For the latest magazine issues please subscribe to our e-paper!

BLOG - EDITORS | GUEST | READERS

Easter Joy on St Peter’s Balcony

A Tapestry of Devotion and Divine Motherhood

Fr Joshan Rodrigues

Faithful witness in an age of disruption

POPE FRANCIS : The World's Parish Priest

The Stone has been Rolled Away!

The Living Journey into Holy Week

Fr Joshan Rodrigues

The People’s Shepherd

Fr Joshan Rodrigues

Easter Joy on St Peter’s Balcony

When the white smoke rose from the Sistine Chapel, and the world turned its eyes to the balcony of St Peter's Basilica, there was more than just protocol unfolding. There was joy—undeniable, spontaneous joy—on the faces of the cardinals, particularly in the exuberant smile of the Bosnian Cardinal Vinko Puljić. That smile, radiating warmth and surprise, wasn't just about welcoming a new pope; it revealed a Church, often portrayed as divided, rediscovering its unity in a moment of grace.

It was also the joy of Easter breaking through ecclesial life. The joy of resurrection, of new beginnings, was palpable not only in the symbolism of a new pope, but also in the lived experience of communion. This echoed the spirit of Evangelii Gaudium—Pope Francis' Joy of the Gospel—reminding us that the Gospel brings a joy born not of ease, but of deep hope. On that balcony, Easter joy became flesh again, a sign that the Good News is still good, still powerful enough to gather the scattered and unite the diverse.

In the lead-up to the conclave, much was said about division within the Church. Liberal versus conservative, Global South versus Rome, pastoral versus doctrinal emphasis—the diversity is real. Cardinals come from different continents, cultures, theological traditions, and pastoral realities. Their perspectives, understandably, vary widely.

And yet, something remarkable happened in that Sistine Chapel.

Without the political wrangling we associate with secular coalition-building, the cardinals reached consensus with surprising swiftness. Some reports suggest Pope Leo XIV received as many as 100 votes—unconfirmed, but certainly indicative of broad support. This wasn't merely efficient; it was Spirit-led. Amid difference, there was clarity. The cardinals, despite varied outlooks, had listened to Someone greater than themselves.

Here was a living embodiment of Jesus' prayer: "that they may be one, as You, Father, are in Me and I in You." Not because all cardinals agreed, or were alike, but because they found unity through the Spirit, not in spite of their diversity, but through it. The Spirit does not erase difference, but works through it, bringing forth a shared discernment.

The joy on the balcony cannot be choreographed. That kind of genuine delight, seen in the smile of the Bosnian cardinal and others, reveals something deep. It was not just relief or diplomatic civility. It was the joy of those who had trusted the Spirit—and seen the fruits. Something sacred had taken place, and it left a mark.

But let us not pretend that all cardinals will agree with every future decision of Pope Leo XIV. Nor should they. The Church is not a monolith, and the role of disagreement—honest, faithful, charitable—is vital. What the conclave shows us is that even with real differences, consensus is possible. That is the beauty of a Church that listens to the Spirit; it becomes a space where diverse voices converge in discernment, rather than fracture in division.

This is more than optimism. In a time of deep polarisation—within and outside the Church—the conclave has offered a quiet, powerful witness. It points to a different way: a unity that does not flatten diversity, a communion that doesn't require uniformity. It shows that joyful consensus is possible, even beautiful, when rooted in prayer and openness to the Spirit.

In this moment, the Church was not divided by ideological lines or geographic interests. It was a Church that could smile together—Cardinals from every corner of the world standing shoulder to shoulder, united in joy and hope. This was not naivety, nor erasure of differences. It was a spiritual convergence, a moment of deep ecclesial trust.

That smile on the balcony—especially the gleam in the eyes of the Bosnian cardinal—was more than a reaction. It was a sign. A sign that the Church, in all her diversity, can still come together in surprising and Spirit-filled ways. In the midst of our deeply polarised world, this moment offers hope: that even in the face of division, we can find unity in the Spirit. May we, the People of God, carry that joy forward—not as sentimentality, but as a living sign of the unity we are called to embody.

(Guest Editorial) Arun Philip Simon SJ is doing his doctoral studies in Philosophy at Paris.

A Tapestry of Devotion and Divine Motherhood

Fr Joshan Rodrigues

As the Earth blushes with the brilliance of Spring, the Church turns its gaze to Mary, the Mother of God, dedicating the entire month of May to her honour. This time-honoured tradition, flourishing since the 13th century, is more than seasonal piety; it is an invitation to rediscover the Christian mystery through the maternal heart of the Church. The Marian month of May is a sacred space in time, when flowers bloom as if echoing the Hail Mary, and when faithful hearts rediscover a mother's love that leads them to her Son.

