To the untrained observer reading a litany of Western media coverage on India under Prime Minister Narendra Modi, one could be forgiven for imagining the nation teetering on the brink of some dystopian, majoritarian nightmare. Tales of "Hindu nationalism," an alleged "persecution" of religious minorities, and ominous declarations of a democracy in decline dominate the headlines. Yet these portrayals, written often with the moral self-assurance of distant commentators, betray not only an ignorance of India’s complex socio-political fabric but also a lack of nuance essential for understanding a country that embraced diversity as a value, long before it became fashionable in the West. It is a curious conceit of the modern West to imagine that diversity and tolerance are their inventions, virtues exported to less enlightened parts of the world. India’s embrace of diversity is not a late-blooming flower nurtured by modern ideals of Western liberalism. Long before the Enlightenment's tidy theories of tolerance, India had already evolved a civilisational ethos of coexistence. Unlike Western notions of tolerance, which often rest on the begrudging acceptance of difference, India’s pluralism is rooted in the Vedic worldview that sees all faiths as valid paths to the divine. This is not mere theoretical largesse but a lived reality: one sees it in the coexistence of Hindu temples, Muslim mosques, and Sikh gurdwaras that dot the same streets; in the shared traditions of festivals like Eid and Diwali, celebrated with equal fervour by neighbours of different creeds. Indian diversity, unlike its Western counterpart, is not an intellectual exercise but an organic phenomenon, woven into the nation’s cultural DNA. To equate such a heritage with the West’s belated and often reluctant embrace of diversity is to commit an intellectual disservice of the highest order. It is a peculiar irony that India, home to 200 million Muslims—roughly 15% of its population and a number greater than those that live in any Islamic country barring Indonesia and Pakistan—can simultaneously be cast as a nation oppressive to its minorities. This is not to say that prejudice does not exist; it would be foolish to pretend otherwise. But prejudice is not the same as systemic injustice, and the individual prejudices of citizens cannot be laid at the feet of a government without credible evidence of institutional discrimination. The distinction is both subtle and vital, one too often disregarded in fevered reportage. One of the greatest errors of modern commentary lies in its tendency to conflate prejudice with systemic discrimination, as if the former, by its mere presence, is irrefutable evidence of the latter. This intellectual shortcut, while emotionally satisfying to those who seek clear villains and victims in their narratives, is both dangerous and misleading. In India, as elsewhere, prejudice exists. A Hindu shopkeeper may harbour distrust of his Muslim neighbour, or a Muslim teacher may look askance at a Hindu pupil. These instances, regrettable though they are, are products of individual minds, shaped by history, experience, or misinformation. They are not, however, enshrined in India’s institutions, its laws, or its governance. The Constitution of India, one of the most ambitious experiments in democracy and pluralism, guarantees equality to all its citizens, irrespective of caste, creed, or religion. It explicitly safeguards the rights of minorities, not as an afterthought but as a cornerstone of the nation’s identity. The constitutional guarantees of India must be the first port of call for any such analysis. Articles 14 to 25 of the Indian Constitution enshrine equality before the law, protection of religious freedoms, and the right to practice, propagate, and manage religious institutions. These are not mere words on paper; they are actively upheld by a judiciary that has often shown remarkable independence, even when challenging the government of the day. For example, in 2019, the Supreme Court struck down the controversial Section 66A of the IT Act for curbing freedom of speech, signaling the judiciary's autonomy. India’s laws are blind to faith in matters of justice, employment, and opportunity, and any exceptions—such as those relating to personal laws governing marriage and inheritance for religious minorities—are explicitly designed to protect cultural autonomy rather than to diminish rights. Critics often point to tragic incidents of mob violence or communal tensions as evidence of systemic discrimination. Yet to do so is to mistake the shadow for the substance. A mob is not an institution; its actions, no matter how heinous, do not represent state policy. For one, the rate of communal violence has not significantly risen under Modi’s tenure.. In fact, the National Crime Records Bureau (NCRB) data indicates that communal violence accounted for less than 0.3% of all crimes recorded in India in 2020. Additionally, the period from 2014 to 2020 under Modi's