The One and the Ninety-Nine

Fr Joshan Rodrigues

There is something almost reckless about the shepherd in Jesus' parable. He has a hundred sheep. One wanders away. And what does he do? He leaves the ninety-nine in the wilderness and goes after the one that is lost until he finds it. In any sensible calculation of risk, this hardly seems prudent. Why expose ninety-nine to danger for the sake of one? Why not accept a one per cent loss and protect the remaining ninety-nine?

Yet, Jesus seems deliberately unconcerned with the arithmetic. "Which one of you," he asks, "having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness, and go after the one that is lost until he finds it?" (Luke 15:4).

We have traditionally heard this as a parable about God's merciful search for the sinner. And rightly so. But perhaps Jesus is also inviting us into a more uncomfortable reflection about ourselves: about the tension between belonging and becoming, between the community and the individual, between listening to the wisdom of the flock and having the courage to become the person God has created us to be. The ninety-nine and the one may not represent the righteous and the sinful at all. They may represent two dimensions of every Christian life.

We are the ninety-nine.

We like to think of ourselves as the one—the unique individual whom God seeks with infinite love. But before we celebrate our individuality, we need to remember that we are also part of the ninety-nine. Christianity is not a solitary enterprise. We are not self-made believers who construct our faith according to personal preference. We are baptised into a community. We receive the Scriptures from a community. We celebrate the Eucharist with a community. We inherit the wisdom of generations of believers who have prayed, struggled, suffered and searched before us.

It reminds us that there are truths bigger than ourselves and traditions deeper than our own experience. It offers friendship, correction, companionship and accountability. There are times when our own judgment is clouded and our instincts unreliable. There are moments when the community prevents us from mistaking our own desires for the voice of God.

We need the ninety-nine. But there is a danger when belonging quietly becomes conformity.

The ninety-nine are not meant to become identical.

A Christian community is not meant to be a crowd of people who think alike, speak alike and behave alike. Communion is not uniformity. Belonging does not mean surrendering one's conscience at the door.

There is a subtle pressure in every community to conform. We learn early in life that approval is comforting, and standing apart can be costly. We imitate the crowd because it is easier to go along than to ask difficult questions. In an age of social media, algorithms and relentless peer influence, the pressure has become even more powerful. We are constantly being told what to like, what to think, what to say and even what to be.

The Gospel, however, leaves room for the one. The prophets were often the one. Jesus Himself was frequently the one who refused to conform to the expectations of the religious establishment. The saints were not canonised because they were exceptionally good at blending into the crowd. Many became saints because they had the courage to listen to a deeper voice and follow it, even when doing so meant standing apart.

Sometimes holiness begins with the courage to say, "I cannot go along with this."

The courage to be the one

There are moments when the Christian must become the one who refuses to laugh at the cruel joke, the one who speaks when everyone else remains silent, the one who questions an injustice everyone has learned to tolerate, the one who refuses to join the gossip, the one who defends the person whom the crowd has rejected.

There are also quieter forms of becoming the one. It may mean choosing a vocation that others do not understand. It may mean pursuing a calling rather than a lucrative career. It may mean asking questions about faith that make others uncomfortable. It may mean admitting that something which has always been done in a certain way is no longer helping people encounter Christ.

The strange gift of being able to wander

There is another dimension to this parable that is easy to miss. The sheep are free to wander.

That freedom is dangerous. It can lead the sheep into the wilderness, away from safety and towards genuine peril. Yet without that freedom, the entire story becomes meaningless. A sheep incapable of leaving could never truly choose to remain.

This points towards one of the most mysterious gifts God has given humanity: free will.

God does not compel us to love Him. He does not build an invisible fence around our lives. He allows us to walk away, to question, to doubt, to experiment, to make mistakes and sometimes to lose ourselves. There is something profoundly beautiful about that freedom.

A relationship with God that permits no possibility of departure would be obedience without freedom. Love requires the possibility of saying 'no.' The Christian story is therefore not merely about a God who prevents us from wandering. It is about a God who allows us to wander and then continues to seek us.

Sometimes we have to lose our way.

