fr. JLucas May 20, 2026, in Trinidad and Tobago

There is something refreshing about stepping out of routine. My trip to Trinidad has already been exciting, not just because I was travelling, but because for a few days I could breathe outside my normal cycle of school, parish, meetings, and the endless “Father, can I speak to you for two minutes?” that usually turns into thirty-five minutes.

At the airport, I had what Matthew Kelly calls “holy moments.” The kind of moments that quietly remind you God is still walking ahead of you.

First, I met Gavin, my longtime brother, who was migrating. There we were at the lodge, two grown men pretending not to be emotional while waiting for our separate flights. Airports are strange places. One person is leaving forever, another is returning home, and another is running late after hearing “final boarding call” for the third time.

Then came another surprise. I met Mr. Kelly and his wife. Mr. Kelly had a great impact on our Grade 7 Academy through his mathematics teaching. Seeing him there felt like bumping into family in a shopping mall on Half-Way Tree Road.

As if that wasn’t enough excitement already, I then met the French band I had spent time with a week earlier at Christ the Redeemer. They had mingled beautifully with our church/community band during their mission visit. Suddenly, Norman Manley Airport started feeling less like an airport and more like a parish hall after Sunday Mass.

Christ Redeemer in Sea view, Jamaica

Then, just before boarding, Matthew from Christ the King—who now works at the airport—passed by and shouted hello. At that point, I was convinced Jamaica is one giant district where everybody somehow knows everybody.

The flight left on time, a miracle worthy of canonization in Caribbean travel history.

Somewhere between watching a series and reading Fr. Don’s book From Exile to Inner Peace, we landed in St. Martin. After a short wait, we took off again toward Barbados and then finally Trinidad, my destination.

As the plane lifted into the clouds, I suddenly felt for music. Not Hillsong. Not Gregorian chant. Not even choir hymns.

I went straight to my Apple Music and pressed play on good old Kenyan benga music—Mr. Alex Kasau, famously known as Baazuu.

That song Maisha did something to me. https://youtu.be/11x4BoMnuu4?si=xtNsZbYpNKFxHYbK

There I was, seated quietly on the plane, headphones in my ears, while Alex Kasau sang with that powerful village wisdom only benga musicians can deliver. Somewhere between the rhythm and the lyrics, I found myself holding a meeting with myself at 30,000 feet.

I began mumbling along and changing the lyrics into my own prayer:

“Jesus be praised. If there is anything good in my life, the glory belongs to God.”

Because honestly, who knew I would be where I am today?

A simple village boy. A missionary. A priest travelling across islands and countries carrying the Gospel and carrying people in prayer.

Sometimes I sit quietly and wonder how God opened not just the door of vocation for me—but the main gate.

This was once only a dream. Priesthood. Missionary life. Travelling. Serving. Meeting people from all walks of life.

And somewhere above the Caribbean Sea, listening to Baazuu, gratitude flooded my heart.

I became grateful for my mother, who planted in me the love of travelling long before I ever boarded a plane. I became grateful for my friends—especially those here in Jamaica—who pushed me, believed in me, corrected me, laughed with me, and challenged me to become the man and priest I am still becoming.

Life is mysterious.

Sometimes exhausting. Sometimes confusing. Sometimes deeply beautiful.

And every now and then, God allows you a small window seat above the clouds just to remind you:

“Look how far I have brought you.”