administration witnessed a decline in the number of communal incidents compared to previous decades. To extrapolate a national crisis from such statistics reveals more about the writer’s intent than about India’s reality. Furthermore, claims that life as a religious minority in India, especially a Muslim, is inherently dangerous are undermined by the socioeconomic data. Muslims, as do other minorities, while undeniably facing challenges that merit attention, have access to the same legal recourse, educational opportunities, and entrepreneurial freedom as any other community. The Sachar Committee report of 2006 revealed disparities in development outcomes for Muslims, but this was hardly evidence of state-sanctioned discrimination; rather, it highlighted poverty that transcends religious lines. A subsequent survey by the Pew Research Center in 2021 showed that 89% of Indian Muslims believe they are free to practice their religion, a sentiment echoed by other minority groups. Consider also the political representation of minorities in India. Muslims occupy prominent roles in governance, the judiciary, and civil society. India has had a Muslim President, A.P.J. Abdul Kalam, who was one of the nation’s greatest scientists, not to mention a most beloved and respected figure across the political spectrum. Today, Muslim legislators sit in Parliament, and states like Kerala and Jammu & Kashmir have witnessed Muslim Chief Ministers. These are hardly the hallmarks of a nation bent upon marginalising its minorities. The argument that Prime Minister Modi is responsible for creating a climate of intolerance ignores the inconvenient reality that Indian politics has long been marked by communal tensions predating his administration. It also lacks credible evidence and often relies on anecdotal exaggerations or ideological presuppositions. Indeed, to reduce a complex, multifaceted society of over a billion people to the actions or policies of a single leader betrays a woeful lack of understanding of Indian democracy. Modi, whose administration has prioritised economic reforms and technological progress, governs a country where elections remain fiercely contested, the press operates with relative freedom, and power transitions occur seamlessly. Autocrats do not typically tolerate such hallmarks of democratic vitality. To imagine that Modi’s tenure has been entirely without blemish would be as naive as it would be dishonest. Indeed, Modi has no shortage of critics, and some of their charges—such as concerns over the concentration of power in the hands of specific people in his administration or the economic hardships caused by demonetisation—hold undeniable merit. In fact, the robust debate that ensues is a testament to the vibrancy of India’s democracy. Yet the accusation that his governance has ushered in a systematic persecution of minorities is not among these legitimate critiques. Modi’s governance, for all its flaws, operates within the checks and balances of India’s robust democratic framework, a far cry from the autocratic tendencies he is often accused of. If his critics are to be taken seriously, they must distinguish between legitimate concerns and ideologically driven hyperbole, for conflating the two only serves to dilute the credibility of their argument. To be sure, India faces challenges of integration, inequality, and communal harmony. But it is a testament to its democratic resilience that such challenges are met not with silence but with vigorous debate, judicial oversight, and grassroots activism. The notion that India is becoming a Hindu nationalist state where minorities live in constant fear is a projection born of ideological bias, not empirical evidence. It serves not to illuminate India’s truths but to satisfy the appetites of those who find it fashionable to decry the world’s largest democracy as regressive or intolerant. The desire of one civilisation to sit in judgment over another is not new; it has roots as deep as humanity’s earliest encounters between the "self" and the "other." Yet, there is something particularly insidious in the modern manifestation of this tendency: a sanctimonious civilisational overreach that cloaks itself in the rhetoric of universal human rights while often failing to see its own limitations. Civilisational overreach arises when one culture presumes the universality of its norms and ideals, projecting them onto societies with vastly different histories, values, and realities. India, with its vast, complex, and ancient civilisation, defies such simplistic interpretations. A country that accommodates over 1.4 billion people, speaking hundreds of languages and practising every major religion known to humanity, cannot be reduced to the tidy categories of Western political discourse: "oppressed minorities," "majoritarianism," or "authoritarianism." Consider, for example, the Western critique of India's application of secularism. These criticisms often hinge on the presumption that secularism must mirror