“Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.”

Often attributed to John Lennon, this quote from American journalist Allen Saunders speaks to me especially this week of April 21, 2025, as I write this piece. In recent months, since November 20, 2024, when the Canonization of Carlo Acutis was announced to take place during the Jubilee of Teens on April 27, 2025, many people have been making plans.

Authors and their editors have been finalizing texts, and publishers have been selling books and booklets on the young soon-to-be saint. Liturgists have been preparing prayers, liturgical settings, and environments for services and celebrations. The faithful have made travel arrangements and have paid for tickets for plane fare, train fare, bus fare, lodging. For many this involved significant saving and planning to redirect hard-earned money to experience a once-in-a lifetime event: the canonization of the first millennial saint.

But life—and death—happen while we’re busy making plans.

The world woke up on Easter Monday to the news that Pope Francis had died. With his passing, a new celebration started, one filled with the mixed emotions of grief and gratitude, both sown with faith in new life with Christ and in time, resurrection.

Given that the proclamation of sanctity requires papal authority, the canonization of Carlo Acutis has been suspended.

What do we do with this suspended time?

I have been reflecting on real presence for many years: the real presence of Christ in the Eucharist, yes, and my own capacity to truly be present in situations that are unsettling or unexpected. I admit that I sometimes expect things to go a certain way and when they don’t, I can brood or feel disappointment. Sometimes I can get flustered and even angry if I have put a lot of planning into the preparations of a task or event that ends up going in ways other than I expected. If I cling too tightly to those expectations, I can lose sight of the hope that might be found in what transpires. 

In reading about the life and faith of Carlo Acutis in recent months, I have naturally been impressed with the faith of this young man. But I have also noticed the faith of those around him, especially his nanny, Beata Sperczynska, when he was a young boy. In reading about Beata in Courtney Mares’ book, Blessed Carlo Acutis: A Saint in Sneakers, the brief passage on Beata points to the profound effect of being deeply present with her faith and with those around her.

According to Mares, Carlo was just three when Beata came to work for the family as his nanny. Having traveled from her native Poland to work in Milan, she brought with her prayer cards and a fervent hope in Christ’s love. She was the first to teach little Carlo in the Catholic faith, showing him that it is a faith of relationship and presence. She took him with her to Mass and also taught him to drop in churches as they passed by and say “hi to Jesus.” To me this brief anecdote relates a possible influence on Carlo and explains how he came to be so social and interactive in his faith as a youth, showing up to greet strangers and offer them food or clothing that they needed, for example. 

Did Beata expect little Carlo to become a saint? Not likely. But there was great hope that he might discover faith through these small acts of devotion and relationality that she brought into his life when she was his nanny. This was not so much an expectation that he would take on her Catholic faith as much as her own buoyant hope in Christ that could not be suppressed. 

This hope spilled over onto Carlo who in turn shared it with so many through his short life and now as many more flock to Assisi to pray near his body. 

There could be a tendency now to wait in expectation of the announcement of a new canonization date after a new pontiff is elected by the Cardinals. But I wonder if while waiting in expectation, we could miss the opportunity to spread the hope faith gives us that Carlo and before him, Beata, showed in their presence with others. Perhaps that’s the invitation of this time: show up and be really present with all we encounter. That is a faith that gives me hope.

I recently recalled a story from my maternal aunt. She had a home with a beautiful agrarian space, complete with a natural creek running through the property. My cousins and I became naturalists and explorers in this space, traversing the bubbling waters and small inhabitants enshrined by the willows and shrubs around it. When my aunt’s son was quite young, upon one such expedition, he found a new visitor in the stream. “Mom, I think I found God in the river!” he told her.

What he actually found was a concrete statue of St. Francis of Assisi, somehow carried down the stream and mysteriously deposited in the banks. This statue remained with my aunt until this past Easter Sunday, when he was bequeathed to me; this legendary stone holy man, whose serendipitous arrival had captured family lore for some time. “St. Frank” has been a mysterious companion in my life, presenting himself in the most unlikely ways in my journey to the Franciscan School of Theology and beyond. Little did I know the continued significance in what was to unfold in subsequent hours.

Another Francis, Papa Francesco, was to enter into the promise of the Resurrection a few hours after I happily perched this gifted statue in my home garden. There is much to say—more than word counts could ever accommodate—to encapsulate the humility, wisdom, and authenticity of our spiritual leader. This Holy Father was paternal, not patronizing; bold, yet merciful; meek, yet strong. I called to mind his entry into the papacy. I was in college discerning next steps and which theology school to attend.

