Sunday, May 4, 2025
Via FB \\ "A Hindu man, Vinod Sekar, has written one of THE most moving and beautiful tributes every written for anyone... for the late Pope Francis." Shared by Shalini Tuscano.
"A Hindu man, Vinod Sekar, has written one of THE most moving and beautiful tributes every written for anyone... for the late Pope Francis." Shared by Shalini Tuscano.
The Loss of a Good Man: A Tribute to Pope Francis and the Power of Universal Faith
I only met Pope Francis once. It was brief. Just a few moments in a crowded room filled with dignitaries and seekers, some there out of duty, others out of belief. I was neither Catholic nor there on some divine pilgrimage. I was just a man in need of a little hope. And somehow, in that fleeting encounter, I received it.
It’s hard to explain without sounding overly romantic, but when you’re in the presence of someone truly good — not performatively good, not “publicly moral” or selectively kind — but genuinely, deeply, relentlessly good… something shifts in you. You feel lighter. You feel braver. You feel like humanity, for all its wounds and wickedness, is still worth fighting for.
That was the gift Pope Francis gave me. And I imagine, from the tears I’ve seen today and the aching silences of millions across faiths, races, and borders, that he gave that same gift to many.
Today, we mourn not just the passing of a Pope. We mourn the loss of one of the strongest chess pieces humanity had on this plain of existence.
He was a man who made kindness radical again. Who reminded the powerful that humility was not weakness. Who spoke of love not as doctrine but as duty. He was not just a religious man. He was something far more rare — he was universally spiritual.
I am a Hindu. My God wears different names. My prayers come in different rhythms. But I would have followed this man through fire. Because in his belief in God, he carried a belief in all of us. His eyes didn’t see denominations — they saw dignity. His voice, always soft but never weak, carried the weight of truth even when it unsettled the comfortable. Especially when it unsettled the comfortable.
This world has a way of chipping away at your soul. The noise, the greed, the hate, the empty rituals that masquerade as faith or patriotism or family values. It’s easy to go numb. It’s easy to give in to cynicism. But once in a while, someone comes along who reminds us that the better angels of our nature are still within reach. That goodness is still possible. That we don’t need to be perfect to do good — we just need to be brave.
Pope Francis was that man.
He chose love over doctrine. He chose compassion over judgment. And most remarkably, he chose action over applause. He walked with the poor. He knelt before the discarded. He challenged the powerful not with anger, but with moral courage. And he did all of this with a smile that felt like a prayer.
He understood something many religious leaders forget: that God doesn’t reside only in temples or churches or mosques. That holiness isn’t a place — it’s a way of living. A way of seeing others. A way of choosing kindness, over and over, even when it hurts.
So yes, today we mourn. I mourn. Not just for the Catholic world, but for all of us. Because when a man like this leaves, it feels like a light has been dimmed.
But maybe — just maybe — the way we honour him is by becoming the light ourselves.
Let us remember his faith in humanity, and let it fuel our own. Let us keep making the right chess moves in this complicated, brutal, beautiful game of life. Let us speak truth with grace. Let us protect the vulnerable, question the powerful, and lift each other up not because of who we are, but because we are here — together.
Pope Francis believed in a world where dignity wasn’t conditional. Where faith was lived, not just preached. That world can still exist — if we build it.
And maybe that’s the final gift he’s given us. A call not to despair, but to duty.
Because as long as we carry his belief in each other, then truly, he has not left us at all.
Vinod Sekhar
Via FB \\ Fear and Loathing: Closer to the Edge
EDITOR'S NOTE:
This sermon wasn’t delivered by Jesus Christ. Not literally. But in the wake of Donald Trump’s AI-generated photo posing as pope — just days after the death of Pope Francis — we couldn’t help but wonder: What would Jesus actually say about all this? Not the soft-focus, TV-pastor Jesus. The real one. The one who flipped tables, called out hypocrites, and warned the powerful to humble themselves or be humbled. If He saw Trump’s meme and JD Vance’s defense of it, this is what we imagine it might sound like..
JESUS SPEAKS:
I’m going to say this once — and clearly.
You are not the Pope.
You are not holy.
You are not even trying.
You are a man who mistook attention for anointing, applause for absolution, and Photoshop for the power of God.
I walked this earth with no throne, no title, no marketing team. I preached from boats, hillsides, and borrowed homes. I entered the city on a donkey, not a jet. When I wore white, it was linen. When I raised my hand, it was to heal — not to brand.
And now here you are — in robes you never earned, raising a finger you use for lawsuits, posing as a shepherd when you wouldn’t last five minutes with real sheep.
You don’t know the weight of that vestment. You couldn’t carry it. Not because it’s heavy, but because it’s honest.
And you, the man who defended him — you saw this circus, this mockery, this holy parody, and you said, “Well, I’m fine with jokes.”
Of course you are.
You’d be fine with golden calves if the lighting was good.
You’d be fine with selling prayer oil if the margins looked decent.
You would laugh in the courtyard while they hammered the nails — and then tweet about how misunderstood you are.
Let me be clear:
I’m not angry that you joked. I’m not afraid of jokes.
I invented irony.
I once said it’s easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter heaven — and you all thought I was talking about actual camels.
What offends me is the hollow theater.
What offends me is using death as a costume change.
What offends me is borrowing the symbols of a sacred calling to prop up a brand.
You didn’t honor Pope Francis.You hijacked his funeral and made it a campaign stop.
You saw the smoke rising from St. Peter’s and thought,
“What if it spelled my name?”
You turned mourning into marketing.
You turned Truth into Truth Social.
You turned the papacy into a punchline — and then dared the grieving to laugh.
You have confused virality with divinity.
You think because millions saw it, it must matter.