the rigid separation of church and state seen in Western democracies. The secularism of India, unlike its Western counterpart, does not stem from a historical confrontation with religious absolutism but rather from the necessity of managing a society of unparalleled diversity. India, by design and necessity, has developed a unique form of secularism—one that actively engages with religion rather than excluding it. Consider, for instance, the government subsidies for the Hajj pilgrimage for Muslims or the administration of Hindu temples by state bodies in order to ensure accessibility to all castes—arrangements that would scandalise the rigidly secular West but are deemed essential in India to maintain balance among communities. The Indian state, far from pretending religion does not exist, acknowledges its omnipresence and accommodates it with a pragmatism that would bewilder those schooled only in Western doctrines of irreligious governance. To judge India’s secularism by Western standards, as foreign commentators frequently do, is an act of civilisational overreach. It fails to grasp that India's history is not one of Enlightenment-era rationalism but of coexistence amidst diversity. The Indian experiment does not aim to erase differences but to weave them into the fabric of national life. It is an approach born of necessity, not ideology, and it reflects an understanding that rigid uniformity is unworkable in a land as pluralistic as India. The deeper irony is that this civilisational overreach often operates under the guise of protecting minorities, as if India’s people are incapable of grappling with their own challenges or as if they need the moral guidance of foreign powers to shape their destiny. That this attitude persists in a world ostensibly committed to equality among nations is both troubling and revealing. In seeking to critique India, foreign observers would do well to remember that no nation is immune to prejudice or discord. To imagine otherwise is to indulge in a dangerous form of exceptionalism, one that absolves one’s own society of its flaws while amplifying those of others. And for all its imperfections, India remains a vibrant, pluralistic, and fundamentally democratic nation—one far more complex than the caricature so often drawn by distant pens.

A new survey from the Dublin Chamber of Commerce (DCC) finds that a lack of affordable childcare affects employers’ ability to attract new employees. Aebhric Mc Gibney of DCC was interviewed on Morning Ireland about the survey, and as usual no consideration was given to all the parents of young children, especially mothers, who would prefer to mind their children at home rather than put them in daycare. It is like the referendums of last March never happened. The latest ‘Business Outlook Survey’ by the DCC found that childcare challenges impact almost nine-in-ten (88pc) businesses to some degree. Childcare availability and costs affect workforce participation and productivity, as employees struggle to balance work commitments with parental responsibilities, says the DCC. The DCC has asked the next Government to prioritise a public model of childcare. “Moving to a public model will be critical for ensuring a steady supply of affordable, quality childcare and building a more sustainable and diverse labour market,” said Mia Finnegan, Public Affairs Executive at Dublin Chamber. Nonetheless, while employers’ concerns about childcare availability and costs are valid in their own narrow way, they should not be the sole determinant in shaping childcare policies. A survey commissioned by The Iona Institute last year, and conducted by Amarach Research, revealed that more than two-thirds (69pc) of mothers with children under 18 would prefer to stay at home with their children if financial circumstances allowed. Furthermore, 76pc of these mothers feel that women who work in the home are undervalued by society. These findings suggest a strong inclination among mothers towards full-time caregiving, provided economic conditions are favourable. We can’t expect employers to care too much about this very large group. They want everyone out working, after all, because that helps their businesses. But it can’t be the only consideration for Government policy in this area. According to the DCC survey, companies are trying to accommodate the needs of employees who are also parents in various ways. For example, 74pc offer remote work options and/or providing flexible working hours (70pc) arrangements. Over a third (36pc) allow part-time work or reduced hours for parents with childcare needs, while 31pc offer paid parental leave or additional leave options. While businesses may advocate for enhanced public daycare services to support working parents, it is also crucial to acknowledge and respect the desires of many mothers and fathers to prioritise home-based caregiving. Part-time work, reduced hours and additional leaves would allow those who want to continue to be employed to balance their work and parental responsibilities. A public model of childcare would not suit every family. Childcare policies should strive to accommodate the diverse needs and preferences of parents, and to repeat, the demands of employers cannot be the decisive factor in the debate about childcare. A comprehensive strategy that considers the preferences and needs of parents, particularly mothers, is essential for creating a supportive environment for all families.