Sometimes people leave because they are searching. The young person who questions inherited beliefs may not have stopped looking for God. The person who steps away from the Church after being wounded may still be searching for the God whom the Church has failed to reveal convincingly. The adult who begins asking uncomfortable questions may not be abandoning faith, but trying to make faith truly his or her own.

The sheep may wander because it is foolish. But it may also wander because it is following something it believes will lead to nourishment. The question for the Church, therefore, cannot simply be, "Why did the sheep leave?" It must also be, "What was the sheep searching for—and why did it not find it among us?"

The shepherd does not choose between the one and the ninety-nine.

And here lies perhaps the deepest mystery of the parable. The shepherd does not ultimately choose between the community and the individual. He cares for both. The ninety-nine matter. The one matters.

The flock provides belonging, but the individual possesses a unique vocation. The community gives roots, but the individual must still listen to conscience. The ninety-nine protect us from selfish individualism; the one protects us from thoughtless conformity.

The shepherd's desire is not to make 100 identical sheep. It is to bring 100 distinct sheep into communion with one another and with him.

This is an important lesson for the Church today. We can walk together without walking identically. We can disagree without ceasing to belong. We can ask difficult questions without abandoning faith. We can treasure tradition without becoming prisoners of habit.

The goal is not uniformity. It is communion.

Perhaps the mature Christian must learn to say: I am part of the ninety-nine, but I am also the one. For the Christian life is not about choosing between the ninety-nine and the one. It is about learning to be both: deeply rooted in the community, yet courageous enough to become the unique person God calls us to be.

That may be the paradox at the heart of Christian freedom.

A New way of Being Church : The Pathway for SCCs

For over 40 years in the Archdiocese of Bombay, the SCCs have been a vital way of "being Church" – of witnessing in the society. Let us retrace the evolution of the SCC and reflect on its intended functioning and relevance to our times.

Having been sown by Bishop Bosco Penha, during the first ever Bombay Priests' Synod, the start of SCCs in the Archdiocese of Bombay got confirmed with its November 1980 Statement – which emphasised the goal of Priestly Ministry as building Christian community. It stated: "This community is by its very nature, missionary – open to the larger community in which it is situated, and to which it proclaims the Good News of Jesus Christ in word and in deed… The typical parish of today cannot, for various reasons, be the starting point for community-building. We have, therefore, to work with smaller units within the parish. The choice of these smaller units will depend on the nature of the parish and its composition. It is towards the building up of such small Christian Communities with a view to building up the entire parish community, that the priest dedicates his life and exercises his ministry." 

Every Consultation insisted on the importance of SCCs. In 1990, the Priests' Consultation emphasised the Restructuring of the parish into SCCs as one of the thrusts of the Archdiocese. The April 2001 Post-Synodal Document reminded that every Catholic (bishop, priest, religious or lay person) is to collaborate for effective working of the SCCs in parishes. It also envisaged that: "while keeping their proper identity, SCCs widen their horizons to become Basic Human Communities, embracing our sisters and brothers of all faiths, so as to become, ultimately, a powerful catalyst for national integration." 

As the years passed by, the Archdiocese realised the need of the SCCs to network with one another as well as with Community Centre Organisations (CCOs) and other ecclesial bodies. The 2012 draft working paper, Towards a Co-responsible Church in the Archdiocese of Bombay, pointed out that over 60% of Catholics did not participate in SCC activities. Thus, "this loss of valuable resource needs to be addressed equally and jointly by the clergy, religious and laity. It is imperative that the Archdiocese as a whole, including Commissions, Associations and various Ecclesial Bodies, invests in strengthening the movement, and ensuring that it becomes the salt and light of all around, not only to the Catholic population, but extended outward to the human community at large." Later on, after the retirement of Bishop Bosco, Bishop Barthol Barretto animated the SCCs. He spoke about the need of Clusters and that 'nobody should be in want'.

In the past four decades, our SCCs have thrived in mission and faith formation. SCC leaders play a key role in visiting homes, praying the community Rosary, discussing faith themes, organising community Masses and get-togethers, bringing Communion to the sick and home-bound, solving social issues and so on. Should our SCCs continue with all of this? Yes, absolutely and undoubtably so. Yet, we have not achieved our full potential as SCCs. How can we better proclaim and better foster dialogue and cooperation in our increasingly polarised society? How does an SCC bond with members who are more comfortable with digital interactions? Do our SCC leaders serve or dictate?