The roots of this devotion are deeply embedded in both history and theology. While some attribute the institution of Mary's month to a replacement of pagan Spring rites, the true impetus lies in the fitting harmony between Mary's life-giving fiat and Nature's annual renewal. Springtime, with its renewal of life and beauty, serves as a profound metaphor for Mary's unique role in Salvation History. Just as Spring heralds Creation's rebirth, so Mary, in her virginal motherhood, gave the world its Redeemer, and renewed humanity from within.

The Jesuit Order was instrumental in spreading this devotion. By the 1700s, it was firmly established in their Roman College, and celebrated publicly in the Church of the Gesù in Rome. From there, it flowered across the Catholic world. Popes through the centuries have extolled the month of May as an opportunity for the faithful to express their love and gratitude to Mary. Pope Pius XII, in Mediator Dei, acknowledged Marian devotions—such as May crownings, Rosary processions, and hymns—as deeply dignified acts that, though outside the core liturgy, nonetheless complement and elevate the Church's praise.

But the Marian month is more than history; it is theological pedagogy, lived prayer, and spiritual intimacy. In honouring Mary, Catholics do not diminish Christ; rather, they affirm Him. Our devotion to Mary is, at its heart, Christological. As the early Church proclaimed, she is Theotokos—God-bearer—because the one she bore is fully God and fully man. As such, devotion to Mary draws us more deeply into the mystery of the Incarnation and into relationship with her Son, Jesus.

This is where the Rosary becomes central. One might call it "the gospel on a string." In praying the rosary, we contemplate Christ—His Incarnation, Passion, Resurrection, and Ascension—through the eyes and heart of Mary. The Rosary is not only a meditative prayer; it is also a "contemplative catechism" that teaches through repetition and mystery. It draws the faithful into the rhythm of Christ's life, carried in the womb, cradled in the arms, and mourned at the Cross by His mother.

The historical evolution of the Rosary is itself a Marian catechesis. Emerging from the early Church's repetition of Psalms, the Rosary developed as a "poor man's psalter" for those who could not read. In time, the practice of meditating on the mysteries of Christ's life became central, especially through the encouragement of saints like Dominic and Alan de la Roche. Even critics who question the exact historical origins of the Rosary's structure cannot deny the centuries of spiritual fruit borne from this devotion. In 2002, Pope John Paul II added the Luminous Mysteries, further enriching this prayer, and situating Mary's role more fully within the life and mission of Christ.

Yet, the Marian month is not solely about Marian prayer; it is about maternal love. The solemnity of Mary, Mother of God, reveals that God did not merely use Mary as a conduit for the Incarnation; He loved her as a mother. Jesus received not just a body, but human affection, warmth, and familial love from Mary. Through her, God entered fully into the human condition. She became the first human to love Him, not only as her God, but also as her child. This profound mystery reveals why Mary is not a peripheral figure in salvation, but its maternal heart.

May, therefore, is a time to pause, reflect, and return to the school of Mary—a school where love is learned, and where the heart is taught to beat in harmony with the Sacred Heart of Jesus. In her maternal embrace, we discover not only the mystery of the Word made flesh, but also the vocation of every Christian: to bear Christ to the world, as she once did.

Faithful witness in an age of disruption

As the news outlets have been reminding us, Pope Francis was the first non-European Bishop of Rome since the very early Middle Ages. But this is not as simple as it sounds. As he himself underlined in his autobiographical musings, his specific non-European experience was, in fact, an experience of displacement, the experience of Italian migrants in Latin America – something that makes sense of his consistent, courageous, and vividly expressed solidarity with migrant communities world-wide. He understood something of a world in which clear geographical and cultural boundaries are not timeless fixtures, a world where millions have no choice but to make their homes somewhere other than their homelands.

For all the loud global rhetoric about protecting cultures from contamination by alien influences, this is a world that has already been colossally disrupted by political catastrophe, violence, economic pressure and (increasingly) environmental crisis. Pope Francis' most lastingly important interventions as a teacher of the faith, not least Laudato Si’ and Fratelli Tutti - take it for granted that Christian witness today and tomorrow must address this world, must reckon and engage with the depth of disruption that so many live with. It is a world more and more manifestly at odds with itself, shaped by a set of ideas and practices that seem to be dismantling the bonds of common life and the sense of a shared human fate in a vortex of acquisitive, addictive and selfish habits, profiting only a vanishingly small group of powerful humans, and profiting them only for so long as they can go on persuading themselves that mortality can be held at bay.