Falling fertility rates are propelling the major economies toward a major reckoning, according to a new study by the McKinsey Global Institute, one of the world’s leading management consulting firms. As the report, entitled “Dependency and Depopulation? Confronting the Consequences of a New Demographic Reality” confirms, a huge and growing portion of the global population now resides in countries where fertility rates have fallen well below the replacement threshold of 2.1 children per woman. In Ireland, it is currently at 1.5. Only in sub-Saharan Africa are fertility rates still well above replacement level. This trend indicates that, by the end of the century, several major economies could witness population reductions ranging from 20pc to 50pc. For instance, China’s population has been decreasing year on year, with a reduction of 1.4 million in 2024 alone, and in 2100 will have less than half of the current population. Like the rest of East Asia, China does not want mass immigration to help alleviate the problem. However, even if China were to try this approach, there are simply not enough people in the world who can come to China and balance out its population decline between now and the end of the century. The big decline in fertility rates is creating a growing unbalance between generations. With families shrinking in size almost everywhere, for the first time in history a sharply declining number of young people will have to support for a fast growing cohort of older people who are not working. The report calls “first wave economies” those regions that are at the forefront of experiencing demographic shifts associated with declining fertility and ageing populations. In what it calls ‘Advanced Asia’ (Australia, Japan, New Zealand, Singapore, and South Korea), ‘Greater China’ (Mainland China, Hong Kong, Macau and Taiwan) and ‘Western Europe’, there were 6.8 working-age individuals for every person over 65 years in 1997. Today this ratio is 3.9 to 1 and by 2050 it will fall to just two working age people for every retiree. These changes pose challenges for economies traditionally reliant on a robust working-age demographic to support economic growth and social welfare systems. To counteract this growing imbalance between the workers and those who depend on them – the McKinsey report claims – these countries would need to amplify productivity growth by two to four times the current rates or encourage individuals to work an additional one to five hours weekly. Moreover, retirement systems may require adjustments, potentially directing up to 50pc of labour income to cover the increasing gap between the financial needs and the income of the elderly population. In confronting the consequences of demographic change, societies enter uncharted waters, according to the report. “Even if global fertility rates were to jump overnight to the replacement rate, it would take 20 years, give or take, for those additional babies to become adults and begin contributing to economic growth through work”, the report notes. The bad news is that no country so far has been able to return to replacement levels after falling below. The report suggests that migration can play a role in addressing labour shortages but only for a short period of time because many developing countries, which currently supply a large share of migrants, are expected to experience their own demographic transitions, leading to reduced migration flows in the long term.

How do Catholic Easter celebrations differ from Protestant ones? The celebration of Easter, commemorating Christ's resurrection from the dead, stands as the pinnacle of the liturgical year for all Christians. While Catholics and Protestantsshare the fundamental joy of this feast, the manner of celebration reflects distinct theological emphases and historical developments that have shaped these traditions. The Catholic celebration of Easter is characterized by its rich liturgical expression, particularly evident in the Easter Triduum—Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and the Easter Vigil. This three-day observance forms an integrated whole, inviting the faithful into a powerful journey that mirrors Christ's passage from death to life. The Easter Vigil on Holy Saturday night stands as the most solemn and major liturgy of the year, beginning in darkness with the blessing of new fire and the Paschal candle, symbolizing Christ as the light of the world. The Exsultet, an ancient hymn of praise, then proclaims the mystery of salvation history culminating