The 50th anniversary of the FABC General Conference underscored the importance of SCCs moving towards Small Human Communities. Its 2023 Bangkok Document states: "In the light of the aspiration for a more synodal Church that grows constantly in the threefold aspects of Communion, Participation and Mission, we have resolved to reorient our BECs towards becoming catalysts of renewal in society… Our Basic Ecclesial Communities will not be truly incarnating synodality as a lifestyle if our communities only stick to themselves and their own 'churchy' concerns. If they are to be their mission, i.e. to be like yeast in a mass of dough, then we must build the kind of Christian Communities that will lead to Basic Human Communities." 

Chapter V of the Final Document of the Synod on Synodality, released in 2024, is entitled: "So I Send You" (Forming a People for Missionary Discipleship). The Synod concludes with Mission, because every encounter with Christ naturally leads to being sent to others. This chapter reminds us that every community is called to become a sign of hope in its neighbourhood. Our SCCs are therefore invited not simply to meet together, but to become communities that are sent.

In keeping with the Synodal thrust of the Universal Church, the Archdiocesan Resource Team (ART), in consultation with some of the leaders, has now decided to change the thrust of the SCCs. The new Archdiocesan Vision of SCCs is Called to be Missionary Disciples.

May God bless all who have worked, and are working, for the building of SCCs and SHCs.

(Guest Editorial) Bishop Allwyn D'Silva

When Christ Comes to Us in the Face of a Child

His name was Alan Kurdi. He wore a red shirt, blue shorts, and tiny shoes meant for a journey towards safety. Instead, that journey ended on a beach in Turkey, where his small body was found after the boat carrying his family across the Mediterranean capsized. Alan had not chosen to become a refugee. He was only three years old! He had not chosen war, fear or displacement. Like every child, he simply needed a safe place to call home.

His death in September 2015 briefly made the world look beyond statistics and see the refugee crisis through the eyes of one little child. But Alan was not the last. Hundreds of children followed him into the Mediterranean; many disappeared without a trace. Each had a name, a family, dreams—and a future that should never have been lost at sea.

Khaled Hosseini's 'Sea Prayer,' a short, beautifully illustrated poetic book, inspired by Alan's story, captures the anguish of a father praying for his son before a perilous sea journey. Its haunting message endures: behind every number is a child, and behind every child, a world of hopes and dreams.

It is against this painful reality that the Church observes the 112th World Day of Migrants and Refugees on September 27, 2026, with Pope Leo XIV offering a theme that is deceptively simple and profoundly demanding: "Even just one of these children." Drawn from Jesus' words in Mark 9:37—"Whoever receives one such child in my name receives me"—the message asks us to see Christ in the migrant child.

Not a statistic. Not a burden. Not a stranger. A child.

A child who longs for safety, love, education and a future.

For India, this message carries particular urgency. Millions migrate within our country in search of shelter and a better life. Alongside them are refugees and displaced people escaping conflict and persecution. Their children often bear the hidden costs of migration – interrupted schooling, lack of documentation and healthcare, poverty, exploitation, trafficking and separation from parents.

They can so easily become invisible.

But Pope Leo XIV refuses to let us look away.

His message continues the prophetic witness of Pope Francis, who repeatedly placed migrants and refugees at the heart of the Church's mission. His call to welcome, protect, promote and integrate migrants challenged a world increasingly tempted to build walls, rather than bridges. At Lampedusa, Pope Francis celebrated Mass on an altar made from the wood of a wrecked migrant boat, mourning those who had drowned and condemning what he called the "globalisation of indifference."

The question remains painfully relevant: How many children must be lost before we stop looking away?

The Catholic Church in India seeks to respond not merely with words, but through action – accompanying migrant families through documentation, education, healthcare, legal assistance, vocational training and pastoral care. Parishes can offer belonging, schools can welcome children with incomplete documents, and communities can protect the vulnerable from trafficking and exploitation. Because compassion becomes credible only when it becomes concrete. "Even just one of these children" reaches beyond programmes and policies; it reaches the human heart, calling us to see, protect, and never forget.

