The year 2026 has been intense. It feels like grief upon grief upon grief. On January 2nd we held my brother’s funeral in New York. I came back to Minnesota with a heavy heart on the day Renee Nicole Good was killed on January 7th. I found myself at the site of her shooting that night, locking arms with strangers, singing Dona Nobis Pacem and other songs of peace. The grief was palpable in the gathered crowd.
The days continued, hearing stories and responding to people in our community who were living in extreme and real fear—along with those who were feeling activated to do something to help. I was helping at our sister parish, packing food and organizing deliveries, when we heard of the shooting of Alex Pretti on January 24th.
We can all name our own experiences over these two months of 2026—stories of trauma, fear, anger, or grief. We prayed. We marched. We witnessed. We organized. We blew whistles and checked in on one another.
I find myself weeping often, these days. Tears come, consuming my mind and heart. There is something so deep—that hurts so much. This is not my usual state, and I find myself off balance. While I know some wonderful people who have the gift of tears—it is not me.
Pope Leo states, “Tears are a language that express the deep feelings of a wounded heart. Tears are a silent cry for compassion and comfort. Moreover, they cleanse and purify our eyes, our feelings, and our thoughts. We should not be ashamed to cry; it is a way of expressing our sadness and our desire for a new world. Crying tells of our humanity, which is weak and tested, but destined for joy.”
Pope Francis suggests: “We are a society that has forgotten the experience of weeping, of ‘suffering with;’ the globalization of indifference has taken from us the ability to weep.”
Indeed, there has been fear and darkness in 2026. Pope Leo states, “Were there is evil, we must seek the comfort and consolation that can overcome it and give it no respite. In the Church, this means never being alone. Resting your head on a comforting shoulder, finding someone who cries with you and gives you strength is a medicine that we cannot do without, because it is a sign of love. Where pain is deep, the hope that comes from communion must be even stronger. And this hope does not disappoint.”
The gift of 2026 is found as people of goodwill repeatedly reach out to their neighbors and provide care. The “globalization of indifference” has been shattered. Grassroots and organized, people are seeing one another in powerful and deep ways.
By seeing the most vulnerable—by opening our eyes and addressing the injustice and pain in our midst—by hearing the soft, but clear voice of the child unable to leave their home because of fear—God’s love is manifest.
Pope Francis states, “We, too, can ask for the gift of tears. It is a beautiful grace… to weep praying for everything: for what is good, for our sins, for graces, for joy itself…It prepares us to see Jesus.”
The year 2026 began with great intensity. In that trauma, we have chosen to work for the dignity of all, committed to solidarity and care for the most vulnerable. We seek to engage in our neighborhood food shelves, social service non-profits, schools, and faith communities.
As we walk into Lent, may we continue to embrace the pain in our midst, welcome the tears into our souls, and wake up to a new way of being together. The gift of tears and compassion feeds the desire for and the creation of a new world. God is present: as we engage, hope does not disappoint.
Janice Andersen | Director of Christian Life