All signs pointed to the Franciscans, so much so that when Pope Benedict stepped down and the conclave commenced, I remarked out loud to colleagues, “Wouldn’t it be ironic if this Jorge Bergoglio chose the name Francis, since I keep getting all these signs lately?” I can’t take credit for such an overt affirmation in my life but was warmed by the providential alignment of that day. As his papacy began, I was astounded and moved by the ways Pope Francis would touch even the most unlikely places. An atheist in my dorm even sought me out to congratulate me on the “new guy” who seemed to be doing good things for the world. 

As his papacy continued, he called for a visceral and pastoral love of neighbor, the forgotten, family, Creation, and what was to be his next work on the needs of children throughout the world—this “field hospital” and recognition of the need for healing in brokenness. This inspired my chaplain heart. Years later, while attending World Youth Day and working in pastoral care, I was struck by his tone of compassion and how his remarks inspired a need for community. And I will never forget the twinkle in his eye as the motorcade went by, like a benevolent grandfather, truly the Holy Father, as the teaming crowds of young people clamored around him and chanted, “Papa Francesco!” and “Esta es la joven tuth del Papa!”  

In these days when the daily headlines of despair and injustice can overwhelm even the most hopeful of the faithful, it feels especially heavy to lose such a global treasure and north star, guiding us and grounding us in the tumultuous and unknown. But as I continue to grieve and recall this legacy of one who indeed “smelled like the sheep,” I remember that story of my cousin “finding God in the river.”

Is that not what we are called to do in the memory of Pope Francis: practice this kind of horizontal theology where we find God among us, where we encounter the Imago Dei at the intersection of all living things, where we belong to each other and our common home, where we become stewards of goodness and welcome the stranger and the outcast with radical hospitality, as embrace our vulnerability in asking for forgiveness and in turn, show this mercy to others? We are to serve rather than be served, to live as if all were a gift, and be attentive stewards who create a place that is para todos . . . for all.

This was the message of Franciscus, a Jesuit called by the name of that mendicant preacher from Assisi who said the same, both reflecting the message of Christ, our Brother. So, look around. Easter is certainly a time of the unexpected, the wonder of what was, is, and will be forever.

Today we celebrate the Resurrection of our Lord, who suffered, died, and rose again for all of us. Padre Pio understood the power and meaning of Christ’s suffering, willingly joining in that suffering for the sake of others. Much was asked of the Lord, who in return asked much of Padre Pio.

For the past 40 days he has guided us through his words and examples. As we celebrate this joyous day, let us remember to move forward in the spirit of Padre Pio—caring for and serving others so that they may come to know Christ.

In Padre Pio’s Own Words

To succeed in reaching our ultimate goal, we need to follow our divine leader, who leads an elect soul only on the path that he walked himself, the path of self-denial and the cross: “If any man would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me” [Matthew 16:24]. Shouldn’t you consider yourself fortunate for being treated this way by Jesus? The person who does not penetrate the secret of the cross is a fool.

The Holy Spirit tells us that to reach the harbor of salvation, the souls of the elect need to go through the fire of painful humiliation and purify themselves, like gold and silver in the crucible, and in that way they spare themselves having to do expiation in the next life:

Accept whatever is brought upon you,
and endure it in sorrow;
in changes that humble you be patient.
For gold and silver are tested in the fire,
and acceptable men in the furnace of humiliation.
[Sirach 2:4–5]

Jesus wants to make us saints at any cost, but more than anything he wants to sanctify you.

(To Raffaelina Cerase, August 15, 1914)

Prayer

St. Pio, your life serves as a powerful example of sacrifice and love.
May you continue to love and guide us as we walk our faith journey toward Christ.

For years, followers of Padre Pio waited for the Church to recognize what they felt they already knew—he was a saint. Even after his canonization process was opened, it was another 20 years before he became St. Pio of Pietrelcina.

As we wait in anticipation of Christ’s Resurrection, we are reminded that as difficult as it may be, the waiting is worth it. For it is through doing so that we realize the true blessing of what is yet to come.

Consider the words of Padre Pio below. How can we conquer our own fears and live a life of bold witness? How can prayer help us get there?

