The modern world moves too fast. It’s chaotic and noisy. We’re always surrounded by technology, daily stress, and a tiring fear of missing out. This Lenten season, stepping back into silence has been both a refuge and a stark reflection. In silence and nature, we understand what we have and what we often discard.

It’s easy to lose time in front of a screen or seek comfort in indulgence—something tastier or sweeter. We justify this because life is stressful, but constantly feeding our egos leaves us empty. Society worships money, power, and pleasure, creating an insatiable craving.

Modern sin has a subtle logic. It often begins with, “Why not?” We tell ourselves we have one life, that everyone does it, and since we all die, we should try the forbidden. We follow media trends, use others for pleasure, and overlook the spiritual cost. This is a serious mistake.

Suffering, whether personal or observed, often feels pointless, prompting deep questions. Yet, it reminds us of our imperfections and limits. When a loved one faces a deadly virus, the sadness is overwhelming. But in the quiet of daily prayer, the power of faith shines. When final tests showed no illness, it confirmed: prayers heal.

As we seek healing, we must address the fractures within our spiritual home. The Church today faces the same issues as the secular world: money, pride, and vanity. Internal forces threaten the Church’s authority, confusing the faithful with false teachings instead of honoring tradition. It’s disheartening to see progressive movements push inappropriate changes or treat sacred spaces as networking venues. While we should respect other faiths, true ecumenism cannot stray into heresy; we cannot downgrade liturgy to please the crowd.

The solution to pride and division is simple yet tough: humility and forgiveness. It’s freeing to let go of grudges that show our anger, to kneel before the crucifix, and to ask for or grant forgiveness. Following Christ’s radical love is challenging; giving up usually means someone else will take it. We’re called to share our possessions and pride, stepping away from narcissism to genuinely help those in need, rather than just throwing money at problems.

As this season ends, I reflect on its foundation. I remember my mother’s teachings, my grandmother’s quiet faith, and the glimpses of Christ I first saw as a child at the “Santi Nicola e Cecilia” in Gravina, where I was born. Those memories are the bedrock of my Christian identity. We are sinners, falling many times a day, but we are not abandoned.

The world seeks to turn our faith into a vague symbol. But the truth is much more real and beautiful. We look to the empty tomb, not as a metaphor, but as the true fulfillment of the promise.