Stories, prayers, counsel and wisdom: Faith leaders on the meaning of the season
Every year at this time we ask religious leaders of our community to offer their thoughts.
A Rosary and Jellybeans in a Shoe Box
By Father Peter DeSanctis, pastor, Our Lady of the Isle
Years ago, around Easter time, when I was bringing Holy Communion to Southampton Hospital, I met a patient, a 90-year-old lady. We were speaking and she told me she was raised in a small orphanage up-island, which was staffed by the Sisters of St. Dominick.
She mentioned that each child was given a shoe box, which they kept under their beds to keep little treasures and trinkets that they were given. At Easter, the little boys and girls were given rosaries and jellybeans for their shoe boxes. They were probably the only possessions they had for themselves.
And there, visiting her in the hospital, was the same shoe box that had been given to her 80 years before. She had been so influenced by those sisters — she remembered their names — she was still practicing her faith, remembering her prayers.
She was acting on what’s important in life — remembering the names of those who have given you faith, and given you acts of kindness.
I recently heard something that was said by the Dalai Lama: “Self-focus is the door to misery.” And I would add another lesson to consider: “Accumulation is also a way into misery.”
These days, everyone has an opinion on everything, and this can lead to disagreement and anger. For example, when someone asks me what I think about the tax code, I’ll say, “Well, I don’t know, it’s 4,000 pages. I haven’t read it yet, but when I do, I’ll give you my opinion.”
Our Lord said, “Act as if ye have faith, and faith shall be given to you.” Another way of saying that would be, “Practice the faith, and faith will be increased in you.” And one more thing: Remember that prayer humanizes us. As much as an Easter gift of a rosary and jellybeans in a shoe box.
True Freedom
By Rabbi Berel Lerman, Center For Jewish Life-Sag Harbor
As the festival of Passover approaches, Jewish communities around the world prepare not only for a holiday steeped in tradition, but for a deeply transformative spiritual journey. Known in Hebrew as Pesach, Passover commemorates the Exodus of the Jewish people from Egypt and their journey to the Promised Land of Israel more than 3,300 years ago.
At the heart of Passover is the Seder, a carefully structured ritual meal during which we read from the Haggadah and recount the story of the Exodus. Yet the goal is not merely to remember — it is to re-live. We are called upon to see ourselves as though we personally left Egypt, bringing an ancient narrative into the relevance of our own lives.
In Hebrew, Egypt — Mitzrayim — shares a root with the word for “constraints” or “limitations.” Through this lens, the Exodus becomes more than a historical account; it is a timeless journey from restriction to freedom, from darkness to light.
In a world that often defines freedom as the absence of restriction, Passover offers a deeper perspective. True freedom is not simply the ability to do as one wishes, but the capacity to live with a higher purpose, clarity, and meaning.
One may be physically free yet spiritually constrained, held back by habits, fears, or outside pressures. Conversely, a person inspired by higher purpose and guided by strong values can experience a profound sense of inner liberation.
At times, it is easy to feel overwhelmed. The steady flow of troubling headlines or one’s own challenging situations, can leave a person feeling uncertain or helpless. Passover speaks directly to this reality, reminding us that within each of us lies a wellspring of inner strength, a soul intrinsically connected to a Higher Power.
By drawing upon that inner strength, we can rise above challenges with resilience and confidence. Often, these situations enable us to discover inner strengths that we never knew we possessed.
This Passover, as we gather with family and community, let us tap into our collective inner strength. Let us pray for true peace and liberation for all.
Love With Skin On
By Rev. Dr. Stephen D. Adkison, pastor, Shelter Island Presbyterian Church
In a time when the headlines feel relentless — war, hunger, fear, greed, political corruption, and the suffering of the most vulnerable — it is easy to become overwhelmed or numb.