Jesus does not ask us whether we can save every migrant child in the world. He asks whether we are willing to receive ONE. One child. One family. One frightened stranger. One life that might otherwise remain unseen.

Perhaps that is where the Gospel begins.

Alan Kurdi's little shoes have become one of the most haunting images of our generation. They remind us of a child who wanted nothing more extraordinary than a safe place to live. May we never allow his memory—or the memory of countless unnamed children—to become just another photograph in history.

For when a migrant child stands at our door, Christ may be standing there too. And if we welcome even one of these children, we may discover that we have not merely opened our arms to a stranger.

We have welcomed Christ Himself.

(Guest Editorial) Maria Gomes, Associate Secretary, Archdiocesan Migrant Commission 

5 Reasons Christians Should Read Classic Literature

“If a book is well written, I always find it too short.” — Marianne Dashwood, Sense & Sensibility

Whether your experience with reading mirrors Marianne's or you haven't picked up a classic in your life (maybe except in school, since it was compulsory reading), you can always begin to see great books in a new light. Book stores and exhibitions abound in our city, giving one an opportunity to physically thumb one's fingers through the sweet-smelling pages of a book before you decide to buy it. 

Below are five reasons everyone, particularly Christians, should take a fresh look at classic literature, which has the power to shape the hearts and minds of men and women—and send them out to influence a post-Christian culture for Christ.

1. It Sharpens Your Worldview.

"Do not be conformed to this age, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, so that you may discern what is the good, pleasing and perfect will of God." – Romans 12:2

It's nearly impossible for a follower of Christ to navigate a post-Christian culture without a solidly defined worldview. Daily life involves sorting and analysing hundreds of ideas—each reflecting a particular view of the world—to determine whether they're true and good.

Readers get to practise these crucial decision-making skills vicariously through the pages of a book. Great works of literature reflect the author's worldview and reflect the characters' worldviews. As we encounter those worldviews in the pages, we have to sharpen and refine our own worldview.

2. It Develops Empathy.

"Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep." – Romans 12:15

Much has been said about the loss of civility in our culture. In a polarised nation where people can easily avoid or digitally block viewpoints they don't agree with, it's not difficult to see some of the reasons why the practice of empathy is in a state of erosion.

But when a reader opens a great novel and steps into someone else's world, there's an almost irresistible tendency towards empathy. This really is one of the great gifts of literature – the cultivation of our skills of empathy and understanding, even apart from agreeing or disagreeing. Literature gives us a behind-the-scenes look at a person's world to understand why they are doing something or what they are doing, even if they are making a poor decision. 

3. It Cultivates Virtue.

"Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is honourable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable—if there is any moral excellence and if there is anything praiseworthy—dwell on these things." – Philippians 4:8

While scrolling through social media can certainly be informative, few would describe the practice as helping to cultivate virtue. Consuming short bursts of text requires little effort, and reading tweets or Instagram posts in rapid succession is an almost mind-numbing activity.

Great literature, on the other hand, requires commitment and effort that exercises the brain in a different way. This deep reading can result in lasting rewards, not the least of which is the cultivation of virtue. And virtue can most simply be defined as "excellence."

In this age, we see virtue being replaced by so many substitutes, like power and influence and self-esteem, to the extent that we have actually lost an understanding and appreciation of virtue; we don't even know what it is. That is why we should think about virtue, and try to develop it in ourselves and our culture.

We have actually been seeing a greater trend towards reading once again among younger people. Because we are so consumed by digital media and fragmented, short bursts of text all day long, I actually think there is a reaction against it, and people are turning more to good books and to literary fiction to sort of counter-balance that effect. 

4. It Improves Language Skills.

"A gentle answer turns away anger, but a harsh word stirs up wrath." – Proverbs 15:1

One of the things that really characterises the illness in our culture right now is an understanding of language that's very flat and literal. You see this all over social media, where we misunderstand one another or make accusations, just because one person is using a word or phrase in a different way than someone else understands it.

