The Unfolding Me

Today the Church celebrates Peter and Paul—two towering apostles—on the same day. One was impulsive, broken, restored; the other was brilliant, relentless, converted. One denied, the other persecuted. Both became martyrs. Both laid down their lives for love. Two pillars of the Church. But what if we imagined their mission not in the comforting glow of stained glass but in the harsh fluorescent lights of a place like Squid Games? As for those who are not aware of Squid Games, a popular series on Netflix, it follows desperate individuals who enter a deadly competition of childhood games for a massive cash prize. Beneath the surface, it’s a dark critique of capitalism, survival, and human dignity. The players are forced to choose between betrayal and compassion in a system rigged for blood. At first glance, it seems outrageous. How could the violent world of Netflix’s Squid Game—a dystopian death-match fuelled by debt, greed, and manipulation—have anything to do with the apost...

As I kneel before the altar on this solemn Feast of Corpus Christi, I gaze intently at the consecrated host held high by the priest. The silence of the church is sacred, yet within me there stirs a sacred conversation—a silent but powerful exchange between my soul and my Savior. “Do you believe this is Me?” I hear Him ask, not with accusation but with love. Yes, Lord, I believe. I have not seen with my eyes, but what my faith tells me is true: that the bread and wine become your Body and Blood. The substance is changed, even if the appearance remains the same. When I receive You in the Eucharist, I am not just remembering a past event—I am encountering the living Christ, truly present. I believe... help my unbelief. Each time the priest lifts the host, my heart should leap in adoration. But sometimes I’m distracted. I wonder: Where is my focus during this moment, the very pinnacle of our faith? Is it on You, Lord, or on my devotions, my duties, my fatigue?   When I con...

If I were a salesman—let’s say, selling luxury car or the latest phone—I’d be all in. Smiling wide, shaking hands, wearing that irritatingly bright blazer, I’d pitch the product like my life depended on it. Why? Because there’s commission, perks, and prestige. A sale is a step up. Every “yes” is a personal triumph. And if I get to the top of the leaderboard? Champagne and applause! Now switch scenes. Baptism. I was signed up—commissioned, even—to proclaim the Kingdom of God. But here’s the funny part: No blazer. No mic. No crowd. No “Employee of the Month” board at church. Just… silence. And yet, the reward? Eternal life, joy that doesn’t expire, peace that politicians can’t trademark, and love that doesn’t need a subscription. And still, I hesitate. In John 16:12–15, Jesus says something radical: “When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all the truth.” It's like getting a top-notch marketing strategist thrown in—free. But we ignore Him. Because let’...

When we lose our keys or a precious belonging, many of us instinctively whisper a prayer to St. Anthony of Padua. But beyond helping us find lost items, perhaps St. Anthony is gently guiding us to find what we’ve really misplaced—our gaze on Jesus. Born Fernando in Lisbon in 1195, St. Anthony’s life was not charted by grand ambition but by deep surrender. Much like the prophet Jeremiah, who trembled when called to speak (“Ah, Lord God! Behold, I do not know how to speak, for I am only a youth.” – Jer 1:6), Anthony, too, was initially hidden in humility. His first public preaching came unexpectedly in 1222 when no one else volunteered. Out of the blue, the Holy Spirit stirred. And Anthony, like Jeremiah, opened his mouth—and fire came out. That moment defined a man whose heart was already aflame with divine love. His brilliance as a preacher, teacher, and miracle-worker wasn’t rooted in ego but in surrender. Pope Pius XII rightly called him the “Evangelical Doctor,” not beca...

The room is dim, quiet, and heavy with breathless anticipation. I am there—hidden among the disciples, tucked behind John, near the window that barely lets in the morning light. My heart beats fast, echoing like a drum in my chest. Fear? Maybe. Or perhaps, a holy kind of longing. The air is still, but charged. Every face carries the wear of grief and confusion, yet strangely, an ember of hope. “He told us to wait,” Peter whispers, more to himself than anyone. And so, we wait. And then… it happens. A sound roars through the room— not of this world —a wind without warning. It’s not cold, not warm, just… alive. My hair lifts. My lungs gasp. The walls tremble, but no one runs. We are too stunned, too caught in the awe of it. And then—flames. Not flames that consume, but flames that choose. One by one, they rest on each head, as if kissing us awake. I feel something stir above me, and then… it touches me too. Fire. But it doesn’t burn. It ignites . Something ancient yet utte...

A Gentle Reckoning with the Ghosts of the Past On the windswept, secluded shores of Wallis Island, a weary folk musician named Herb McGwyer arrives expecting to perform for a few fans—only to discover the performance is meant for one man, Charles, an eccentric superfan and two-time lottery winner. What unfolds is a quiet, soulful journey of confrontation, loss, music, and memory. Unexpectedly reunited with Nell, his former partner in both music and love, Herb is thrust into an emotional reckoning neither fame nor nostalgia could delay any longer. James Griffiths’ The Ballad of Wallis Island is no mere quirky comedy; it is a poetic meditation on time’s passage, the wounds we bury, and the Spirit that hovers over our brokenness. The film’s sea-lashed solitude mirrors the disciples’ fear in the upper room—caught between grief and hope, between Good Friday and Pentecost. And like those early believers, Herb must sit in the ache of unhealed memories before any renewa...