in Christ's resurrection. A distinctive element of Catholic Easter celebration is the emphasis on sacramental participation. The Easter Vigil traditionally includes the initiation of new members into the Church through Baptism, Confirmation, and First Eucharist. This sacramental dimension reflects the Catholic understanding that through these sacred signs, the faithful are truly incorporated into Christ's death and resurrection. Protestant Easter celebrations, while equally centered on Christ's resurrection, often place greater emphasis on the proclamation of the Word. The sermon typically occupies a more central place in Protestant worship, focusing on the theological significance of the resurrection and its implications for Christian life. While many Protestant denominations have recovered elements of liturgical tradition in recent decades, there remains a tendency toward greater simplicity in ritual expression. The Catholic celebration is also distinguished by its connection to a continuous tradition of Easter observance stretching back to the early Church. The use of incense, holy water, and elaborate vestments creates a multi-sensory experience that engages the whole person in worship. Protestant celebrations, influenced by Reformation concerns about excessive ritual, may emphasize more direct engagement with Scripture and congregational participation through communal singing. Another notable difference lies in the preparatory season. While both traditions observe Lent, Catholics typically maintain more elaborate penitential practices and liturgical distinctions during this period. The dramatic contrast between Lenten austerity and Easter abundance heightens the joy of the resurrection celebration in Catholic practice. Despite these differences, it is important to recognize the growing convergence in how Easter is celebrated across Christian traditions. Many Protestant communities have reclaimed liturgical elements once abandoned, while Catholic celebrations increasingly emphasize the centrality of Scripture. This liturgical cross-fertilization reflects a deeper recognition that in celebrating Christ's resurrection, all Christians participate in the same fundamental mystery of faith that transcends denominational boundaries.What happens during Holy Week in Catholic churches? Holy Week in Catholic churches unfolds as a powerful spiritual journey that invites the faithful to walk with Christ through the final days of His earthly life. This sacred time begins with Palm Sunday and culminates in the Easter Triduum—the three days that form the summit of the liturgical year. Palm Sunday opens Holy Week with a distinctive liturgy commemorating Christ's triumphant entry into Jerusalem. The celebration typically begins outside the church with the blessing of palm branches, followed by a procession where the faithful carry these palms, echoing the crowds who welcomed Jesus with "Hosanna!" The stark contrast between this joyful beginning and the reading of the Passion narrative later in the same liturgy sets the emotional and theological tone for the week ahead. Monday through Wednesday of Holy Week feature daily Masses that include readings prophetically pointing toward Christ's suffering. In many dioceses, the Chrism Mass is celebrated on Tuesday or Thursday, during which the bishop blesses the holy oils used throughout the year for Baptism, Confirmation, Holy Orders, and Anointing of the Sick. This liturgy powerfully expresses the unity of the local church gathered around its bishop. The Easter Triduum begins with the evening Mass of the Lord's Supper on Holy Thursday. This solemn liturgy commemorates Christ's institution of the Eucharist and the priesthood. The ritual washing of feet recalls Jesus's example of humble service. Following this liturgy, the Blessed Sacrament is transferred to an altar of repose, where the faithful are invited to spend time in adoration, recalling Jesus's agony in Gethsemane. Good Friday is marked by the Celebration of the Lord's Passion, which includes three distinctive elements: the Liturgy of the Word culminating in the reading of the Passion according to John, the Veneration of the Cross, and Holy Communion (consecrated the previous day, as no Mass is celebrated on Good Friday). The solemn intercessions on this day express the Church's prayer for the needs of the entire world. Holy Saturday is characterized by sacred silence and anticipation. The Church refrains from celebrating the Eucharist until the Easter Vigil, which begins after sunset. This most beautiful liturgy of the year unfolds in four parts: the Service of Light (blessing of new fire and the Paschal candle), the Liturgy of the Word (recounting salvation history), the Liturgy of Baptism (welcoming new members into the Church), and the Liturgy of the Eucharist. Easter Sunday Masses continue the celebration of Christ's resurrection with joyful hymns, festive decorations, and the renewal of baptismal promises. The Easter sequence, "Victimae