Reading great literature, on the other hand, hones our skills in language. And language is what we use every day to talk to one another and tweet and post on Facebook. It's as though we are clumsy with our words all over, every day. And we are in part clumsy because we are not immersed in the art of language that we find in literary writing. When we have a deeper, richer understanding of how language works, we can actually make more room for understanding one another.

5. It's Enjoyable.

Reading great literature is inherently challenging. But it can also offer a unique kind of satisfaction. As you take a fresh look at classic works, you just might find yourself experiencing what the fictional sailor Charles Marlow describes in Heart of Darkness:

"I slipped the book into my pocket. I assure you, to leave off reading was like tearing myself away from the shelter of an old and solid friendship."

(Guest Editorial) Kristy Etheridge, Lifeway Research 

The Undistracted Faithfulness of Mary

Fr Joshan Rodrigues

A recent Book Club event organised by The Examiner to promote Christian Classics brought together a group of enthusiastic readers from across Mumbai (as reported in the previous issue of The Examiner). We reflected on C.S. Lewis' celebrated book The Screwtape Letters. A powerful insight in this book that struck me personally was the devil's devious strategy in what could be described as the subtle temptation of "Christianity and…". The danger is not necessarily that we reject Christianity outright. Rather, we need to keep adding appendages to Christian faith and worship, to the point that sometimes Christ Himself no longer seems sufficient. Or the Eucharist fails to satisfy us. 

Christianity and social justice. Christianity and the environment. Christianity and self-growth. Christianity and music. Christianity and political action. The list is endless, as can be perceived by the long list of ministries that we often encounter in our parishes. 'Christianity' by itself may not be sufficient; it is Christianity PLUS that 'something else' that defines my participation in the Church community. Of course, there is nothing inherently wrong with parish programmes, Retreats, music, outings, ministries, devotions or special spiritual experiences. These can all enrich the Christian life. But unintentionally, these could slowly become substitutes for its centre. We encounter Jesus in the Eucharist. The Eucharist is not a preliminary programme before the celebration; it is the celebration.

In a world overflowing with choices, attractions and distractions, faithfulness has become increasingly difficult. But Mary shows us another way—the way of undistracted faithfulness.

Mary's faith was pure and unconditional. Her relationship with God was not dependent upon circumstances, emotions, recognition or rewards. Her "yes" to God at the Annunciation was not a temporary emotional response to a spectacular moment. It became a way of life. Her great "yes" was followed by thousands of smaller YESes—YESes spoken in the ordinariness of Nazareth, in the uncertainty of Bethlehem, in the flight into Egypt, in the hidden years of family life, and finally, beneath the Cross at Calvary.

Mary did not say yes to God only when life was beautiful. She remained faithful when she did not understand, when following God was painful, and when there was nothing attractive or rewarding about the circumstances. At Calvary, when the crowds had disappeared and her Son hung dying on the Cross, Mary remained. She did not look for an easier version of discipleship. She did not need constant novelty to know that God was present. She found Him in the ordinary—in prayer, family life, work, responsibility, suffering and silence. She simply remained faithful.

This is perhaps the most challenging lesson Mary offers us today. Our faithfulness can easily become conditional: I will pray when I feel like it. I will come to Mass when it is convenient. I will serve when I am appreciated. I will remain committed as long as things go my way. Mary's faith was different. Her question was not, "What do I get from this?" but "What does God want of me?"

Perhaps this is where we need to examine our own Eucharistic calling. If every Christian truly lived the Eucharist—if we received Christ and then carried His presence faithfully into our homes, workplaces, relationships and society—would we need so many specialised ministries to repair the wounds created by our failure to love? If every Christian genuinely lived the two great commandments—to love God above all things and love our neighbour as ourselves—the world would surely become a place marked by greater justice, compassion and joy.

Mary's life was the perfect embodiment of these two commandments. She put God above all things, and because she loved God completely, she loved those entrusted to her with a selfless and enduring love. Her faithfulness to God overflowed into service of others. This is probably the greatest lesson that the world needs to hear at the present moment. The ill-treatment of migrants and the poor, systemic injustice that pervades social institutions, governments that wage war and destruction across the world due to selfish, narrow and partisan political and personal interests, the blatant exploitation of the environment… would any of this happen if humankind actually remained true to its divine calling? 