The Pope's critique of late capitalism was not a revolutionary innovation. Both his predecessors - indeed, most popes for the last century - had made similar points. It was Pope Francis' gift to bring to bear on this situation the perspective of someone who had learned in Argentina a saving impatience with the various evasions that "the West" or "the global North" had refined so as to soften the urgency of the disrupted world's challenge. It can't be said too often that his theology was completely in tune with that of Pope Benedict XVI and Pope John Paul II; both popes stand firmly within a continuous pattern of teaching about dignity and solidarity, grounded in the vision of humanity in the divine image. Pope Francis washing the feet of migrants, or embracing others who had been displaced, rejected and demeaned, was declaring as plainly as possible that Catholic Christianity has not only a central and orthodox doctrine of God, but a central and orthodox doctrine of humanity.

It may help us understand why this saving impatience extended to fashionable concerns about the future of "the West". In different ways, Pope John Paul II and Pope Benedict XVI were preoccupied with the riskiness of a cultural situation in which Western societies no longer had a clue about where and how they had learned the political doctrines they assumed to be true. Both very rightly warned against a chaotic but hyper-confident humanism that lacked any focus on the divine image. Both knew about the authoritarian spectres that waited in the wings for the moment when chaos triumphed; not an abstract point just at present in the world of Trump and Putin.

Pope Francis had no interest in culture-war polarisation and retrenchment. For him, the problem was not the survival of the West, but the survival of the human family. His ears were open to those outside the northern hemisphere for whom discussions of the fate of Western civilisation might ring a little hollow in the context of endemic civil war over natural resources, collapsing political systems, and environmental degradation. The Synod on the Amazon represented a powerful statement of alertness to all this.

He tried to keep before us the wholeness of humanity to which Easter life is offered. His instinctive generosity was evident in so much of what he said and did, however many loose ends this left for others to tie up. He was able to embody the possibility that the Church might, after all, be a sign of God's utter fidelity to all Creation. That is perhaps most of all what we shall remember and give thanks for.

(Guest Editorial) Rowan Williams was the 104th Archbishop of Canterbury (2002-2012).

Source: The Tablet

POPE FRANCIS : The World's Parish Priest

The Stone has been Rolled Away!

Have you ever faced a moment when all seemed lost? When the weight of sorrow felt like a stone too heavy to move? This was the reality for the disciples on Good Friday. Jesus, their Master and Lord, was crucified. His lifeless body lay in the tomb, sealed with a great stone. Darkness, despair and defeat seemed to have prevailed. But then comes Easter!

In his 2024 Easter Message to the world (Urbi et Orbi), Pope Francis has a lovely reflection: "The Church relives the amazement of the women who went to the tomb at the dawn of the first day of the week. The tomb of Jesus had been sealed with a great stone. Today too, great stones, heavy stones, block the hopes of humanity – the stone of war, the stone of humanitarian crises, the stone of human rights violations, the stone of human trafficking, and other stones as well. Like the women, the disciples of Jesus ask one another: "Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance of the tomb?" (Mk 16:3).

"This is the amazing discovery of that Easter morning – the stone, the immense stone, was rolled away. A new path leads through that empty tomb – the path that none of us, but God alone, could open – the path of life in the midst of death, the path of peace in the midst of war, the path of reconciliation in the midst of hatred, that path of fraternity in the midst of hostility."

The Resurrection narratives in the gospels focus on two profound realities – the empty tomb and the appearances of the Risen Lord. The tomb was empty, but for the apostles, it did not become a proof of the Resurrection. The appearances of the risen Jesus proved that Jesus was indeed alive. The stone rolled back from the entrance of the tomb with the angel sitting on it (Mt 28:2) was a proclamation of God's victory over sin, death and defeat.

That is the significance of our Easter celebration each year. Good Friday represents the ultimate to which human malice can go – to the point of killing an innocent man. Hatred has prevailed. The tomb of Jesus is shut and sealed. It is the end. But Easter proclaims that:

The last word is not death and despair, but life and hope.
The last word is not hatred, but love.
The last word is not the darkness of the tomb, but the light of the Resurrection.

That is the core of our faith, and the Church proclaims it each year in a special way at the Easter Vigil Mass – Christ is Risen, Alleluia! The Easter candle, shining in the darkness, reminds us that even in our darkest moments, Christ's light prevails.

