Sadness fills my heart every time I hear news about wars between nations. The unending war between Russia and Ukraine, the continuing conflict between Israel and Palestine, the ongoing civil war in Myanmar, and the persistent tension between Pakistan and India have shattered countless lives. In the midst of these conflicts, it is always the poor who suffer most. They are displaced from their homes, forced into refugee camps, stripped of security, dignity, and hope. In prayer, I continually ask the Lord for peace, because only in peace can people—especially the poor—live the dignified and humane lives they deserve.
As a Columban priest, justice and peace are at the heart of our charism. Living and working in Pakistan, I often ask myself how peace can be built in the midst of religious diversity, social tension, and economic hardship. Over time, I have come to realize that peace does not always begin with grand gestures. Sometimes, it begins quietly, in ordinary places—like our small TB clinic. As person-in-charge of the clinic, I see daily how care becomes a bridge between people. In our clinic, Hindus, Muslims, and Christians are welcomed without distinction. Each patient is received with respect, tenderness, and love. In this simple act of service, walls are lowered, and trust is built. Healing becomes more than a medical act; it becomes a sign of peace.
I am deeply inspired by the witness of Dr. Zakir Hussein, our in-house doctor. A Shia Muslim, Dr. Zakir has faithfully served at the Catholic Church Badin Clinic for almost twenty-one years. Every Friday, without fail, he offers his skills and time to care for the sick. One day, out of curiosity, I asked him, “Doctor, what made you stay in a Catholic clinic for so many years?” He replied simply, “I look at people with care. It does not matter to me whether my patient is Hindu, Muslim, or Christian. What matters is giving them the best care they deserve. I also consider you and the staff here as my family. I care for you, and I feel the care you show me.” His words touched my heart deeply. In that moment, I realized that care itself is a language everyone understands. It crosses boundaries that politics, religion, and history often divide. Care heals not only bodies, but relationships—and ultimately, communities. Care, I believe, is one of the most powerful gifts we can offer our world. If we truly desire lasting peace, care must be at the center of our lives.
I recall a short story about a monk teaching his students about enlightenment. A man holding a cup of coffee was bumped by another person, causing the coffee to spill. When asked why the coffee spilled, the monk explained, “It spilled because that is what the man was holding.” The lesson is clear: what we carry within us is what we pour out into the world. If we hold anger, fear, or hatred, these will shape our actions. But if we carry compassion, love, and care, these virtues will naturally flow to others.
With this insight, my prayer has changed. I now ask God to help me store goodness, peace, care, and love in my heart, even amid the daily challenges of mission life in Pakistan. I remind myself constantly that my model is Jesus Christ. At his birth, the angels proclaimed, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to people of goodwill.” Peace was at the heart of his coming. Throughout his life, Jesus demonstrated that peace is born from love, expressed through service, and sustained by compassion. I have also learned that God does not always give peace as an immediate answer to my prayers. Instead, God offers me daily opportunities to become an instrument of peace. Each day, I am invited to choose care over indifference, welcome over fear, and love over division. Each day, I have the opportunity to share the peace I carry—within myself, with my family, the people I encounter in mission, and to the wounded world.