Mary's "YES" was hence truly GOAT—the Greatest Of All Time. Mary's life also gives us another meaning of GOAT: God Over All Things (a beautiful theme for the Marian novenas taken across the archdiocese this year). Her priorities were never divided. God came first; not just when circumstances were favourable, but always.

Ironically, I have often heard people characterise parish communities where lots of programmes and activities are not conducted as "dead" parishes! Can a place where the Eucharist is celebrated, where the Sacraments are administered, and where people encounter the Living God ever truly be called dead? But this is how the devil surreptitiously leads us into his snare – by making us desire the ministry more than the Mass! Or the programme more than Prayer! 

May Mary inspire us to remove the distractions from both our spiritual and temporal lives, resist the "and," return to the centre, and live an undivided faith. For when Christ is enough, faithfulness becomes beautiful. And when God is truly above all things, everything else finds its rightful place.

Mary, faithful Handmaid of the Lord, pray for us.

Justice Sunday: When Labour has a Human Face

Justice Sunday invites us to look at justice not merely as a question of laws, courts and human rights, but through something much closer to our everyday lives: the dignity of work and the dignity of the person who works. Every morning, millions of Indians leave their homes to build our cities, clean our houses, drive our vehicles, deliver our food, care for our children and elderly, work in factories, offices, construction sites, farms and shops. Others work from home, often invisibly, caring for families without a salary, designation or formal recognition. Behind every service we receive stands a human being whose labour has value because the person has value.

The International Labour Organization's Declaration of Philadelphia states a principle that remains remarkably relevant: "Labour is not a commodity." Work cannot be treated simply as something to be purchased at the lowest possible price. The ILO connects work with human dignity, economic security and equal opportunity. It also recognises freedom of association and collective bargaining among fundamental rights at work.

This principle is deeply compatible with Catholic social teaching. The Church has consistently taught that the human person must always take precedence over capital, profit and economic efficiency. Pope Leo XIV, in Magnifica Humanitas, recalls the Church's long tradition of defending the dignity of workers, fair wages and workers' associations. He reminds us that work is not merely a means of earning income; it is a fundamental good through which people express their freedom, creativity and contribution to society.

So what does justice require of us? It requires that a worker be seen as a person, not a cost centre.

A just society must ask whether a person's wages are sufficient to live with dignity; whether workers have safe working conditions; whether they can organise and collectively bargain; whether they have access to healthcare when illness strikes; and whether years of labour will leave them with some measure of security in old age. A pension should not be regarded as a luxury reserved for those fortunate enough to have formal employment. Healthcare should not disappear when a worker loses a job. And retirement should not mean choosing between medicines and food.

We must also remember the homemaker. Millions of women—and men—perform countless hours of unpaid work within the family. Cooking, cleaning, caring for children, supporting elderly parents and maintaining a household are essential contributions to the economy and to society, even though they often carry no payslip. Justice requires us to recognise that contribution with respect and dignity, rather than dismissing it as "not working."

The Gospel challenges our attitudes towards all these forms of labour. Jesus Himself spent most of His earthly life in the ordinary world of work as the carpenter's son. Christianity does not glorify wealth while diminishing labour. It sees work as part of human vocation and participation in God's continuing work of Creation.

The question for us on Justice Sunday is therefore deeply personal: How do I treat the people whose labour makes my life more comfortable? Do I pay fairly and on time? Do I provide humane working conditions? Do I speak respectfully to those who serve me? Do I allow workers to raise legitimate concerns without fear? Do I recognise the contribution of the person who works quietly in my home? Do I remember that the person sweeping the street or delivering my parcel has the same God-given dignity as I do?

The ILO's fundamental principles include freedom of association, collective bargaining, freedom from forced labour, non-discrimination, and a safe and healthy working environment. These are not merely economic demands; they are expressions of human dignity. Governments have a responsibility to create effective laws and social security systems. Employers have a responsibility to treat workers fairly. Trade unions and worker organisations have a responsibility to protect workers' legitimate interests responsibly. But each of us also has a responsibility in the small world entrusted to us.