For people of goodwill, the spiritual question is not only how to endure, but how to remain faithful to what is deepest and truest in us. At the center of the Christ-like life is a simple, yet demanding call: love one another. Jesus taught that love of neighbor — even love of the stranger and love of the enemy — is not optional; it is the way through fear and division. In times like these, that call becomes both more difficult and more necessary. To live out this love, we must begin by grounding ourselves.
A daily rhythm of prayer/meditation, silence, or reflection helps us return to the source of love that is within us all, especially when fear and anxiety threaten to take over. From that center, we are able to respond rather than react to the events unfolding before us.
This love must also take shape in action. It asks us to see the humanity in those who are targeted, marginalized, and scapegoated; to stand with those who are afraid, and to refuse the temptation to dehumanize anyone, even those we oppose. Love is not passive; it is courageous and often costly.
There’s a story about a little girl who was tucked into bed by her parents. Lovingly, mom and dad prayed for her and kissed her good night. Soon she fell into a peaceful sleep. Hours later a thunderstorm rolled in, and a bolt of lightning struck a mile from the little girl’s home. Then, a huge clap of thunder followed.
The little girl leaped out of her bed and sprinted to her parent’s room with tears rolling down her cheeks. She jumped into bed between her mother and father and as they consoled her, her father said, “Honey, God will always love you and be with you.”
Her response was, “Daddy, I know God loves me and is always with me, but right now, I need someone to love me with skin on them!”
Love is what the world needs now more than ever, and Easter reminds us that the worst thing is never the last thing. Love still rises, and always will, if we let it. So, go — and be “love with skin on” to others!
We Are Not Defined By Our Fear
By Father Charles McCarron, pastor, St. Mary’s Episcopal Church
As I look past the boulder on Bootleggers Alley at the whitecaps over the spring-chilled bay, the world feels particularly storm-tossed.
The news cycle is a relentless tide of anxiety, and the winds of uncertainty seem to blow from every direction. In such times, it is easy to feel unmoored, to wonder if the foundations we rely upon are still secure.
It is precisely in this context that the profound convergence of our Abrahamic siblings’ holy seasons feels less like a calendar coincidence and more like a divine whisper, a collective spiritual response to the cries of a weary world.
Our Muslim neighbors have just emerged from the sacred observance of Ramadan. Through fasting from dawn to dusk, they have practiced a radical discipline of dependence. In a culture that shouts at us to consume, to grasp for more, to find solace in material things, Ramadan offers a counter-intuitive truth: strength is found in surrender. By intentionally creating a physical emptiness, Ramadan makes space for God’s fullness. In our anxious times, Ramadan reminds us that our ultimate provision does not come from the world’s unstable markets but from the unwavering grace of the Divine.
Our Jewish brothers and sisters gather around the Seder table to celebrate Passover. This is not a quiet remembrance but a defiant retelling of a story of liberation from the most entrenched oppression. The Passover story acknowledges the reality of Pharaohs — of systems that enslave, of fears that hold us captive. But its core message is that God hears the cry of the people and makes a way where there seems to be no way. In our uncertain times, Passover is a potent declaration that the story is not over. It asserts that tyranny is temporary and that the arc of history, though long, bends toward freedom because God is the one bending it.
And we, as Christians, walk the path toward Easter. We follow Jesus into the garden of anguish, to the pain of the cross, and into the silence of the tomb. We do not bypass suffering. We stare it directly in the face. Easter does not explain away the storm; it enters into it and transforms it from the inside. The resurrection is God’s ultimate “yes” in the face of the world’s “no.” It is the promise that despair does not get the final word, that death is not the end of the story, and that hope, grounded in God, is a defiant, un-killable force.
Ramadan, Passover, and Easter — each in its own powerful language — speak the same eternal truths to our stormy present: We are not defined by our fear. We are not alone in the struggle. Liberation is God’s project. And new life, often in ways we cannot predict, is always, always possible.
This holy season, may we have the ears to hear this collective chorus of faith. And may it give us the courage to fast from fear, to remember our story of liberation, and to hold fast to a hope that even the grave cannot contain.