We are in the Jubilee Year with its theme 'PILGRIMS OF HOPE'. From the vantage point of distance, I see so many signs of hope in the Archdiocese of Bombay:

We have just had ordinations to the priesthood: ten young men, in the prime of their youth, pledging their lives for the service of God and of the Church!
The tree plantation drives and many initiatives, in the wake of Pope Francis' Laudato Si, to create a 'green diocese'.
The inter-faith dialogues to promote solidarity, peace and love for a better world, along the lines of Fratelli Tutti.
The commendable efforts of Prison Ministry Mumbai to care for the most neglected of society – those in the lockups and prisons.
The many programmes to engage the Youth like Prayerathon, Rocklamation, CIAO (Carlo inspired Action Outreach), and so on.
The tremendous effort of the Health Promotion Trust to promote health through natural remedies.
The establishment of the Archdiocesan Commission for the Protection of Minors and Vulnerable Adults to redress the abuse of minors.

The Resurrection proclaims God's victory over sin and death. New life has entered into the domain of death. The Pilates and Caesars are men of the past. The Risen Jesus continues to be with us to bring us new life and hope. "Remember, I am with you always to the end of the age" (Mt 28:20). As we celebrate Easter, let us allow this truth to shape our lives. Let us not be discouraged by the 'stones' that seem to block our path—the stones of suffering, injustice, and despair. Just as God rolled away the stone from Christ's tomb, He will remove the obstacles in our lives. This Easter, let us become true Pilgrims of Hope.

Christ is Risen, Alleluia!

(Guest Editorial) Bp Agnelo Gracias is the Apostolic Administrator of the diocese of Jalandhar and Emeritus Auxiliary Bishop of Bombay.

The Living Journey into Holy Week

Fr Joshan Rodrigues

Each year, as Christians enter the sacred season of Holy Week, we are invited into something far deeper than a ritualistic remembrance of ancient events. Holy Week is not merely a liturgical pageant we watch unfold; it is a mirror held up to our lives, a path that traces our own story, from joyful beginnings, through sorrowful valleys, into the hope of new life. As we trace Jesus' final days, we are not spectators. We are participants.

To walk through Holy Week is to step once more into the mystery of our own humanity. Like Jesus entering Jerusalem to the cheers of the crowd on Palm Sunday, we too have known moments of triumph. There are times in our lives when things come together, when we feel seen, celebrated, and full of promise. These moments echo birth itself—the beautiful, chaotic entry into life, full of potential and light. Yet, as Holy Week unfolds, so does the deeper truth of our journey.

By Maundy Thursday, the tone begins to shift. The meal with friends becomes tinged with farewell, betrayal and sacrifice. For Jesus, it is a moment of deep intimacy and vulnerability—kneeling to wash the feet of His disciples, breaking bread that signifies a broken body to come. In our lives, too, we experience such seasons – moments where love asks more of us than we think we can give, where trust is tested, and when we are called to serve even as we are hurting. We feel the weight of relationships stretched, loyalties questioned, and mortality acknowledged.

Then comes Good Friday—the day of stark reality. There is no turning away from the suffering, abandonment, and death. It confronts us head-on. We may want to skip this day, avoid the pain it presents, but doing so is to shortchange both the story and ourselves. For who among us has not faced loss, betrayal, fear, or grief? Good Friday speaks to the raw core of human experience. It is the funeral we didn't want to attend, the call we didn't want to receive, the prayer we uttered when words failed us. It is the child hungry on our screens, the mother weeping in a war zone, the loneliness we feel when the world keeps moving but our hearts do not.

Yet, even in the darkness of that day, something quietly unfolds. The veil is torn. The earth trembles. Love, though crucified, is not defeated. And it is here, perhaps, that the true heart of Holy Week is revealed—not as a sequence of sorrowful events, but as the embodiment of God's commitment to accompany us in every part of life. Jesus brings His entire lived experience— His joys, wounds, miracles, and grief—into our worship and into our very lives. By the Spirit, these are not distant memories, but living realities, present each time we gather in His name.

This is the gift and challenge of Holy Week – it does not leave us in the grave. The story does not end at the Cross. Holy Saturday holds the tension—between death and life, between despair and hope—but even that silence is heavy with promise. And then, dawn breaks. The tomb is empty. Mary hears her name spoken by the risen Christ. Resurrection shatters the finality of death.

This journey through Holy Week is not a tidy narrative of suffering and reward. It is a lifelong movement, played out again and again in each of us. We are always somewhere on the road—from Palm Sunday's celebration to the quiet confusion of Maundy Thursday, the heartbreak of Good Friday, the stillness of Holy Saturday, or the joyful shock of Easter morning. We bring who we are—our past, our burdens, our hopes—into the sacred rhythms of the Church. And just as Jesus' humanity is never shed, but transformed, so too our wounds can be held and healed in the light of the Resurrection.