Paschali Laudes," proclaims the triumph of life over death. Throughout Holy Week, Catholic churches are transformed by changing decorations, colors, and rituals that engage all the senses. The progressive unfolding of these sacred days creates a powerful catechesis that allows the faithful to enter more deeply into the paschal mystery—Christ's passage from death to life—which stands at the heart of Christian faith and offers hope to a world in need of healing and reconciliation.How do Catholics determine the date of Easter each year? The determination of Easter's date each year follows an ancient system that connects the celebration of Christ's resurrection to both cosmic rhythms and historical events. This calculation, which may seem complex to modern observers, reflects the Church's desire to honor both the historical reality of the Resurrection and its relationship to the Jewish Passover. The fundamental principle for determining Easter's date was established at the Council of Nicaea in 325 AD, which decreed that Easter should be celebrated on the Sunday following the first full moon after the spring equinox. This formula sought to maintain the connection between Easter and Passover, as the Gospels clearly place Jesus's death and resurrection during this Jewish feast, while ensuring that Christians throughout the world would celebrate Easter on the same day. The spring equinox is fixed in the ecclesiastical calendar as March 21, regardless of its astronomical occurrence. The "Paschal Full Moon" is not the astronomical full moon but rather the 14th day of the lunar month as calculated by ancient tables. Easter Sunday is then the Sunday following this calculated full moon. If the full moon falls on a Sunday, Easter is celebrated on the following Sunday to avoid coinciding with the Jewish Passover. This calculation results in Easter falling within a 35-day range between March 22 and April 25 in the Western Church. The Eastern Orthodox Churches, while using the same basic formula, follow the Julian rather than the Gregorian calendar, which typically results in their celebration of Easter (Pascha) falling on a different date than in the Western Church. The complexity of this calculation reflects the early Church's wrestling with powerful theological questions. By linking Easter to the spring equinox and the lunar cycle, the Church affirmed that Christ's resurrection is not merely a historical event but one that transforms all of creation. The connection to Passover honors the continuity between God's deliverance of Israel from Egypt and the new exodus accomplished through Christ's death and resurrection. Throughout history, there have been proposals to fix Easter on a specific Sunday, which would simplify planning for schools, businesses, and families. But the Catholic Church has maintained the traditional calculation, recognizing that the moveable date serves as a reminder that the resurrection transcends our human calendars and ordering of time. The varying date of Easter also creates a rhythm in the liturgical year that mirrors the unpredictability of life itself. Just as we cannot control when grace will break into our lives, we cannot fix the date when we celebrate the ultimate irruption of divine life into human history. For Catholics, this ancient method of calculating Easter's date connects us to generations of believers who have celebrated this feast before us. It reminds us that we are part of a living tradition that spans centuries and continents, united in our proclamation that Christ is risen. The very calculation itself becomes a catechesis, teaching us that the resurrection of Christ is the new creation, the eighth day, the beginning of a transformed reality that both fulfills and transcends the patterns of the old creation.What are the main symbols of Easter in Catholicism? Easter, the most important feast in the Christian calendar, is filled with a landscape of symbols that point to the powerful mystery of Christ's death and resurrection. At the heart of Catholic Easter celebrations is the Paschal Candle, a large, white candle that is lit during the Easter Vigil and remains lit throughout the Easter season. This candle represents the risen Christ, the "light of the world" who dispels the darkness of sin and death. The candle is often decorated with a cross, the Greek letters alpha and omega, and the current year, symbolizing Christ's eternal presence and dominion over all time. Another central symbol is the Easter Egg, which represents new life and the tomb from which Christ emerged victorious. The cracking open of the egg mirrors the opening of the tomb, and the egg's yolk and white are seen as symbols of Christ's divine and human natures. Many Catholics also engage in the tradition of decorating and exchanging Easter eggs, a practice that helps children understand the joy of the Resurrection. The Lily, with its pure white blossoms, is also a beloved Easter flower, signifying the purity and beauty of Christ's triumph