Still a Part of the Body

“For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven.”

Ecclesiastes 3:1

A couple of months ago, I attended a Jesus Youth program—not to speak, not to lead, but just to be present. I sat quietly in one of the back rows. Not everyone knew who I was. And the few who did, seemed unsure how to include me. I understood. The songs were different. The leaders were new. The rhythm of the gathering had changed.

Still, I was at home. Because this was the same Jesus Youth Movement that shaped me.

Years ago, I was a campus leader, running from college to college, town to town—organising gatherings, reaching out to new places, sharing Christ. Later came years of coordination—regional, national, and international. There were meetings, programs, conferences, mentoring, and moments of grace.

But now, I hold no official responsibility in Jesus Youth. My name is no longer part of any councils or teams. And that is okay.

Because I am still a Jesus Youth.

Along the way, I have met others like me. People who once carried major responsibilities—leaders, organisers, fulltime volunteers—who now find themselves wondering how they can still belong. On the other side, I have seen young leaders, full of passion and commitment, who sometimes do not know how to connect with those who once led the way. They are not wrong or unkind. They are simply unsure.

This gap is real—but it is not a wall. It can be a bridge.

Those of us who have walked earlier roads do not always need titles or tasks. But we do long for belonging. We still carry the fire. What if we created spaces where forerunners felt welcomed, where they could be consulted and even help as mentors? What if we built forums—small but meaningful—where their stories, struggles, and insights found room?

Let the wisdom of experience meet the energy of the present.

To those holding leadership today: You do not carry the burden alone. You are standing on the shoulders of many who came before you. Some of those shoulders may be sitting quietly at the back, not drawing attention, but still cheering. Reach out. Not to hand over, but to walk together. Ask for guidance. Show respect for their journey. Learn from both their victories and their mistakes.

You may be surprised by how much light they can still bring.

Leadership in Jesus Youth is not about power. It is about love, service, and walking with others. Titles will change, seasons will shift, but the mission remains.

I no longer coordinate. But I still carry the DNA.

I may not be on the frontlines. But I still pray.

I may not travel as often. But I still intercede.

I may not lead teams. But I still want to belong.

This is still our home, even if our role has changed. And we must allow the young to carry the torch with courage and clarity. Let us grow together—with patience, trust, and love.

We are one body. And every part still matters. 

Different, Not Divided

"If one part suffers, every part suffers with it; if one part is honoured, every part rejoices with it. Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it."

1 Corinthians 12:26–27 

It was during a recent trip to one of those cities where chaos and charm seem to co-exist on every street. I was there for a few academic errands. My schedule was tight, but I managed to catch up with a few people over a quiet dinner. 

At the table sat a young Jesus Youth, brimming with energy and curiosity. We exchanged the usual pleasantries—family, mission stories, the weather and so on. And then came the question, right between the dal and the dessert:

"What do you think about the groupism problem in [another] region?" I paused. It caught me off guard—not because I had never heard such things, but because neither of us had any direct involvement in that place. It felt strangely out of place—like commenting on a fire in someone else’s house while ours was still under renovation. 

I smiled and replied, “But your region is free from groupism.”

Her face lit up—almost too quickly.

Then I added, “That is because there are no groups.”

Now I had her attention. 

I explained, “Groupism becomes visible only when you have diversity—when people from different schools of thought, styles and spiritual expressions begin to share space. If everyone looks, thinks, and prays the same way, of course it feels peaceful. But is that peace… or just sameness?” 

We often think that differences are the problem. But I believe the real challenge is not in diversity itself, but in how we choose to live with it. 

St. Paul uses a striking image in his letter to the Corinthians—the Church as a body with many parts. Imagine if the body were made up only of elbows or only of eyes. Not only would it be strange, it would not function. It is like a football team made up only of strikers—no defenders, no goalkeeper, no balance. It might look exciting for a moment, but it would fall apart quickly.
Unity is not sameness. It is harmony among difference. 