Let me tell you something about crowds:
I had them too.
They shouted my name.
And then they shouted for my execution.
Crowds are not disciples.
Retweets are not resurrection.
And memes are not miracles.
You want to wear the robe? Try washing feet.
You want the ring? Feed the poor.
You want to lead? Start by kneeling.And not on a golf green.
You treat the Church like a prop.
You hold up Bibles like trophies.
You speak of faith like it’s a flavor of ice cream.
Something to sample, then discard.
Let me ask you something:
Would you recognize me if I came back tomorrow?
Or would you photoshop me too?
Would I be the radical you ignore?
The refugee you deport?
The poor man you step over?
Would you accuse me of socialism for flipping your tables?
Would you call me “woke” for feeding the hungry?
Would you say, “He’s not very presidential”?
Here’s what I want to say to you, both of you, all of you who stood by that image — who reposted it, excused it, laughed with it,who turned My Father’s house into a punchline:
Get out.
Get out of My house with your photo ops.
Get out of My name with your merch drops.
Get out of My Gospel with your golden thrones and grievance theater.
The robe does not sanctify you.
The likes do not absolve you.
The silence of your pastors does not protect you.
You stood at the altar of your own ego and called it church.
I have seen enough.
And when the time comes, when the veil tears and the stage lights fall…
Do not say you weren’t warned.
Because I told you.
I told you loudly.
I told you clearly.
I told you with love, yes — but this time, with volume:
You are not the Pope.
You are not the truth.
And I do not know you.
Via The New York Times \\\ The Morning
‘Believing’ and belonging
 | I spent the past year reporting on how we believe now. |
Last week, Dwight from “The Office” called me to talk about God.
Almost. It was the actor who played Dwight, Rainn Wilson. He’d read my essay that launched “Believing,” a project on how people find meaning in their lives — in religion, spirituality or anywhere. He’d written a best-selling book on the topic, one that was so self-aware and funny I actually laughed out loud. He just wanted to connect.
That seems to be a theme.
Since I published “Believing,” I’ve heard from thousands of Morning readers. Everyone has a story to share about belief, no matter how they come at the topic. My inbox is now a microcosm of the internet: MAGA bros, professors, wellness influencers, theologians, climate activists, pop psychologists, grandmothers and a source who sent me an unpublished letter from Pope Francis. I heard from people across America and around the world, including Brazil, New Zealand and Saudi Arabia. In the messages, a clear trend emerged that unites this very disparate group: People crave meaningful connection.
In “Believing,” I explained that religion offers people three B’s: beliefs about the world, behaviors to follow and belonging in a community or culture. Readers seized on the last one. They said they wanted to belong — in rich, profound and sustained ways.
It makes sense. A major, global study recently released by Harvard and Baylor universities affirmed what so much other data has shown: People flourish — they live happier, healthier and better lives — if they have strong social connections. It also found that religions, for all their reputational baggage, can provide people with robust communities.
The power of belonging
In “Believing,” I shared that I once belonged to a strong community — that I was raised Mormon in Arkansas but that I have since left the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It was vulnerable and weird and hard for me to talk about. Still, it seemed to be a catalyst for connection.
Soon, my inbox was filled with personal stories.
“She began with a personal testament of her own loss of faith, so forgive me if I too bare my soul,” Richard Dawkins, the famous advocate for atheism, replied in a letter to my article.
I heard from Orthodox, secular and Messianic Jews; Catholics, lapsed and practicing; Muslims; Southern Baptists; Unitarian Universalists; Quakers; and Zen Buddhists. I heard from devotees of Alcoholics Anonymous and a secular-humanist organization in Houston. “I also grew up deeply faithful, as the son of a Presbyterian Minister,” the Rev. Duncan Newcomer wrote. “I had a deep love, like you, of the whole thing.”
People said very little about God. The topic was simply a gateway to people’s most intimate worlds: childhoods, divorces, diagnoses, deathbed diary entries, unforgetten books and poems and passages. Bill Goodykoontz, from Maine, encouraged me to research “thin places” — spots in the world where people say they can feel something beyond themselves.
All the messages point to something bigger.
A structural issue
People need to be in strong communities to flourish, defined as being in a state where all aspects of their lives are good. That’s what the Global Flourishing Study found last week. People are more likely to flourish in countries like Indonesia and the Philippines, where people report finding more meaning or purpose in their lives, than those in many more-developed nations. “The negative relationship between meaning and gross domestic product per capita is particularly striking,” they wrote. “We may need a reconsideration of spiritual pathways to well-being.”
Kelsey Osgood, an author who was raised without religion, knows this. She converted to Orthodox Judaism in adulthood. She said people in her community offer support to one another reflexively — when someone is sick, hospitalized, grieving. “Everybody knows exactly what to do. Everybody knows where to go. You know what to say,” she said. Osgood said this makes the more taxing elements of religious practice “worth it” to her.
The inverse is also true. When people feel exiled from their religious community — because of their politics, their sexuality or their beliefs — they often lose entire worlds. The grief that follows can be comprehensive. Many people stay away from faith communities, often for good.
Others decide to come back, which seems to be contributing to the pause of secularization in America. Robert Stempkowski, a 62-year-old writer in Michigan, sent me a 36-page document about his journey with belief. He described a time when he was “shooting himself in the foot” as a “failed husband, absentee father and a drunken, former restaurant critic,” he said. “I was out of bullets and bylines.” He ultimately found his way back to church.
I responded to his email and expressed my sincere gratitude that he took the time to write.
He replied: “Thanks for letting me share.”
Want to receive the next installment of “Believing” in your inbox? Sign up here.
Via Dhamma Wheel | Right Mindfulness and Concentration: Establishing Mindfulness of Mind and the Third Jhāna
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