over the grave. The Crucifix, while not exclusively an Easter symbol, takes on special significance during this season, reminding us of the price Christ paid for our salvation. These symbols, rich in theological meaning, help the faithful to enter more deeply into the mystery of Easter, connecting the historical events to the ongoing work of redemption in our lives.How do Catholic Easter Masses differ from regular Sunday Masses? I can share with you the unique ways in which Catholic Easter Masses differ from regular Sunday celebrations. The Easter Triduum, the three-day period from Holy Thursday to Easter Sunday, is the pinnacle of the Catholic liturgical year. The Mass of the Lord's Supper on Holy Thursday commemorates the institution of the Eucharist and the priesthood, setting the stage for the events of Good Friday and Easter. On Good Friday, the Liturgy of the Passion is celebrated, with no consecration of the Eucharist. Instead, the faithful receive Communion from the reserved sacrament, reflecting the solemnity of the day. The Veneration of the Cross, where the faithful are invited to approach and kiss the cross, is a powerful moment of personal encounter with the mystery of Christ's suffering and death. The Easter Vigil, celebrated on Holy Saturday evening, is the high point of the Triduum. This service begins in darkness, with the lighting of the Paschal Candle, symbolizing the light of Christ dispelling the darkness. The Liturgy of the Word recounts the history of salvation, leading to the joyful proclamation of the Resurrection. This is the most appropriate time for the baptism of new Christians, as they are incorporated into the Body of Christ. On Easter Sunday itself, the Mass is filled with an exuberant sense of joy and triumph. The Gloria, which is omitted during Lent, is sung with great fervor, and the Alleluia, silenced since the beginning of Lent, resounds throughout the church. The homily and prayers of the faithful focus on the central mystery of the Resurrection and its transformative power in the lives of believers. These unique elements of the Easter liturgy, grounded in Scripture and tradition, invite the faithful to enter more deeply into the paschal mystery, celebrating the victory of life over death and the promise of eternal life.What is the connection between Easter and other Catholic holidays like Lent and Pentecost? I am delighted to explore the deep connections between Easter and other major Catholic holidays. At the heart of this interconnectedness is the paschal mystery - the passion, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. The season of Lent, which precedes Easter, is a time of spiritual preparation and purification, as the faithful journey with Christ towards the cross and the empty tomb. During Lent, the faithful are called to intensify their prayer, fasting, and acts of charity, in order to die to sin and rise with Christ to new life. The penitential nature of Lent, with its emphasis on repentance and conversion, sets the stage for the joyful celebration of Easter, when the power of the Resurrection is fully revealed. The Easter season, which lasts for fifty days, culminates in the feast of Pentecost, when the Holy Spirit descended upon the Apostles, empowering them to proclaim the Good News to the world. This outpouring of the Spirit is the fulfillment of Christ's promise to send the Advocate, who would guide the Church and empower the faithful to continue the work of salvation. The connection between Easter and Pentecost is powerful, as the Resurrection of Christ and the gift of the Holy Spirit are the two pillars upon which the Church is built. The Easter season, therefore, is a time of powerful spiritual renewal, as the faithful are invited to open their hearts to the transformative power of the Risen Lord and the indwelling of the Holy Spirit. 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There are those who fit, who slip into the room like a hand into a well-worn glove. Then there are others. I have been the other. I have spent years pressing myself into shapes I believed the world required. Sometimes I tried to dissolve into the crowd like sugar in tea. Other times, I styled myself a singularity—daring to be something different, to “be myself” (whoever that is). Both efforts felt like a borrowed coat: always slightly too large in the shoulders, never quite warm enough. Sometimes, in social groups, I watch. It is not surprising when they say it is the watchers who tell the stories. For as long as men have scribbled words onto paper, they have written from the point of view of the ones who stand at the edge of the firelight, always reluctant to step close enough to warm their hands. T.S. Eliot’s Prufrock, shuffling through his measured life in coffee spoons, knew it. Fitzgerald’s Gatsby knew it, even as his shirts, fine enough to make a woman weep, fluttered in the breeze of a dream he could never quite possess. And now, in this new world of glass towers and city