In Padre Pio’s Own Words

“Wretched man that I am!” exclaimed the great chosen vessel, the Apostle to the Gentiles. “Who will deliver me from this body of death?” [Romans 7:24]. There can be no doubt that this apostle was one of the greatest saints and a star of the first magnitude in our holy church. How many persecutions, toils, and pains he suffered for Jesus Christ! What burning charity, what fiery love, what ardent zeal for Jesus’ honor! What revelations, visions, ecstasies, and raptures even into the third heaven!

And yet this holy apostle, rich in so many virtues and with such excellent gifts, expressed the lament above…. [He tells us,] “Three times I have been beaten with rods; once I was stoned. Three times I have been shipwrecked; a night and a day I have been adrift at sea” [2 Corinthians 11:25]. He also speaks of other hardships he endured out of love for Jesus: “many a sleepless night, in hunger and thirst, often without food, in cold and exposure” [2 Corinthians 11:27]….

Tell me, daughter, is there anything lacking that prevents us from declaring this great apostle and teacher of the gentiles perfect? Yet even he felt in himself a whole host of moods, aversions, and natural habits and inclinations that were conspiring to his undoing and to spiritual death…. He answers that dilemma quoted above by saying that the grace of God through Jesus Christ will keep him not from fear or terror or battle—all the things you are feeling, my dear daughter—but from being overcome and conquered.

(To Maria Gargani, June 18, 1917)

Prayer

St. Pio, teach us to be joyful in our waiting and use the time to
stop and reflect on the importance of that for which we’re waiting.

Padre Pio is recognized as a saint now, but there were certainly times of spiritual trial during his life. He was investigated by the Vatican more than once regarding his claims of the stigmata and many people suggested that he was inflicting the wounds on himself. For a period of time, the Vatican imposed sanctions on him stating that he was not allowed to say Mass, hear confessions, or communicate with his spiritual adviser.

These restrictions were painful to Padre Pio. Yet he delved deeper into his prayer life and found peace in knowing that all he endured was for the glory and honor of Christ.

In Padre Pio’s Own Words

Do not be discouraged if your trial is always increasing. Believe at all times, lift your heart up on high, and you can be certain that there is no reason for dismay. Trials are hard; everyone knows that. So what, then? Isn’t it God who is overseeing everything and ordering everything for our greater good? Therefore be strong in the day of trial. Wait a bit longer, and our good God will hear our prayer.

Hasn’t he heard so many prayers up to this point? Therefore he cannot fail to hear this last one, the crown of all prayers.

Wait a bit longer! Do we know how long “a bit longer” is? It does not matter, my good daughter! You will see the answer when it pleases the divine Bridegroom and when we are all transformed in him. You will most definitely experience his promise, Videbitis me—“You will see me” [see Matthew 26:64].

(To Assunta di Tomaso, October 22, 1916)

Prayer

St. Pio, you remained faithful to Christ, even during your times of trial.
Help us to prayerfully acknowledge the sacrifices Christ made
on our behalf through his suffering on the cross.

For most of us, the image we most associate with Holy Thursday is the one painted by Leonardo da Vinci of Christ and his disciples breaking bread on the evening before Jesus was betrayed and turned over to be put to death. At some point, all of us have taken part in large meals, either with friends or family. From them we receive not only physical nourishment, but also the spiritual nourishment that comes from being together. That combination of community and sustenance is what we find when we receive Holy Communion.

Though he himself did not eat very much, partly due to his illnesses, Padre Pio found great nourishment in receiving the Holy Eucharist, just as we should.

In Padre Pio’s Own Words

In a word, let us try to make our meals be a preparation for the divine meal of the most holy Eucharist. Do not eat more food than you need, and try to have moderation in all things. Most of all, determine in your heart to be disposed toward less rather than more at meals. I do not mean, however, that you should leave the table fasting. No, that is not what I mean. Let everything be  done prudently, which is the rule for all human actions.

Do not go to bed without having first examined your conscience about what happened during the day and directing all your thoughts to God.

Then offer and consecrate yourself and all Christians to him—especially me, a lowly brother who does the same for you. In addition, offer your sleep to the glory of God’s divine majesty, and do not forget the guardian angel who is always with you and never leaves you, no matter what wrong thing you might do.

(To Raffaelina Cerase, December 17, 1914)

Prayer

St. Pio, let your love of the Holy Communion be a shining example for us and inspire in us
a willingness to partake in the sacrament as often as possible and fully embrace its meaning.