Fr Alexander Schmemann once wrote that liturgical celebration is a re-entrance into not merely the "idea," but the living, concrete reality of the event. We are not observing history; we are walking with Christ, and in doing so, we come face-to-face with our own story, transformed by His presence. That is why each year, though the Gospel readings remain the same, we hear them differently—because we are different. Our lives have moved. We have learned, suffered, grown, lost, and begun again.

Holy Week, then, becomes a sacred drama, one in which we are cast not as bystanders, but as fellow pilgrims. Like any good story, it draws us in, demands something of us, and then offers a reward greater than we expected. Not because we earned it, but because we dared to journey through the whole story. As one ancient prayer puts it: "Through the Cross, joy has come to all the world." But the joy is real only because the pain was real, too.

So let us journey well. Let us not skip the difficult parts. Let us stay with Jesus in the garden, at the table, at the foot of the Cross. Let us grieve with the women, and run with Peter to the tomb. And when we hear our name spoken in love by the risen Christ, let us, like Mary, respond with wonder and recognition.

In journeying through Holy Week, we are journeying through our lives—with all the beauty, agony, mystery, and glory they hold. And we are not alone. The Risen One walks beside us.

The People’s Shepherd

Fr Joshan Rodrigues

What can be said about a human being about whom reams of pages have already been written? His towering and respected stature in the Church (matched by his physical height), the enduring impact of his ministry, the endearing qualities of his persona, and his deep love and compassion for everyone, are well known to all, and honourably described in the following pages. When he finally hung up his cassock (figuratively speaking) as Archbishop of Bombay on January 25 this year, having served as the Chief Shepherd for 18 years, it was the end of an era. A churchman, whose life has had such a wide breadth of impact and influence over space and time, and whose spiritual life has uplifted and energised the Church and its members with an incredible profundity, comes but once in a century.

Notwithstanding his incredible achievements and the numerous portfolios he has held over the years, both nationally and globally, Cardinal Oswald Gracias is defined by his simplicity and humility. His successes have come not just due to a mind that is naturally brilliant, but most would say, due to his penchant for hard work. A brief scare with cancer in 2008 did not pull him down, but only doubled his motivation to throw himself even further and deeper into the Lord's Vineyard.

One aspect that I have always admired personally is his indefatigable capacity to work for long hours and travel so extensively. This does not make him weary; on the contrary, he perennially exudes a lively zeal and a spiritual vibrancy. The secret is that he thrives on his interaction and connection with people. He is equally at ease with the rich and well-heeled and with the poorest of the poor. The true shepherd that he is, he loves being surrounded by the sheep, and thrives on the love, friendship and prayers that he receives from them.

Challenges and crises do not subdue him; rather, they bring out the best in him. Nowhere was this more visible than during the COVID-19 pandemic, when he masterfully coordinated the Church's response, and ensured that all of the Church's resources were at the disposal of those who were suffering, without prejudice to caste or creed. Pushing the archdiocese to pivot towards a digital ministry was his brainchild, and the excellent spiritual and catechetical programmes produced by the Archdiocesan media during this time ensured that the people were spiritually nourished, in spite of shuttered churches. If Tuesdays became "Terrific," his Sunday Masses and evening Q & A sessions became a global phenomenon, and ensured that his people were always comforted by the visible presence of their Shepherd, no matter the deep angst wrought by the pandemic.

"To reconcile all things in Christ" – his episcopal motto – has been at the heart of his ministry. His brother bishops recount with great admiration his ability to tactfully and gracefully disarm the most explosive situations within the Church. He has been seen by many as first among equals within the Indian episcopal college, and most have been awed by the progressive vision he brings to the Indian Church.

To his priests, he has been a Father and Mentor. Always ready to listen to the joys and sorrows of his men in the field, he has helped them discover the potential of their priesthood and steer them along paths they never dreamt of. He has always had the uncanny ability to spot talent in those who cannot see it themselves. He is a wonderful judge of character and a merciful spiritual father, reflective of Luke 15. His warm smile, joyous gaze, gentleness of spirit and disarming humility never fail to communicate the joy, love and compassion of our heavenly Father to those who encounter him, regardless of which faith they profess.

This special issue of The Examiner is a humble attempt to celebrate his more than 50 years of priesthood, more than 25 years of the episcopate, and 18 years as Archbishop of Bombay. However, his legacy will not be remembered by numbers, but by the deep humanity and spirituality that he has lived and communicated.

A man of God. A man of the People. Truly, a People's Shepherd.