On this Justice Sunday, let us therefore see Christ in the worker, respect Christ in the homemaker, defend Christ in the vulnerable, and serve Christ in those whose labour often goes unnoticed.

(Guest Editorial) Oriston Vaz, a retired corporate professional, is a regular contributor to The Examiner. 

Invitation, Not Imposition

Fr Joshan Rodrigues

The twin celebrations of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary and India's 80th Independence Day present a striking contrast between the ways of God and the ways of the world—a contrast that is perhaps more relevant today than ever before. The Assumption is not merely a singular privilege accorded to Mary; it is a profound revelation of how God lovingly invites humanity into the gentle embrace of His will, and beckons us to become citizens of the heavenly Kingdom. It is a Kingdom that embodies, in perfect measure, the fullness of life, liberty and joy—an ideal that earthly kingdoms strive for, but too often fail to attain.

Nearly eight decades after attaining independence, India remains, in many respects, a project still in the making—a nation forever described as "developing." Our visionary founding fathers laid the indispensable foundations of this great republic, most notably through the Constitution, whose ideals continue to inspire generations. Successive Governments have built upon that legacy, ushering in remarkable progress on all fronts. Yet, beneath these undeniable achievements lies a troubling reality. The national project appears to be losing moral momentum—an aspirational Ferrari now running on fumes. Enlightened and progressive ideals are increasingly being eclipsed by narrow, self-serving political calculations, where the overriding objective is not the common good, but the acquisition and retention of power at any cost.

It is worth reflecting that while God gently invites us each day to become more fully the persons He created us to be, the world relentlessly imposes its material ambitions, ideological agendas and manufactured narratives upon us. The fruits of these opposing approaches could not be more different. God's invitation leads to freedom, communion and the joy of heaven. The world's impositions leave behind fractured societies, broken trust, war and violence, deepening inequalities, multifaceted poverty, crushed dreams, and a pervasive loss of hope.

The Assumption of Mary stands as the Gospel's enduring antidote to the failed political instincts of every age. It proclaims that God's plan for humanity is never imposed, but lovingly offered. In assuming Mary, body and soul, into heavenly glory, God reveals His ultimate desire for every human person: to share in the Resurrection of His Son, and attain the flourishing of our humanity in Him.

Mary spends her entire life saying "Yes" to God. At the close of her earthly pilgrimage, God, as it were, says "Yes" to Mary. The Assumption is God's loving affirmation of a lifetime of faithful discipleship. It echoes the words of Christ: "Well done, good and faithful servant... Come and share your master's happiness" (Mt 25:23). In Mary, we discover a God who never coerces, but always fulfils every promise made to those who trust in Him.

Mary's own hymn of praise, the Magnificat, reveals God's style of leadership with breathtaking clarity: "He has cast down the mighty from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly." Human politics often pursues greatness by climbing over others. God's Kingdom, however, exalts those who stoop to serve. Mary is never portrayed as seeking recognition or influence. She simply visits Elizabeth in loving service, nurtures Jesus with quiet fidelity, and remains steadfast beneath the Cross when others flee. Her humility becomes the path to her exaltation. In the Assumption, the Gospel proclaims the ultimate reversal of worldly politics: those who seek power are brought low, while those who surrender themselves to God are lifted high.

If India is truly to realise its promise of justice, development and happiness for all, it must recover this divine style of leadership. Invitation, not imposition, must become the hallmark of authentic governance. Yet today, far too much is being imposed upon ordinary citizens, particularly upon the vulnerable and marginalised: restrictive legislation such as the FCRA regulations and anti-conversion laws, hastily executed SIR drives, crushing inflation and an ever-growing tax burden, a compromised media landscape, politics bereft of ethics and public trust, the reckless destruction of the environment, unequal patterns of development, diminishing employment opportunities, and the relentless pressures of an increasingly stressful way of life. The list continues to grow.

Can India truly ascend to the pinnacle of greatness if her own people are not invited to become active participants and valued collaborators in her story? A nation flourishes not when its citizens are controlled, but when they are trusted; not when they are silenced, but when they are heard; not when they are manipulated, but when they are inspired to contribute to the common good.

