr Anthony de Mello, which beautifully captures the heart of true transformation:

"I was a revolutionary when I was young, and all my prayer to God was: 'Lord, give me the grace to change the world.' As I approached middle age, and realised that half of my life was gone without changing a single soul, I changed my prayer to: 'Lord, give me the grace to change all those who come in contact with me; just my family and friends, and I shall be satisfied.' Now that I am old and my days are numbered, I have begun to see how foolish I have been. My one prayer now is: 'Lord, give me the grace to change myself.' If I had prayed for this right from the start, I would not have wasted my life."

Do No Harm

The other morning, I was listening to Carrie Newcomer's song "Do No Harm."

And I found myself in tears.

The words are so simple:

Do no harm, shed no blood.

The only law here is love.

We can call the kingdom down

Here on earth.

Beat your swords into plows.

Don't be afraid; I'll show you how.

Lift your eyes to the skies.

All is holy here.

It sounds almost too simple. Almost naïve.

And yet, perhaps it is we who have grown complicated.

On this First Sunday of Lent, we hear of Jesus in the desert. He is tempted with power, spectacle,

control. He is invited to prove himself. To dominate. To take the quick path.

Jesus enters the desert to confront the logic of domination and choose the way of trust.

He does not grasp. He does not coerce. He does not wound in order to win. He trusts.

I weep for what humankind is doing to itself. We have strayed so far from that original, simple

truth: Do no harm. The only law is love.

Look at what we justify so easily.

The sharp word.

The dismissive judgment.

The small resentments we nurse.

The systems we benefit from, but rarely question.

The violence we explain away, because it serves our side.

The lies we spread to gain power.

The lives lost through fear, hatred, neglect, and indifference.

Somehow, harm has become normal.

We rename it. We defend it. We baptise it.

But Lent begins here.

Not with dramatic penances.

Not with grand spiritual gestures.

With a quiet, searching question: Where have I allowed harm to take root in me?

Jesus chooses trust over domination. Perhaps we enter Lent to unlearn the logic of harm and

learn again the way of trust.

"Beat your swords into plows." It is an ancient promise. And a daily decision.

Maybe the first grace of Lent is simply this:

To let ourselves feel the grief. To allow the tears. To ask for our sight to return.

The desert clears the eyes.

It reminds us that love is not weakness.

It reminds us that restraint is strength.

It reminds us that all is holy here.

And perhaps Lent begins when we dare to believe again that the only law is love.

(Guest Editorial) Rev. Jim Caime, SJ is Director of Mission Engagement at Creighton Ministries, USA.