By fr. JLucas254🇯🇲 – 6th April 2026 makes it one month since you left us 

Every Friday of Lent 2026, starting the 6th of March, I found myself forced to contemplate the cruelty of death—the death that took away my grandmother, Susu Veronica, as we used to call her. She was that woman. Many things were said about her during her eulogies, but I speak as her grandson, and more specifically, as her grandson who became a priest. I may not have been her favourite (grandmothers never admit favourites), but I know I was her beloved.

When I was going through a vocational crisis in the seminary, together with my mother, she squeezed her rosary every single day, asking the Mother of Jesus to guide me and watch over me. When I was ordained and celebrated my first Mass, she came despite the pain in her leg after she had fractured it. At her home, she even sang a special song just for me. She taught me about my lineage, where I come from, who my people are, and she encouraged me deeply in my priesthood.

I remember when my other Shush, the wife of my grandfather, died. I called Shush Vero and told her very clearly, “Please do not dare die soon. I am tired of losing the people I love while I am away on a mission.” She was a bit saddened by my statement, but I was serious. And somehow, she endured. She lived until I was ordained, and I was able to see her twice after that.

While everyone was running after me to come celebrate home Masses, she didn’t push or insist. Maybe she knew I had special Masses to offer for her one day. When she died, I offered many Masses for her soul—more than nine—and at one point during Mass, I could not hold it anymore, and I broke down right there at the altar.

I miss her greetings:
“Wacha Luka, wacha ithea Maiko, wacha mwisukuuwa, wacha fatha waitu…”
Those greetings alone could heal a bad day.

She was human. She had her weaknesses, like you and me. But she was also a woman graced by God to care for many priests—not only those in her family, but priests from the Diocese of Kitui and any priest she met anywhere. Priests always had a place in her heart and in her home.

Mwaitu, koma nesa.
(Rest well, grandmother.) 

Today I encourage you to READ AND REFLECT | Sixth Station of the way of the cross: Veronica Offers Her Veil to Jesus (my uncles called her 6th station as a code)

In this station, a woman named Veronica steps forward from the crowd. Jesus is suffering—His face covered with blood, sweat, and dust. Many are watching… but only Veronica acts.

She approaches Him with courage and compassion and offers her veil to wipe His face. It is a small gesture—simple, quiet, almost unnoticed. But it is filled with love.

And in return, Jesus leaves the image of His face on her veil.

This is the beauty of love: when we reach out to Christ in suffering, He leaves His presence in us.

Veronica reminds us that we do not need to do great things—we only need to love in small, sincere ways.

A kind word, a helping hand, a moment of care—these become powerful when done with love. And in every act of compassion, we touch the face of Christ…and He leaves His image in our hearts.