The kingdoms of this world rise by imposing themselves upon others. The Kingdom of God grows through invitations freely embraced. As we celebrate both the Queen assumed into heaven and the freedom of our beloved nation, may we choose the path of invitation over imposition, of service over domination, and of love over fear.

Mary, Queen of Heaven and Earth, pray for India.

More Ars, Less Activity

Every year, on August 4, the Church celebrates the feast of St John Marie Vianney, the humble Curé of Ars and patron saint of all priests. In an age captivated by influence, visibility and measurable success, the life of this unassuming French priest offers a strikingly different vision of pastoral ministry. He did not build institutions, launch ambitious programmes or fill calendars with events. Instead, he transformed a village—and eventually inspired the world—through prayer, the confessional, the Eucharist, and the quiet, faithful accompaniment of God's people.

His life poses a timely question to the Church today: What does it mean to be an effective priest in the twenty-first century?

The question is all the more urgent because today's priest ministers in what leadership thinkers describe as a VUCA world—a world that is volatile, uncertain, complex and ambiguous. Society changes at dizzying speed. Artificial Intelligence, social media, migration, fractured families, economic uncertainty, mental health crises, political polarisation and increasing secularisation have altered the landscape of pastoral ministry. Priests are expected to be administrators, counsellors, communicators, financial managers, event organisers, social media influencers and community leaders, often all at once. Expectations continue to multiply, while vocations, in many places, continue to decline.

In such a climate, there is a real temptation to measure priestly effectiveness by activity. The busier the parish calendar, the greater the perceived success. Meetings, seminars, festivals, fund-raisers, youth programmes, committees and social initiatives have their place, and can bear much fruit. Yet, activity alone cannot be the measure of authentic pastoral ministry.

St John Vianney reminds us that the Church has always been renewed not by frenetic busyness, but by holy priests.

The Curé of Ars was no extraordinary organiser. He possessed neither remarkable academic brilliance nor charismatic eloquence. Yet, thousands travelled to the tiny village of Ars, because they encountered something increasingly rare: a priest completely given to God. He spent long hours before the Blessed Sacrament, preached simple but heartfelt sermons, celebrated the Eucharist with profound reverence, and dedicated himself tirelessly to the Sacrament of Reconciliation. His ministry flowed not from efficiency,, but from intimacy with Christ. That remains the enduring lesson for every priest today.

The answer to a VUCA world is not merely better management strategies or more sophisticated pastoral planning, important though these may be. The answer is priests whose interior life is deep enough to withstand the pressures of an increasingly distracted culture. A priest who does not first belong to God will eventually struggle to belong meaningfully to his people.

People today are not merely searching for information; they are searching for meaning. They do not simply need efficient administrators, but spiritual fathers. Amid the noise of endless opinions, they long to hear the Gospel proclaimed with conviction. Amid loneliness and anxiety, they seek someone who will listen without rushing, accompany without judging and remind them that God has not abandoned them. This is where St John Vianney speaks with remarkable relevance. His greatest pastoral strategy was presence—presence before God and presence with His people. From that double fidelity flowed everything else.

Pope Francis frequently reminded priests that shepherds must be close to God, close to their bishops, close to one another, and close to the people entrusted to them. Pope Leo XIV has likewise emphasised that authentic Christian leadership begins not with performance, but with communion—with Christ and with the faithful. Such closeness cannot be manufactured through programmes alone. It grows through prayer, availability and the patient ministry of accompaniment.

This does not diminish the importance of innovation or pastoral creativity. The Church must continue to engage new realities with imagination and courage. Digital evangelisation, youth outreach, ecological responsibility and social justice – all demand serious attention. But these initiatives bear lasting fruit only when rooted in the essentials of priestly identity.

Perhaps the Curé of Ars offers today's Church not a nostalgic return to the past, but a prophetic correction for the future. In an age obsessed with doing more, he reminds us first to become more. In a culture that rewards visibility, he points us towards holiness. The Church needs priests who are competent, creative and courageous. But above all, she needs priests who are contemplatives in action—men whose ministry is sustained by prayer, whose preaching springs from personal encounter with Christ, and whose lives testify that God remains the answer to humanity's deepest questions.

(collated from online sources)