lights, where the rituals are conducted over quarterly forecasts and PowerPoint decks, I know what it is to be one of them—watching. The corporate world is a world of joiners, of men and women who have learned to slide into its rhythm with the ease of a practiced hand signing a deal. Their words come out smooth and predictable, a language built on a repetition so careful that it sometimes sounds like a chant. "Synergy," they say, and nod. "Scalability." "Leverage." One can pass through these rooms without ever truly speaking, without ever truly saying anything. Every sentence said here has already been spoken a thousand times before. I walk among them everyday. Power here is not shown through brute force. It is suggested, woven into casual asides and fleeting glances. A promotion is not just a title—it is a shift in how a name is said in a meeting, in who gets called into the right rooms, in the subtle way backs straighten when someone speaks. A man will mention, in passing, a recent chat with the VP. Or offer a firmer handshake at the off-site meeting. And there it is—that small flicker of status, carefully snuck in, never forced. It is an art, this thing they do, and I watch them perfect it. And when the workday ends, the performance does not. It flows into the evenings, into the brunches and the beers, into the subtle hierarchy of toasts and travel stories. A man orders another round, leans back in his chair, and the one-upping begins—not in a way you can call outright competition, no, that would be too crude. Houses, cars, stocks, promotions, goals. “Thinking of upgrading to a bigger place,” one says, and another nods as if to say, naturally, that’s the next step. A third casually mentions a new place—three balconies this time. The others pause, just briefly, recalculating. Confidence up. Confidence down. The night goes on, and some men sit a little taller. It may not even be cruel or deliberate, but it happens all the same. A raise is mentioned. Someone else already knows. A house is bought. Someone else has a bigger garden. The air thickens with things unsaid. Someone goes home feeling lighter, shoulders squared, and someone else turns the key in their front door with a weight pressing against their ribs. From where, I wonder, does a man draw his confidence? Is it his income bracket? His passport stamps? His bookshelf? The things we cherish privately morph into public currency. You must love the right things, with the right fervor, in the right tone. It is not self-expression. It is self-positioning. A man does not simply enjoy a book anymore; he must mention, in passing, how many he has read this year, and they must be the right kind—literary, weighty, meaningful. Another speaks of music, but it is not enough to like a song; it must be an obscure artist, something critically acclaimed, a name that makes others nod in approval. The movies? Oscar winners, of course, always Oscar winners. And why? Why this endless parade of curated lives and careful disclosures? It is too much like wearing all the jewelry you own to a single event, layering necklace over necklace, ring over ring, until the weight of it becomes absurd. Maybe we are all just trying to prove we are worth something. But the trouble with measuring worth in this way is that it is a game without end. There is always another man with a bigger house, a fancier car, a rarer first edition on his shelf. And so the game continues, quiet and relentless, confidence shifting like sand underfoot. No one ever really wins, but no one wants to stop playing either. And I—I am still watching these shiny happy people. Sometimes, I stop watching the play out there, and turn inward instead — why do I not enter the arena? Is it because I believe their game unworthy of me—or is that merely the gentle fiction I whisper to myself, a cushion against the sharper truth that I may not have what it takes to win? A man picks his battles, sure, but only the ones where he figures he might come out ahead. Surely only writers can toe this line between vanity and self-deprecation. But perhaps I’ve been playing a different game all along. I tell people that writing is something I do on the side, a dalliance from my true profession. But maybe—just maybe—it was always the other way around. Perhaps writing was my true calling, and work, the dalliance. And so, I’ve taken to lingering in the corners. It is no accident that Prufrock hesitated at the door, that Gatsby stood at the edge of his own parties. Not because they did not wish to speak, but because they wondered if there was anything left to say. I watch the way a man adjusts his tie before he speaks, the way a woman shifts her posture before she delivers a point she knows must land. They don’t see me. Or rather, they see a suit, a nodding head, another face in the sea. But that is the way of things. In the room the women come and go, talking of Michelangelo. Meanwhile the outsider is invisible in plain sight. Image source: The Son of Man by René Magritte.