In my experience, every healthy spiritual community goes through this tension at some point. The planner might struggle with the dreamer. The spontaneous may test the patience of the structured. The logical thinker may find it hard to relate to the highly creative. The quiet intercessor may not fully understand the expressive missionary. 

Language, region, background—these differences are real. But they are not signs of dysfunction. They are signs of life. 

When we fail to welcome diversity, we do not build community—we build clubs. Closed circles. Spaces where only a few feel at home. That is not what Jesus had in mind. 

Inclusiveness is not optional. It is part of the Gospel itself. Look at the people Jesus called: a tax collector, a zealot, fishermen, women with wounded pasts, scholars and the poor. He built a team destined for misunderstanding. Yet, through surrender, they became a united force. 

As a movement, Jesus Youth has always attracted a wide range of people. And with that comes the gift—and the test—of diversity. It is easier to work with those who think like us. But growth happens when we learn to work with those who stretch us. 

Conflicts may come. That is normal. What matters is how we respond. Do we withdraw into our comfort zones? Or do we take the harder path of dialogue, patience and grace?

So perhaps the question is not “How do we avoid groupism?” but rather: How can we grow in maturity to handle diversity well? Am I contributing to unity or just preferring uniformity? Am I building spaces that welcome others—or just those who look, think and does like me?

In the Body of Christ, every part matters. Even the messy ones. Let us not fear the differences. Let us learn to love through them.

Do Not Be Afraid: Weapons Down, Hands Lifted

"Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not be afraid."

John 14:27

Over the past few months, every time I scroll through news updates, my heart feels heavy. The headlines are riddled with conflict—wars that seem endless, innocent lives displaced and a world increasingly fractured along lines of politics, power and pain. In moments like these, a quiet fear begins to grow: What kind of world are we living in? And what can I possibly do?

This verse from the Gospel of John returns to me with gentle strength. It is not a command barked from a distant God, but a whisper from a Saviour who knows suffering, betrayal and violence first-hand—and still chooses to speak peace. Do not be afraid, He says.

I remember a few years ago when I felt completely overwhelmed—not by global wars, but by battles within. The pressure of responsibilities, the unrest of decisions and the ache of unanswered prayers had left me numbed. I remember kneeling down, not to fight, but to surrender. And there, in the quiet, with no words left to pray, I lifted my hands—and found peace.

This reflection is not about ignoring the chaos or pretending all is well. It is about a different kind of posture: one where we dare to lower our weapons—of anxiety, control, judgement—and lift our hands in prayer and surrender. This, too, is a form of warfare. Not the kind that wounds, but the kind that heals.

Saint John Paul II once said, “Prayer joined to sacrifice constitutes the most powerful force in human history.” That line stays with me. It reminds me that intercession is not passive—it is active love. When we weep for the world in prayer, when we offer our time before the Blessed Sacrament, when we choose peace in our relationships despite tension, we are contributing to the healing of the world in a way that heaven alone fully understands.

I am also reminded of the words of Pope Francis—words that feel even more precious now, just a few months since his passing. He often urged us to become “artisans of peace.” That phrase captures so much. An artisan creates patiently, carefully, and quietly—often without recognition. And so it is with peacemakers. We may never see the full fruit of our efforts, but we trust that God is at work through us.

Jesus Youth, by nature and charism, is a missionary movement—but it is also deeply contemplative. It is this rhythm of kneeling and going that has sustained our missionary spirit through changing times. Today, more than ever, the world does not just need activists. It needs intercessors. People who carry the burden of the world into the presence of God—not with fear, but with faith.

Weapons down. Hands lifted. That is how we fight—this is how we bring peace. But now, perhaps the deeper questions are:

Am I still choosing to be troubled, when Christ offers His peace? Am I willing to put down the weapons of fear, pride or bitterness—and take up the posture of intercession?

And in the midst of a broken world, can I still believe that my quiet prayer matter.